Blue Devil Race Report - Long - Triathlon Week

10-23-2004, 06:55 PM

List,

Last Saturday I had the incredible experience of participating in the Duke
Blue Devil, my first Ironman Triathlon, which I finished in 14:05:52. What
follows is a race report of my experience for anyone who is interested.

This post would be incomplete without thanking several members of this list
who have provided valuable information: Thank you to IM Ken for his advice
on what to carry on the bike; Harold Buck for his race preparation list
(minus the teddy bear); Mike Tenannt for suggestions on special needs bags;
Bob Mercier for his suggestion to try Ensure Plus as liquid nutrition; and
countless others who - probably unknowingly - provided suggestions, advice,
and input that in many real ways got me through this race.

Note too that this race report was written with several audiences in mind -
so please forgive the portions that will seem trivial to the triathletes on
this list.

Thanks everyone,

John Hardt
Blue Devil '04

DUKE BLUE DEVIL RACE REPORT
OCTOBER 16, 2004

They say the important thing is to get a good night's sleep two nights
before an Ironman event. The theory is that getting sleep the night before
is hopeless. "God I hope they're right" I thought as I looked at the clock
for what seemed like the 400th time. It was only 3:00AM. The situation
wasn't helped by the construction crews working on the nearby highway all
night.

I had arrived in Durham two days before the race traveling from Ohio by car
with all my stuff. Thursday¹s goal was simply to get to town and get a good
night's sleep - which I did. Friday had been a day of organization; packet
pickup, filling my special needs and changing bags, checking in my bike and
picking up my wife Kimberly from the airport. She had traveled separately so
she could get in an extra day at work and stay with the kids another day.
Throughout Thursday and Friday I had been decidedly NOT nervous about this
race * so much so that my un-nervousness began to make me nervous. Was I
not taking this thing seriously? Did I have a full understanding of what I
was getting into? Was my preparation so far off the mark that my brain knew
that finishing was simply laughable? My goal was, after all, simply to
finish. I'm a consistently weak runner, so my plan was to finish the swim
and bike within 9 hours and give myself the luxury of walking the marathon
if I had to. I was doing the race to raise money for charity so finishing
was the primary goal. When Kimberly had asked what my wildest dream was, I
said if I could actually RUN the marathon - at any speed - I'd be ecstatic.
I wasn¹t sure what was up with this whole lack-of-nervousness thing, but I
knew I had been more nervous about my first sprint triathlon three years
ago. Anyway, nothing I could do about it now, except waitŠ

PRE-RACE

The alarm went off at 4:30. It didn¹t matter, I was already awake. I
immediately went into my plan for the morning with the first order of
business being the consumption of calories. I had a huge bowl of cereal, a
banana, and a whole bottle of water before getting in the shower. I know,
it seems silly to take a shower before jumping in a lake, but the routine of
it made me feel better. After the shower, more calories with a Slimfast
shake, a bagle, and another bottle of water on the menu. All of it went
down easily - there was that non-nervousness again. We planned to leave the
hotel at 5:30 but were ready to go 20 minutes early. Kimberly and I carried
my stuff downstairs and headed out. The hotel staff wondered what these
nuts were doing leaving at 5:15 AM with numbered plastic bags. Kimberly was
driving.

Oh crap! What the heck is going on? We had only been on the interstate for
30 seconds before we saw the big flashing sign. ³Road Closed * expect
delay². The noise we had heard all night was making sense now; the crews had
been demolishing a bridge a half-mile from our hotel and now the highway was
completely closed. Holly *#$@, there is no way I¹m going to let 9 months of
training go to waste before I even get to the start line. The only way off
this highway was to drive across a grass berm to our right and go the wrong
way down an entrance ramp. ³We¹ll give it 10 minutes², I told Kimberly,
³then I¹m driving down that ramp². It was 10 minutes of nervous hell, but
just as I was about to anoint myself the driver, the trucks up ahead began
to move. Sigh.

Kimberly dropped me off right at the transition area and went to park the
car. I went about my business placing my changing bags and special needs
bags where we had been instructed at the pre-race meeting the day before. My
biggest fear was putting the wrong changing bag in the wrong location. I
checked them a dozen times * swim-to-bike changing bag goes HERE,
bike-to-run goes THERE. The park was pitch dark except for the portable
lights which lit up the transition area. I filled up my bike bottles,
pumped up my tires, and reset my bike computer to zero. Talking to other
athletes * now there¹s a word I still have trouble using to describe myself
* I heard dozens of stories but only a few variations on similar themes.
There was a LOT of first-time Ironman hopefuls like myself and a LOT of
nervousness in the crowd. More than a few self-described mid-life crisis
too. Kimberly later commented that the participants were generally older
than she expected - a reality of this sport that most non-participants find
surprising.

I felt clam and organized * even after the event I¹m still not sure why. I
felt like I had just the right amount of time to get everything ready but
not too much time to obsess. Just as I was ready to pull on my wetsuit, I
found Kimberly again. She stayed with me through the body marking process
and then helped me zip my wetsuit * a simple luxury that I was extremely
happy for. I had had difficulty earlier in the summer with my wetsuit¹s
Velcro closure rubbing the back of my neck raw - a nasty situation that can
turn even the shortest swim into agony. Kimberly had zipped it up perfectly
during a practice swim the day before and did again on race day. While we
went about our business she told me stories about how the shuttles from the
parking lots were full and some spectators were angered by her suggestion
that they let the athletes get on the shuttles first. More than anything I
was happy for the small talk in these final minutes with nothing to do.

We found our way down to the beach where the air was cold (45F) and the sand
on my bare feet felt even colder. The starry sky was amazing and I remember
thinking I was grateful that I had had the chance to notice. Athletes were
standing around chatting, telling stories and asking each other questions.
Before a race starts it seems like there is always someone who asks ¹the
question¹ and this event was no exception: ³How deep is this lake?² a voice
from the crowd asked. This question always draws a laugh. ³It doesn¹t
matter² came the simultaneous and standard reply from every direction. The
nervous laughter tells a story about these events. It¹s true, it really
doesn¹t matter how deep the water is, you either swim or you don¹t * there
are really only two options. Fortunately, people are generally well trained
and well prepared for such things and there are rarely any issues, but the
reality of swimming 2.4 miles carries a certain weight that can¹t be ignored
* or at least shouldn¹t. OK, NOW I¹m nervous.

After a soaring rendition of the National Anthem that echoed eerily off the
opposite shore of the lake, the race director announced: ³you¹re going in 45
seconds!.² Huh!? It's still DARK! One last time to check the goggles for
fit, position my swim cap (I hate these things, but they make you wear them
during races so they can see you in the water). ³Fifteen seconds!². ThenŠ.
the horn.

SWIM

Now THIS was a new experience. The race director has insisted the thing was
going to start on time, but I never really believed him. Race start was
scheduled for 7AM, but sunrise wasn't until 7:30. Yea, right I had thought
to myself, these things never start on time. Oh, but this one did. Now I
found myself swimming in a pack of 230 swimmers. Elbows, feet, hands flying
everywhere. Trying to find a rhythm. Trying to get into a groove. Trying to
keep my goggles from getting knocked off. Did I mention it was dark?
Everyone was swimming toward the same little white light on a safety boat a
half-mile in the distance like some sort of deep sea school of fish. I
began to think about the swim leg I had experienced at the Pineman race in
Ohio a year before in a thick fog. OK, I told myself, this isn't nearly as
bad - at least I know which direction to go. Just follow the light.

Within the first 10 minutes the skies began to lighten and my attention
turned to other things - like how to get out of the crowd of flying elbows.
The course was set up as a giant rectangle with all left turns and I had
taken the "outside track" - a tactic of staying far to the right of the main
group to try to find clear water even if it meant having to swim a few yards
farther (essentially like taking the outside lane at a track meet). It
hadn't worked. Apparently there were enough people with the same idea that I
now found myself in a pack of average swimmers like myself. None of us were
gaining any ground and the same people kept bumping into each other over and
over. About 15 minutes into the race, halfway to the first left turn, I made
a discovery. The fastest swimmers - who had taken the "inside track" tight
to the course marker buoys - had moved out in front and left a path of clear
water behind them. It was amazing, all of the average swimmers were
fighting each other to stay outside while the inside (and shorter) track was
clear and available for anyone who noticed. I immediately adjusted my
course and cut an angle through the main pack to get to that clear water. I
had to fight my way through the pack and took more than a few elbows along
the way, but once I got there it was heaven. I didn't bump into anyone for
the rest of the swim. The only person I interacted with was a guy who had
made the same move I did. He and I were within 30 feet of each other for
virtually the remaining 2 miles.

For the rest of the first lap, things went great. I fell into a groove at my
own comfortable pace and managed to stay on course. Each time I picked up
my eyes to "sight" I found the next big orange buoy right there dead ahead.
This in itself was a miracle, because in training swims I had a habit of
drifting to the right. For some reason on this day I was able to swim
straight as an arrow. I finished the first lap in 36:00 and sprinted out of
the water to find Kimberly waiting and cheering me on. "You look great,
you're making great time, how do you feel?!" she shouted. Of course my
brain knew that "Thanks for being here" or "I love you" would have been
appropriate answers, but after exerting myself in a horizontal position for
36 minutes and then standing up, I tend to get dizzy and more than a little
winded. [Pant, pant, pant]Š "hi" Š[pant, pant, pant] was all I could
manage. Although it drew a laugh from other spectators, it was a response I
knew I'd get grief for later (I was right). A quick swallow of water and
quick glance at my watch told me I was going way too fast - almost 5 minutes
ahead of my normal pace - then I was off 20 yards down the beach and back
into the water for lap two.

Two hundred yards into the second lap a strange and wonderful thing
happened. For some reason, during one stroke that was no different than the
thousands of others, the 'Ironman" logo on my wetsuit arm caught my eye.
"Ironman?Š Am I really doing this?Š How cool is that?" I can honestly say
at that moment I felt unbelievably lucky. I noticed the beautiful sky from
the rising sun, I noticed the crowd watching from the beach, and I reminded
myself that I had a beautiful and loving wife in that crowd cheering me on
and two step sons who would think this was "soooo kewl". I also noticed my
own breathing. I became aware that I was doing an ironman triathlon and I
felt as good as I had in any shorter race. "Wow, I'm actually prepared for
this" I thought "I used to weigh close to 300 pounds, can't believe how
lucky I am to actually be doing this." And I couldn't believe, dare I say
it, how "easy" it was (although I knew that would change). It was this part
of the race where things were going so well I had the opportunity to "smell
the roses" for almost 30 minutes and I was extremely grateful for it.

Performance wise, the second lap of the swim was much like the best part of
the first. I found a comfortable pace, didn't bump into anyone and managed
to sight my way around the course again almost perfectly. This time around
the rising sun did present some visibility issues, but during my practice
swim the day before I had picked out a series of unique trees on the shore I
could use to guide me when the buoys became hidden by the sun's glare. One
of those trees - shaped like a child's mitten in silhouette - became my best
friend for a few hundred yards as I headed directly into the sun.

T1

The swim ended almost too quickly. I knew that the 45 degree morning would
start to come into play as soon as I got out of the water and I was right.
The moment I stepped out of the lake a volunteer yanked the zipper on my
wetsuit. 20 steps further up the hill and I stepped aside into the corral
where a pair of great volunteers pulled off my wetsuit in what seemed like a
nanosecond. Ahh I could feel it now, there was that cold air. Up the hill
into the transition area and there was Kimberly cheering me on. This time I
stopped and kissed her "Thanks for being here, I love you" I think I said -
or meant to. I grabbed my changing bag off the rack, ran into the changing
tent, found a chair and immediately began putting on my biking gear. The
tent was crowded and the volunteers were great offering the participants
absolutely anything you could imagine anyone would need - kudos to both the
volunteers and the race organizers. "Leave your changing bag on the floor,
we'll get it" they said. I did and they did.

I ran out of the tent and grabbed my bike - I was lucky to have my assigned
rack directly outside the tent - ran to the transition exit, jumped on my
bike an off I went. "Now the hard day starts" I thought. I also thought
about Kimberly who now had seven hours to kill while I rode through the
North Carolina countryside.

BIKE

The bike course is a lollypop shaped course with a 10 mile stem and a 46
mile loop which participants go around twice. The first 30 miles (the 10
mile stem plus the first 20 miles of the loop along New Light Road and
Purnell Roads) are riddled with short, steep hills which represent the
course's most challenging terrain. It was that first 10 miles on the "stem"
that I had the least experience with since they are located primarily on the
busy State Highway 50. On normal days - without race officials and traffic
control - you don't want to be on this road on a bike. So this was a new
experience, and the hills were steeper than I expected. The dizzying pace
of T1 had me a little out of sorts too. "Calm down" I said to myself, "It's
a long day, so just take it easy". I had been on every part of the course
except Route 50 at least three times, so I knew there was nothing here I
couldn't handle. Fortunately I was able to take my own advice. After
settling into a comfortable pace, I climbed the hills one after another and
made it thorough the first 20 miles without incident.

About 15 miles in I ran into my first mental challenge. There was a sheriff
directing traffic at the intersection of Purnell and Bud Smith Roads telling
cyclists to go straight when several of us knew the published course was
supposed to turn left. I had been through a similar situation earlier this
year where the entire race field followed the directions of a misinformed
volunteer and followed the wrong course. In that race, virtually everyone
had followed the same course making things inherently "fair" - but the race
director had acknowledged afterward that the few athletes who ignored the
volunteer and followed the correct, shorter course were "in the right" -
resulting in comparatively good race times for an informed few. What to do
here? At the last second I noticed an orange arrow on the pavement pointing
straight. "OK", I thought, "at least I know the race director wants us to
go this way for some reason". So I took the safe bet and went straight
along with everyone else.

But this was itself a problem. A month earlier I had traveled to North
Carolina for the specific purpose of becoming more familiar with the course
- especially the location and magnitude of the hills. I was now on a road
that I had never seen before. Were there hills up ahead? Almost certainly.
Big ones? Who knows. Would this road eventually merge with the course I
knew or was I off on a 112 mile journey I knew nothing about? My mind began
to fumble over the possibilities. My short three years in the sport had
been enough to teach me one thing - there is a point in every triathlon
where something happens that you're not expecting - a flat tire, weather,
stomach problems, whatever. It's how you deal with it that makes the
difference between a good race and a bad one. "This isn't the end of the
world - just deal", I said out loud to myself. No matter what, there were
112 miles to be covered. I began to picture the map of the course in my
head. I realized I knew generally what direction I was headed and I didn't
remember seeing any rivers on the map (a feature which would include valleys
and subsequently the possibility of steep hills). The picture in my mind of
the course map helped when we finally did take an acute left turn and I knew
we were headed back in the general direction of the roads I knew. After
about 15 minutes, I saw a church ahead that I recognized, then an
intersection, then a house. That was it, we were back on course. I found
out later that the route had been tweaked to avoid a gravel-covered
intersection. Good safety move, but it would have been nice to know about.

The next 15 miles were uneventful. We wound our way through the countryside
on Woodland Church, Bruce Gardner Road, and Highway 96 then to the first aid
station not a moment too soon. I had started the bike leg with a small
amount of liquids on board so I wouldn't have to lug the weight up the
hills. With the hills behind me, this was my first chance to load up. I
grabbed two bottles of water and one of Gatorade and stocked up my bike. I
had been consuming as much as I could without upsetting my stomach taking in
a mixture of carbohydrate gels, energy drinks, water, and Enduralytes
(basically modern salt tablets with sodium, potassium, magnesium and
electrolytes). I tried to avoid Gatorade knowing that the sugar eventually
upsets my stomach and I wanted to "save" it for later. This method was
working well and I felt strong so I just kept doing it. Things were going
well with my average pace right where I wanted it around 18 mph when we made
the main turn on Grissom Road changing our general direction back toward the
return portion of the lollypop loop.

"Wow", I thought, "they said the trees on this course supposedly provided
protection from the wind". There were gusts of wind becoming increasingly
noticeable as we worked our way around the loop. They were a nuisance at
first, but when I made the left turn onto Wilton Road all hell broke loose.
Steady winds in the 20 mph range were right in my face with gusts that
nearly brought me to a standstill. Ohmygawd this was hard. All summer long
I had feared weather - hot weather, not wind. I had trained in windy
conditions all summer, but nothing like this. Suddenly, unexpectedly, this
had become by far the toughest bike ride I had ever experienced. I was
pushing the pedals as hard as I could, my legs were burning, my heart rate
was WAY higher than it should have been, but all the while my speed was 4,
6, 8 mph lower than usual. This was simply demoralizing and looking down
and seeing that I was only at mile 45 didn't help.

I began to wonder how I'd ever finish this thing. I had been through tough
bike rides during training and I knew I could make it to mile 112, but
running a marathon afterwards was another story. This was the lowest point
of the day - I knew it would come - I just didn't expect it before the
halfway point on the bike. At this point I remembered why I was doing this.
I was racing for charity and had received pledges on a per-mile basis so
every mile mattered. I bore down and just kept plugging along for what
seemed like forever.

At the halfway point, the bike course special needs station offered another
chance to see the race's fantastic volunteers in action. I pulled into the
special needs area and a helpful guy was standing there with my numbered bag
ready for me. He directed me to pull directly up to him like an airplane
pulling into an airport gate then supported my bike by holding the front
wheel between his legs while holding my special needs bag open and out in
front of me. He told me to take whatever I needed and dump whatever I
didn't want on the ground for him to get later. I restocked my carbohydrate
gels and energy drinks, pulled off the sweatshirt I had been wearing since
the morning, and changed into a short sleeved shirt. Meanwhile this
volunteer (thank you, whoever you are) stood there patiently giving me a pep
talk the whole time and continuing to stand there and help while I took a
minute to eat the PB&J sandwich I had packed for the occasion. I'll never
be able to explain why, but after that stop of just a few minutes I felt
1000% better and everything was different.

Off I went on the second lap around the loop. For the first 20 miles I had
the wind more or less at my back and, in spite of grinding through the
course's hilliest section for a second time, I began to feel better and
better. The conditions were pretty much the same this time around except
that it had warmed up to the mid-60's. Between the occasional bathroom break
at the aid stations and the lighter clothes I was now wearing things were
going considerably better. My average speed over the course had fallen to
about 16mph but once I let go of my time expectations my mental state
improved considerably. I realized too that my original goal of finishing
the swim and bike in under 9 hours was still very attainable and convinced
myself that things were going "as planned". "Just put your head down and
keep going" I said to myself "it's all about maintaining forward motion." So
that's just what I did. Mile 70 came and went, then 80. I kept myself
entertained by comparing the markings on the course with my bike's computer
- first they were off my .3 miles, then .5 miles as I tried to predict the
next differential. I didn't say it was rocket science - just mental puzzles
to break the boredom. At one point around mile 85, I passed a handful of
cyclists with flat tires - one with a cell phone packing it in for the day.
That scene brought me back to reality and I forced myself to refocus on the
pavement in front of me.

By the time I reached mile 90 the adrenaline of finishing the bike ride had
taken over. I was back up to 20mph and I was beginning to hear people cheer
with increasing frequency. "Alright, you're looking strong", "Man look at
you go!", "You're gaining on the everyone!". At one point a North Carolina
State Trooper even yelled out encouragement. I had no idea if these people
were telling me the truth, but it didn't matter, it helped immeasurably
anyway. I did pass a few people in the final miles, but felt like I was so
far back I didn't get excited about it. The final test came at mile 108
when, on the bridge across Falls Lake, I caught a brutal gust of wind
directly from my right side. This gust was among the strongest I had felt
all day and was so intense my front wheel slid sideways on the pavement.
That moment was the closest I've ever come to going down on my bike and it
had a strange effect - it made me mad. "No way I'm going down this late in
the game!" I yelled out loud to no one in particular. I gripped the
handlebars harder, pedaled harder, and pushed on toward the entrance to
Beaverdam Park.

Pulling into the park was a little disheartening, there were a lot of people
already on the run course. But I knew I had managed to meet my baseline
goal of getting to T2 around 9:00 and knew that finishing was within reach
even if I had to suffer the fate of walking the rest of the way. And of
course, there was Kimberly waiting at T2 and cheering me on by shouting I
was "looking good". (I didn't believe her).

T2

They say in an Ironman race the second transition can make or break your
spirit. I had read people's advice and watched other races. I knew that
getting into the changing tent and sitting down can be the beginning of the
end if you allow yourself to think about the 26.2 miles ahead. What I saw
in that tent proved the rumors true. "How and the hell will I ever run a
marathon?" was the first thing I heard when I entered the changing tent.
"Holy crap, get me out of here" I thought to myself. I sat down, not
wanting to get too comfortable I deliberately avoided allowing my back to
touch the back of the chair. I dumped out my changing bag on the floor and
began pulling on my running clothes. I moved deliberately but quickly as I
changed shirts, changed shorts, pulled on my running shoes, and grabbed a
bite to eat. I took the advice of the ever-helpful volunteers and left my
bike gear on the floor as I fled the tent leaving several "moaners" behind.
As much as anything, I was running away from them.

RUN

My plan had been to focus on just running that first mile. After 112 miles
on the bike the first mile is the hardest as your legs invariably feel like
lead. Things usually get considerably better after you get moving and as a
famously weak runner I was setting my sights low. "One mile", I was telling
myself "that's all you need to think about". I gave Kimberly a kiss on my
way out of T2 and ran slowly, but deliberately, down the road. Something
strange was happening here - after hammering through the bike ride for 7
hours in those stiff biking shoes, it actually felt GOOD to run. Huh? I've
never felt this way in a race before. My feet felt good as the
comparatively "squishy" running shoes felt good on my feet and the change in
leg movement felt as good as stretching.

After the first mile I began to get bold. Man I feel good, can I run the
entire first lap? I knew the hills would be the determining factor so I
waited and trotted at a consistent pace until the first hill came into view.
"OK, let's give this a try". As a resident of central Ohio, I hadn't
trained in hills at all so I knew this was the test. I mentally shifted
into a lower gear, slowed my pace, leaned forward a bit, and chugged up the
hill. "That wasn't all that bad" I thought. The loop course had five
significant hills on each lap. Mile 2 passed along with hill 2, then mile 3
and hill 3, then 4. Each time I simply slowed my pace and powered my way
up.

I had a water bottle with me and was sipping water as I went. That method
seemed to be holding off the stomach problems I sometimes have during longer
races. I found that sipping water a little at a time sat much better in my
stomach than chugging a cupful at every aid station. The volunteers looked
at me strangely as I passed aid station after aid station saying "no
thanks". Meanwhile I continued to take gels every 20 minutes or so.

Finally, the end of the first lap and the transition area came into view.
Kimberly was standing by the side of the road looking a little surprised to
see me so soon. "You look great babe!" she shouted "How do you feel?"
"Uh, OK, I think. Not bad really" I answered, a little perplexed. I had
finished the first lap in under an hour, which is a miracle by my standards.
My normal long-distance running pace is 10 minutes/mile. Averaging 11
minutes after a tough 112 mile bike ride was beyond expectations. I had
dared to think earlier that if I could run the first lap I'd run one, walk
one, then run one, but now it was time to throw that strategy out the
window. "If you're feeling good, keep running" I said to myself. "You might
not be able to later, so run while you can".

The second lap was an exact duplicate of the first. As I approached the
transition area the second time Kimberly looked even more surprised "I
talked to everyone and they're all proud of you!" I knew she had her cell
phone with her and was in touch with family members on the west coast. More
important, I could tell by the look on her face and the tone in her voice
that she was proud too. The rush of going through the transition area,
seeing Kimberly, and having my name called out really gave me a kick and
continued to carry me through the first part of each lap.

By the third lap, I had to change my nutrition strategy a bit. I had never
done this before, so I didn't have a specific plan, but I was getting hungry
and knew I needed to get something other than gels in me. So, I adopted a
radical approach - at each aid station I ate whatever looked good. A bite
of apple here, a piece of orange there, pretzels, cookies, whatever. At one
point, I grabbed a bag of potato chips which was about the best tasting
thing I'd ever eaten. All the while I continued to sip my water bottle.
The volunteers were getting to know each of us by this point and the guy at
one aid station offered to refill my bottle while I followed the course
around the parking lot and hand it back to me as I went by the second time a
few minutes later. I can't say enough how amazing these people were.
Somewhere along the third lap, I started taking in the occasional Gatorade
and eventually switched altogether.

At the end of the third lap Kimberly was urging me to keep going "You're
looking GREAT" she shouted. "It hurts pretty bad" I replied. What I didn't
have time to explain was what exactly "it" was. By this point my feet
really hurt. Each strike against the pavement was uncomfortable, and it was
getting worse with every step. Oddly enough though, my legs still felt OK.

By this time it was getting dark and the temperature was dropping fast.
Although I felt OK while running, I thought I'd probably be cold if I needed
to walk, and I figured there might be some walking in my future. So right
after completing the third lap I detoured into the run special needs area
and changed into a long sleeved shirt I had packed for myself.

The fourth lap began to get really uncomfortable as my feet continued to
protest with each step. I wanted to stop, but I actually managed to reason
with myself that if I walked, my feet would still need to hit the ground.
Getting it over with as quickly as possible was by far the preferable
option. Just as I won that mental debate with myself I found myself facing
the steepest hill on the course and this time it hurt. I slowed to a
shuffle and eventually resorting to a walk up the half mile long hill. This
was the point I had feared - once I started walking I wasn't altogether sure
I would be able to get going again. But, there was a signpost at the top of
the hill that became my rallying point. "When I get there" I thought "I'm
running again come hell or high water" and to my surprise, I did just that.
This was a small victory that actually cut two ways. I was glad I got
myself running again, but up to that point I had feared stopping. Now I
knew I could stop and get away with it - this was in itself a threat.

By this point, I had made up every minute "lost" on the bike leg and then
some. The notion of possibly breaking 14 hours became a real possibility
and that alone kept me going. I knew to do it, I had to finish lap four
inside of 13 hours and run the last lap in under an hour. As I rounded the
corner into the transition area for the fourth time, I arrived in 12:58.
"If I can keep going, I have a chance to get under 14 hours" I told Kimberly
as I ran past for the last time. "I KNOW you can do it!" she shouted back
sounding considerably more convinced than me.

The fifth and final lap was something of a victory lap for me. It felt a
lot like the fourth lap, except that this time I had to walk two of the
biggest hills. I made sure to thank every volunteer I encountered since they
had made the day possible in the truest sense of the word. All the while
trying desperately to complete the 5.25 miles in under an hour. I wanted
badly for the first two digits of my finishing time to be "13", but it
wasn't going to happen and I knew it early. My legs were finally giving in,
not surprising since I had surpassed my personal longest run two laps ago.
Those two hills I had to walk cost me my last chance to break 14 hours but
aside from those I did manage to keep running. Trotting around the course
with the support of the ever-energetic and cheering volunteers. As I passed
the final aid station, they once again offered to refill my trusty water
bottle. "Nope, I don¹t need it anymore" I said as I tossed it into a trash
can to a chorus of cheers. I thanked all of them for their help and picked
up the pace for the final sprint.

As I approached the finish line, I saw Kimberly for the final time. She was
smiling and cheering - I'll never forget her face. And for the first time I
noticed the rest of the spectators - it's difficult to explain how surreal
this was for me. I wasn't a high school athlete, I wasn't a college
athlete. I had NEVER been on the receiving end of a crowd in my life.
"Here comes John Hardt from Dublin Ohio!" shouted the announcer as someone
in the crowd yelled "Go Bucks!" and I crossed the finish line in 14:05:52.

The finish line photos show me lifting my arms in celebration - I have
absolutely no recollection of doing that, but I do remember being led into
the medical tent where a medical tech immediately asked me how I felt.
"Pretty good" I replied "I just became an Ironman".

Nutrition Notes for the curious:

During T1: Half a can (4 oz) of Vanilla Simfast

During the Bike: Alternated between 1 Vanilla Bean GU Gel pack and 4oz of
Vanilla Slimfast every 20 minutes. Swallowed 1 Enduralyte tablet every 20
minutes. 1 Peanut butter and Jelly sandwich and a "snack pack" of Pringles
at the special needs station. Water throughout with Gatorade only
occasionally for a change of flavor.

During T2: Half a can (4 oz) of Vanilla Slimfast and half a Balance Bar.

Run: 1 Vanilla Bean GU Gel Pack every 20 minutes for the first 13 miles.
Swallowed 1 Enduralyte tablet every 20 minutes. Switched to solid food at
the halfway point eating a mixture of Apples, Oranges, Cookies, Pretzels,
and Potato Chips. Sipped water throughout but added Gatorade after mile 15.

After race: Pigged out at Wendy's post race. Got my money's worth at
Marriott's breakfast buffet the next morning.

10-24-2004, 08:53 AM

John Hardt <[Only registered and activated users can see links. ].com> wrote in message news:<[Only registered and activated users can see links. ].com>...
> List,
>
> Last Saturday I had the incredible experience of participating in the Duke
> Blue Devil, my first Ironman Triathlon, which I finished in 14:05:52.

Wow, John, fantastic race and a wonderful report! It took me back to
my own baptism, although mine took almost two hours longer than yours
did.

In particular, just as you experienced, I became ravenously hungry
during the second half of the marathon. I ate anything that looked
good, and I still remember so clearly how great it all tasted. French
fries in a hot tub after the finish may be the best meal I ever had.

My thoughts were with all of you when I saw how last Saturday was
turning out. Congratulations on turning a very tough day into a
triumph.

David Schoonmaker, IMC class of 2000
Durham, NC

10-24-2004, 09:43 AM

Great report, congrats. This is just the type of post I think Kipp had in
mind on the Motivation thread a few days ago. It certainly refocused my
attention to my training plan for my first 1/2 IM in the spring. Awesome
job!!
AJ

"John Hardt" <[Only registered and activated users can see links. ].com> wrote in message
news:[Only registered and activated users can see links. ].com...
> List,
>
> Last Saturday I had the incredible experience of participating in the Duke
> Blue Devil, my first Ironman Triathlon, which I finished in 14:05:52.
What
> follows is a race report of my experience for anyone who is interested.
>
> This post would be incomplete without thanking several members of this
list
> who have provided valuable information: Thank you to IM Ken for his advice
> on what to carry on the bike; Harold Buck for his race preparation list
> (minus the teddy bear); Mike Tenannt for suggestions on special needs
bags;
> Bob Mercier for his suggestion to try Ensure Plus as liquid nutrition; and
> countless others who - probably unknowingly - provided suggestions,
advice,
> and input that in many real ways got me through this race.
>
> Note too that this race report was written with several audiences in
mind -
> so please forgive the portions that will seem trivial to the triathletes
on
> this list.
>
> Thanks everyone,
>
> John Hardt
> Blue Devil '04
>
>
>
>
>
> DUKE BLUE DEVIL RACE REPORT
> OCTOBER 16, 2004
>
> They say the important thing is to get a good night's sleep two nights
> before an Ironman event. The theory is that getting sleep the night
before
> is hopeless. "God I hope they're right" I thought as I looked at the clock
> for what seemed like the 400th time. It was only 3:00AM. The situation
> wasn't helped by the construction crews working on the nearby highway all
> night.
>
> I had arrived in Durham two days before the race traveling from Ohio by
car
> with all my stuff. Thursday¹s goal was simply to get to town and get a
good
> night's sleep - which I did. Friday had been a day of organization;
packet
> pickup, filling my special needs and changing bags, checking in my bike
and
> picking up my wife Kimberly from the airport. She had traveled separately
so
> she could get in an extra day at work and stay with the kids another day.
> Throughout Thursday and Friday I had been decidedly NOT nervous about this
> race * so much so that my un-nervousness began to make me nervous. Was I
> not taking this thing seriously? Did I have a full understanding of what
I
> was getting into? Was my preparation so far off the mark that my brain
knew
> that finishing was simply laughable? My goal was, after all, simply to
> finish. I'm a consistently weak runner, so my plan was to finish the swim
> and bike within 9 hours and give myself the luxury of walking the marathon
> if I had to. I was doing the race to raise money for charity so finishing
> was the primary goal. When Kimberly had asked what my wildest dream was,
I
> said if I could actually RUN the marathon - at any speed - I'd be
ecstatic.
> I wasn¹t sure what was up with this whole lack-of-nervousness thing, but I
> knew I had been more nervous about my first sprint triathlon three years
> ago. Anyway, nothing I could do about it now, except waitS
>
>
> PRE-RACE
>
> The alarm went off at 4:30. It didn¹t matter, I was already awake. I
> immediately went into my plan for the morning with the first order of
> business being the consumption of calories. I had a huge bowl of cereal, a
> banana, and a whole bottle of water before getting in the shower. I know,
> it seems silly to take a shower before jumping in a lake, but the routine
of
> it made me feel better. After the shower, more calories with a Slimfast
> shake, a bagle, and another bottle of water on the menu. All of it went
> down easily - there was that non-nervousness again. We planned to leave
the
> hotel at 5:30 but were ready to go 20 minutes early. Kimberly and I
carried
> my stuff downstairs and headed out. The hotel staff wondered what these
> nuts were doing leaving at 5:15 AM with numbered plastic bags. Kimberly
was
> driving.
>
> Oh crap! What the heck is going on? We had only been on the interstate
for
> 30 seconds before we saw the big flashing sign. ³Road Closed * expect
> delay². The noise we had heard all night was making sense now; the crews
had
> been demolishing a bridge a half-mile from our hotel and now the highway
was
> completely closed. Holly *#$@, there is no way I¹m going to let 9 months
of
> training go to waste before I even get to the start line. The only way off
> this highway was to drive across a grass berm to our right and go the
wrong
> way down an entrance ramp. ³We¹ll give it 10 minutes², I told Kimberly,
> ³then I¹m driving down that ramp². It was 10 minutes of nervous hell, but
> just as I was about to anoint myself the driver, the trucks up ahead began
> to move. Sigh.
>
> Kimberly dropped me off right at the transition area and went to park the
> car. I went about my business placing my changing bags and special needs
> bags where we had been instructed at the pre-race meeting the day before.
My
> biggest fear was putting the wrong changing bag in the wrong location. I
> checked them a dozen times * swim-to-bike changing bag goes HERE,
> bike-to-run goes THERE. The park was pitch dark except for the portable
> lights which lit up the transition area. I filled up my bike bottles,
> pumped up my tires, and reset my bike computer to zero. Talking to other
> athletes * now there¹s a word I still have trouble using to describe
myself
> * I heard dozens of stories but only a few variations on similar themes.
> There was a LOT of first-time Ironman hopefuls like myself and a LOT of
> nervousness in the crowd. More than a few self-described mid-life crisis
> too. Kimberly later commented that the participants were generally older
> than she expected - a reality of this sport that most non-participants
find
> surprising.
>
>
> I felt clam and organized * even after the event I¹m still not sure why.
I
> felt like I had just the right amount of time to get everything ready but
> not too much time to obsess. Just as I was ready to pull on my wetsuit, I
> found Kimberly again. She stayed with me through the body marking process
> and then helped me zip my wetsuit * a simple luxury that I was extremely
> happy for. I had had difficulty earlier in the summer with my wetsuit¹s
> Velcro closure rubbing the back of my neck raw - a nasty situation that
can
> turn even the shortest swim into agony. Kimberly had zipped it up
perfectly
> during a practice swim the day before and did again on race day. While we
> went about our business she told me stories about how the shuttles from
the
> parking lots were full and some spectators were angered by her suggestion
> that they let the athletes get on the shuttles first. More than anything
I
> was happy for the small talk in these final minutes with nothing to do.
>
>
> We found our way down to the beach where the air was cold (45F) and the
sand
> on my bare feet felt even colder. The starry sky was amazing and I
remember
> thinking I was grateful that I had had the chance to notice. Athletes
were
> standing around chatting, telling stories and asking each other questions.
> Before a race starts it seems like there is always someone who asks ¹the
> question¹ and this event was no exception: ³How deep is this lake?² a
voice
> from the crowd asked. This question always draws a laugh. ³It doesn¹t
> matter² came the simultaneous and standard reply from every direction.
The
> nervous laughter tells a story about these events. It¹s true, it really
> doesn¹t matter how deep the water is, you either swim or you don¹t * there
> are really only two options. Fortunately, people are generally well
trained
> and well prepared for such things and there are rarely any issues, but the
> reality of swimming 2.4 miles carries a certain weight that can¹t be
ignored
> * or at least shouldn¹t. OK, NOW I¹m nervous.
>
> After a soaring rendition of the National Anthem that echoed eerily off
the
> opposite shore of the lake, the race director announced: ³you¹re going in
45
> seconds!.² Huh!? It's still DARK! One last time to check the goggles for
> fit, position my swim cap (I hate these things, but they make you wear
them
> during races so they can see you in the water). ³Fifteen seconds!².
ThenS.
> the horn.
>
> SWIM
>
> Now THIS was a new experience. The race director has insisted the thing
was
> going to start on time, but I never really believed him. Race start was
> scheduled for 7AM, but sunrise wasn't until 7:30. Yea, right I had
thought
> to myself, these things never start on time. Oh, but this one did. Now I
> found myself swimming in a pack of 230 swimmers. Elbows, feet, hands
flying
> everywhere. Trying to find a rhythm. Trying to get into a groove. Trying
to
> keep my goggles from getting knocked off. Did I mention it was dark?
> Everyone was swimming toward the same little white light on a safety boat
a
> half-mile in the distance like some sort of deep sea school of fish. I
> began to think about the swim leg I had experienced at the Pineman race in
> Ohio a year before in a thick fog. OK, I told myself, this isn't nearly
as
> bad - at least I know which direction to go. Just follow the light.
>
> Within the first 10 minutes the skies began to lighten and my attention
> turned to other things - like how to get out of the crowd of flying
elbows.
> The course was set up as a giant rectangle with all left turns and I had
> taken the "outside track" - a tactic of staying far to the right of the
main
> group to try to find clear water even if it meant having to swim a few
yards
> farther (essentially like taking the outside lane at a track meet). It
> hadn't worked. Apparently there were enough people with the same idea that
I
> now found myself in a pack of average swimmers like myself. None of us
were
> gaining any ground and the same people kept bumping into each other over
and
> over. About 15 minutes into the race, halfway to the first left turn, I
made
> a discovery. The fastest swimmers - who had taken the "inside track"
tight
> to the course marker buoys - had moved out in front and left a path of
clear
> water behind them. It was amazing, all of the average swimmers were
> fighting each other to stay outside while the inside (and shorter) track
was
> clear and available for anyone who noticed. I immediately adjusted my
> course and cut an angle through the main pack to get to that clear water.
I
> had to fight my way through the pack and took more than a few elbows along
> the way, but once I got there it was heaven. I didn't bump into anyone
for
> the rest of the swim. The only person I interacted with was a guy who had
> made the same move I did. He and I were within 30 feet of each other for
> virtually the remaining 2 miles.
>
> For the rest of the first lap, things went great. I fell into a groove at
my
> own comfortable pace and managed to stay on course. Each time I picked up
> my eyes to "sight" I found the next big orange buoy right there dead
ahead.
> This in itself was a miracle, because in training swims I had a habit of
> drifting to the right. For some reason on this day I was able to swim
> straight as an arrow. I finished the first lap in 36:00 and sprinted out
of
> the water to find Kimberly waiting and cheering me on. "You look great,
> you're making great time, how do you feel?!" she shouted. Of course my
> brain knew that "Thanks for being here" or "I love you" would have been
> appropriate answers, but after exerting myself in a horizontal position
for
> 36 minutes and then standing up, I tend to get dizzy and more than a
little
> winded. [Pant, pant, pant]S "hi" S[pant, pant, pant] was all I could
> manage. Although it drew a laugh from other spectators, it was a response
I
> knew I'd get grief for later (I was right). A quick swallow of water and
> quick glance at my watch told me I was going way too fast - almost 5
minutes
> ahead of my normal pace - then I was off 20 yards down the beach and back
> into the water for lap two.
>
> Two hundred yards into the second lap a strange and wonderful thing
> happened. For some reason, during one stroke that was no different than
the
> thousands of others, the 'Ironman" logo on my wetsuit arm caught my eye.
> "Ironman?S Am I really doing this?S How cool is that?" I can honestly
say
> at that moment I felt unbelievably lucky. I noticed the beautiful sky
from
> the rising sun, I noticed the crowd watching from the beach, and I
reminded
> myself that I had a beautiful and loving wife in that crowd cheering me on
> and two step sons who would think this was "soooo kewl". I also noticed
my
> own breathing. I became aware that I was doing an ironman triathlon and I
> felt as good as I had in any shorter race. "Wow, I'm actually prepared
for
> this" I thought "I used to weigh close to 300 pounds, can't believe how
> lucky I am to actually be doing this." And I couldn't believe, dare I say
> it, how "easy" it was (although I knew that would change). It was this
part
> of the race where things were going so well I had the opportunity to
"smell
> the roses" for almost 30 minutes and I was extremely grateful for it.
>
> Performance wise, the second lap of the swim was much like the best part
of
> the first. I found a comfortable pace, didn't bump into anyone and
managed
> to sight my way around the course again almost perfectly. This time around
> the rising sun did present some visibility issues, but during my practice
> swim the day before I had picked out a series of unique trees on the shore
I
> could use to guide me when the buoys became hidden by the sun's glare.
One
> of those trees - shaped like a child's mitten in silhouette - became my
best
> friend for a few hundred yards as I headed directly into the sun.
>
> T1
>
> The swim ended almost too quickly. I knew that the 45 degree morning
would
> start to come into play as soon as I got out of the water and I was right.
> The moment I stepped out of the lake a volunteer yanked the zipper on my
> wetsuit. 20 steps further up the hill and I stepped aside into the corral
> where a pair of great volunteers pulled off my wetsuit in what seemed like
a
> nanosecond. Ahh I could feel it now, there was that cold air. Up the hill
> into the transition area and there was Kimberly cheering me on. This time
I
> stopped and kissed her "Thanks for being here, I love you" I think I
said -
> or meant to. I grabbed my changing bag off the rack, ran into the changing
> tent, found a chair and immediately began putting on my biking gear. The
> tent was crowded and the volunteers were great offering the participants
> absolutely anything you could imagine anyone would need - kudos to both
the
> volunteers and the race organizers. "Leave your changing bag on the
floor,
> we'll get it" they said. I did and they did.
>
> I ran out of the tent and grabbed my bike - I was lucky to have my
assigned
> rack directly outside the tent - ran to the transition exit, jumped on my
> bike an off I went. "Now the hard day starts" I thought. I also thought
> about Kimberly who now had seven hours to kill while I rode through the
> North Carolina countryside.
>
> BIKE
>
> The bike course is a lollypop shaped course with a 10 mile stem and a 46
> mile loop which participants go around twice. The first 30 miles (the 10
> mile stem plus the first 20 miles of the loop along New Light Road and
> Purnell Roads) are riddled with short, steep hills which represent the
> course's most challenging terrain. It was that first 10 miles on the
"stem"
> that I had the least experience with since they are located primarily on
the
> busy State Highway 50. On normal days - without race officials and
traffic
> control - you don't want to be on this road on a bike. So this was a new
> experience, and the hills were steeper than I expected. The dizzying
pace
> of T1 had me a little out of sorts too. "Calm down" I said to myself,
"It's
> a long day, so just take it easy". I had been on every part of the course
> except Route 50 at least three times, so I knew there was nothing here I
> couldn't handle. Fortunately I was able to take my own advice. After
> settling into a comfortable pace, I climbed the hills one after another
and
> made it thorough the first 20 miles without incident.
>
> About 15 miles in I ran into my first mental challenge. There was a
sheriff
> directing traffic at the intersection of Purnell and Bud Smith Roads
telling
> cyclists to go straight when several of us knew the published course was
> supposed to turn left. I had been through a similar situation earlier
this
> year where the entire race field followed the directions of a misinformed
> volunteer and followed the wrong course. In that race, virtually everyone
> had followed the same course making things inherently "fair" - but the
race
> director had acknowledged afterward that the few athletes who ignored the
> volunteer and followed the correct, shorter course were "in the right" -
> resulting in comparatively good race times for an informed few. What to do
> here? At the last second I noticed an orange arrow on the pavement
pointing
> straight. "OK", I thought, "at least I know the race director wants us to
> go this way for some reason". So I took the safe bet and went straight
> along with everyone else.
>
> But this was itself a problem. A month earlier I had traveled to North
> Carolina for the specific purpose of becoming more familiar with the
course
> - especially the location and magnitude of the hills. I was now on a road
> that I had never seen before. Were there hills up ahead? Almost
certainly.
> Big ones? Who knows. Would this road eventually merge with the course I
> knew or was I off on a 112 mile journey I knew nothing about? My mind
began
> to fumble over the possibilities. My short three years in the sport had
> been enough to teach me one thing - there is a point in every triathlon
> where something happens that you're not expecting - a flat tire, weather,
> stomach problems, whatever. It's how you deal with it that makes the
> difference between a good race and a bad one. "This isn't the end of the
> world - just deal", I said out loud to myself. No matter what, there were
> 112 miles to be covered. I began to picture the map of the course in my
> head. I realized I knew generally what direction I was headed and I
didn't
> remember seeing any rivers on the map (a feature which would include
valleys
> and subsequently the possibility of steep hills). The picture in my mind
of
> the course map helped when we finally did take an acute left turn and I
knew
> we were headed back in the general direction of the roads I knew. After
> about 15 minutes, I saw a church ahead that I recognized, then an
> intersection, then a house. That was it, we were back on course. I found
> out later that the route had been tweaked to avoid a gravel-covered
> intersection. Good safety move, but it would have been nice to know
about.
>
> The next 15 miles were uneventful. We wound our way through the
countryside
> on Woodland Church, Bruce Gardner Road, and Highway 96 then to the first
aid
> station not a moment too soon. I had started the bike leg with a small
> amount of liquids on board so I wouldn't have to lug the weight up the
> hills. With the hills behind me, this was my first chance to load up. I
> grabbed two bottles of water and one of Gatorade and stocked up my bike.
I
> had been consuming as much as I could without upsetting my stomach taking
in
> a mixture of carbohydrate gels, energy drinks, water, and Enduralytes
> (basically modern salt tablets with sodium, potassium, magnesium and
> electrolytes). I tried to avoid Gatorade knowing that the sugar eventually
> upsets my stomach and I wanted to "save" it for later. This method was
> working well and I felt strong so I just kept doing it. Things were going
> well with my average pace right where I wanted it around 18 mph when we
made
> the main turn on Grissom Road changing our general direction back toward
the
> return portion of the lollypop loop.
>
> "Wow", I thought, "they said the trees on this course supposedly provided
> protection from the wind". There were gusts of wind becoming increasingly
> noticeable as we worked our way around the loop. They were a nuisance at
> first, but when I made the left turn onto Wilton Road all hell broke
loose.
> Steady winds in the 20 mph range were right in my face with gusts that
> nearly brought me to a standstill. Ohmygawd this was hard. All summer
long
> I had feared weather - hot weather, not wind. I had trained in windy
> conditions all summer, but nothing like this. Suddenly, unexpectedly,
this
> had become by far the toughest bike ride I had ever experienced. I was
> pushing the pedals as hard as I could, my legs were burning, my heart rate
> was WAY higher than it should have been, but all the while my speed was 4,
> 6, 8 mph lower than usual. This was simply demoralizing and looking down
> and seeing that I was only at mile 45 didn't help.
>
> I began to wonder how I'd ever finish this thing. I had been through tough
> bike rides during training and I knew I could make it to mile 112, but
> running a marathon afterwards was another story. This was the lowest
point
> of the day - I knew it would come - I just didn't expect it before the
> halfway point on the bike. At this point I remembered why I was doing
this.
> I was racing for charity and had received pledges on a per-mile basis so
> every mile mattered. I bore down and just kept plugging along for what
> seemed like forever.
>
> At the halfway point, the bike course special needs station offered
another
> chance to see the race's fantastic volunteers in action. I pulled into
the
> special needs area and a helpful guy was standing there with my numbered
bag
> ready for me. He directed me to pull directly up to him like an airplane
> pulling into an airport gate then supported my bike by holding the front
> wheel between his legs while holding my special needs bag open and out in
> front of me. He told me to take whatever I needed and dump whatever I
> didn't want on the ground for him to get later. I restocked my
carbohydrate
> gels and energy drinks, pulled off the sweatshirt I had been wearing since
> the morning, and changed into a short sleeved shirt. Meanwhile this
> volunteer (thank you, whoever you are) stood there patiently giving me a
pep
> talk the whole time and continuing to stand there and help while I took a
> minute to eat the PB&J sandwich I had packed for the occasion. I'll never
> be able to explain why, but after that stop of just a few minutes I felt
> 1000% better and everything was different.
>
> Off I went on the second lap around the loop. For the first 20 miles I had
> the wind more or less at my back and, in spite of grinding through the
> course's hilliest section for a second time, I began to feel better and
> better. The conditions were pretty much the same this time around except
> that it had warmed up to the mid-60's. Between the occasional bathroom
break
> at the aid stations and the lighter clothes I was now wearing things were
> going considerably better. My average speed over the course had fallen to
> about 16mph but once I let go of my time expectations my mental state
> improved considerably. I realized too that my original goal of finishing
> the swim and bike in under 9 hours was still very attainable and convinced
> myself that things were going "as planned". "Just put your head down and
> keep going" I said to myself "it's all about maintaining forward motion."
So
> that's just what I did. Mile 70 came and went, then 80. I kept myself
> entertained by comparing the markings on the course with my bike's
computer
> - first they were off my .3 miles, then .5 miles as I tried to predict the
> next differential. I didn't say it was rocket science - just mental
puzzles
> to break the boredom. At one point around mile 85, I passed a handful of
> cyclists with flat tires - one with a cell phone packing it in for the
day.
> That scene brought me back to reality and I forced myself to refocus on
the
> pavement in front of me.
>
> By the time I reached mile 90 the adrenaline of finishing the bike ride
had
> taken over. I was back up to 20mph and I was beginning to hear people
cheer
> with increasing frequency. "Alright, you're looking strong", "Man look at
> you go!", "You're gaining on the everyone!". At one point a North
Carolina
> State Trooper even yelled out encouragement. I had no idea if these people
> were telling me the truth, but it didn't matter, it helped immeasurably
> anyway. I did pass a few people in the final miles, but felt like I was
so
> far back I didn't get excited about it. The final test came at mile 108
> when, on the bridge across Falls Lake, I caught a brutal gust of wind
> directly from my right side. This gust was among the strongest I had felt
> all day and was so intense my front wheel slid sideways on the pavement.
> That moment was the closest I've ever come to going down on my bike and it
> had a strange effect - it made me mad. "No way I'm going down this late
in
> the game!" I yelled out loud to no one in particular. I gripped the
> handlebars harder, pedaled harder, and pushed on toward the entrance to
> Beaverdam Park.
>
> Pulling into the park was a little disheartening, there were a lot of
people
> already on the run course. But I knew I had managed to meet my baseline
> goal of getting to T2 around 9:00 and knew that finishing was within reach
> even if I had to suffer the fate of walking the rest of the way. And of
> course, there was Kimberly waiting at T2 and cheering me on by shouting I
> was "looking good". (I didn't believe her).
>
> T2
>
> They say in an Ironman race the second transition can make or break your
> spirit. I had read people's advice and watched other races. I knew that
> getting into the changing tent and sitting down can be the beginning of
the
> end if you allow yourself to think about the 26.2 miles ahead. What I saw
> in that tent proved the rumors true. "How and the hell will I ever run a
> marathon?" was the first thing I heard when I entered the changing tent.
> "Holy crap, get me out of here" I thought to myself. I sat down, not
> wanting to get too comfortable I deliberately avoided allowing my back to
> touch the back of the chair. I dumped out my changing bag on the floor
and
> began pulling on my running clothes. I moved deliberately but quickly as
I
> changed shirts, changed shorts, pulled on my running shoes, and grabbed a
> bite to eat. I took the advice of the ever-helpful volunteers and left my
> bike gear on the floor as I fled the tent leaving several "moaners"
behind.
> As much as anything, I was running away from them.
>
> RUN
>
> My plan had been to focus on just running that first mile. After 112
miles
> on the bike the first mile is the hardest as your legs invariably feel
like
> lead. Things usually get considerably better after you get moving and as a
> famously weak runner I was setting my sights low. "One mile", I was
telling
> myself "that's all you need to think about". I gave Kimberly a kiss on my
> way out of T2 and ran slowly, but deliberately, down the road. Something
> strange was happening here - after hammering through the bike ride for 7
> hours in those stiff biking shoes, it actually felt GOOD to run. Huh?
I've
> never felt this way in a race before. My feet felt good as the
> comparatively "squishy" running shoes felt good on my feet and the change
in
> leg movement felt as good as stretching.
>
> After the first mile I began to get bold. Man I feel good, can I run the
> entire first lap? I knew the hills would be the determining factor so I
> waited and trotted at a consistent pace until the first hill came into
view.
> "OK, let's give this a try". As a resident of central Ohio, I hadn't
> trained in hills at all so I knew this was the test. I mentally shifted
> into a lower gear, slowed my pace, leaned forward a bit, and chugged up
the
> hill. "That wasn't all that bad" I thought. The loop course had five
> significant hills on each lap. Mile 2 passed along with hill 2, then mile
3
> and hill 3, then 4. Each time I simply slowed my pace and powered my way
> up.
>
> I had a water bottle with me and was sipping water as I went. That method
> seemed to be holding off the stomach problems I sometimes have during
longer
> races. I found that sipping water a little at a time sat much better in my
> stomach than chugging a cupful at every aid station. The volunteers
looked
> at me strangely as I passed aid station after aid station saying "no
> thanks". Meanwhile I continued to take gels every 20 minutes or so.
>
> Finally, the end of the first lap and the transition area came into view.
> Kimberly was standing by the side of the road looking a little surprised
to
> see me so soon. "You look great babe!" she shouted "How do you feel?"
> "Uh, OK, I think. Not bad really" I answered, a little perplexed. I had
> finished the first lap in under an hour, which is a miracle by my
standards.
> My normal long-distance running pace is 10 minutes/mile. Averaging 11
> minutes after a tough 112 mile bike ride was beyond expectations. I had
> dared to think earlier that if I could run the first lap I'd run one, walk
> one, then run one, but now it was time to throw that strategy out the
> window. "If you're feeling good, keep running" I said to myself. "You
might
> not be able to later, so run while you can".
>
> The second lap was an exact duplicate of the first. As I approached the
> transition area the second time Kimberly looked even more surprised "I
> talked to everyone and they're all proud of you!" I knew she had her cell
> phone with her and was in touch with family members on the west coast.
More
> important, I could tell by the look on her face and the tone in her voice
> that she was proud too. The rush of going through the transition area,
> seeing Kimberly, and having my name called out really gave me a kick and
> continued to carry me through the first part of each lap.
>
> By the third lap, I had to change my nutrition strategy a bit. I had
never
> done this before, so I didn't have a specific plan, but I was getting
hungry
> and knew I needed to get something other than gels in me. So, I adopted a
> radical approach - at each aid station I ate whatever looked good. A bite
> of apple here, a piece of orange there, pretzels, cookies, whatever. At
one
> point, I grabbed a bag of potato chips which was about the best tasting
> thing I'd ever eaten. All the while I continued to sip my water bottle.
> The volunteers were getting to know each of us by this point and the guy
at
> one aid station offered to refill my bottle while I followed the course
> around the parking lot and hand it back to me as I went by the second time
a
> few minutes later. I can't say enough how amazing these people were.
> Somewhere along the third lap, I started taking in the occasional Gatorade
> and eventually switched altogether.
>
> At the end of the third lap Kimberly was urging me to keep going "You're
> looking GREAT" she shouted. "It hurts pretty bad" I replied. What I
didn't
> have time to explain was what exactly "it" was. By this point my feet
> really hurt. Each strike against the pavement was uncomfortable, and it
was
> getting worse with every step. Oddly enough though, my legs still felt
OK.
>
> By this time it was getting dark and the temperature was dropping fast.
> Although I felt OK while running, I thought I'd probably be cold if I
needed
> to walk, and I figured there might be some walking in my future. So right
> after completing the third lap I detoured into the run special needs area
> and changed into a long sleeved shirt I had packed for myself.
>
> The fourth lap began to get really uncomfortable as my feet continued to
> protest with each step. I wanted to stop, but I actually managed to
reason
> with myself that if I walked, my feet would still need to hit the ground.
> Getting it over with as quickly as possible was by far the preferable
> option. Just as I won that mental debate with myself I found myself
facing
> the steepest hill on the course and this time it hurt. I slowed to a
> shuffle and eventually resorting to a walk up the half mile long hill.
This
> was the point I had feared - once I started walking I wasn't altogether
sure
> I would be able to get going again. But, there was a signpost at the top
of
> the hill that became my rallying point. "When I get there" I thought "I'm
> running again come hell or high water" and to my surprise, I did just
that.
> This was a small victory that actually cut two ways. I was glad I got
> myself running again, but up to that point I had feared stopping. Now I
> knew I could stop and get away with it - this was in itself a threat.
>
> By this point, I had made up every minute "lost" on the bike leg and then
> some. The notion of possibly breaking 14 hours became a real possibility
> and that alone kept me going. I knew to do it, I had to finish lap four
> inside of 13 hours and run the last lap in under an hour. As I rounded
the
> corner into the transition area for the fourth time, I arrived in 12:58.
> "If I can keep going, I have a chance to get under 14 hours" I told
Kimberly
> as I ran past for the last time. "I KNOW you can do it!" she shouted back
> sounding considerably more convinced than me.
>
> The fifth and final lap was something of a victory lap for me. It felt a
> lot like the fourth lap, except that this time I had to walk two of the
> biggest hills. I made sure to thank every volunteer I encountered since
they
> had made the day possible in the truest sense of the word. All the while
> trying desperately to complete the 5.25 miles in under an hour. I wanted
> badly for the first two digits of my finishing time to be "13", but it
> wasn't going to happen and I knew it early. My legs were finally giving
in,
> not surprising since I had surpassed my personal longest run two laps ago.
> Those two hills I had to walk cost me my last chance to break 14 hours but
> aside from those I did manage to keep running. Trotting around the course
> with the support of the ever-energetic and cheering volunteers. As I
passed
> the final aid station, they once again offered to refill my trusty water
> bottle. "Nope, I don¹t need it anymore" I said as I tossed it into a
trash
> can to a chorus of cheers. I thanked all of them for their help and
picked
> up the pace for the final sprint.
>
> As I approached the finish line, I saw Kimberly for the final time. She
was
> smiling and cheering - I'll never forget her face. And for the first time
I
> noticed the rest of the spectators - it's difficult to explain how surreal
> this was for me. I wasn't a high school athlete, I wasn't a college
> athlete. I had NEVER been on the receiving end of a crowd in my life.
> "Here comes John Hardt from Dublin Ohio!" shouted the announcer as someone
> in the crowd yelled "Go Bucks!" and I crossed the finish line in 14:05:52.
>
> The finish line photos show me lifting my arms in celebration - I have
> absolutely no recollection of doing that, but I do remember being led into
> the medical tent where a medical tech immediately asked me how I felt.
> "Pretty good" I replied "I just became an Ironman".
>
>
>
> Nutrition Notes for the curious:
>
> During T1: Half a can (4 oz) of Vanilla Simfast
>
> During the Bike: Alternated between 1 Vanilla Bean GU Gel pack and 4oz of
> Vanilla Slimfast every 20 minutes. Swallowed 1 Enduralyte tablet every 20
> minutes. 1 Peanut butter and Jelly sandwich and a "snack pack" of Pringles
> at the special needs station. Water throughout with Gatorade only
> occasionally for a change of flavor.
>
> During T2: Half a can (4 oz) of Vanilla Slimfast and half a Balance Bar.
>
> Run: 1 Vanilla Bean GU Gel Pack every 20 minutes for the first 13 miles.
> Swallowed 1 Enduralyte tablet every 20 minutes. Switched to solid food at
> the halfway point eating a mixture of Apples, Oranges, Cookies, Pretzels,
> and Potato Chips. Sipped water throughout but added Gatorade after mile
15.
>
> After race: Pigged out at Wendy's post race. Got my money's worth at
> Marriott's breakfast buffet the next morning.
>

10-25-2004, 06:31 AM

Great job, John. Welcome to the Ironman ranks!

I hope some future IronVirgins read and remember your T2 comments. Of
all the advice I offer on the Great Floridian forum each year, that's
the most important - get the hell out of that tent ASAP. Don't think
about anything except changing clothes and then get moving.

I finished the Great Floridian this past Saturday - hot and windy over
a tough bike course. I'll post a report later. Nothing too exciting -
my usual last hour finish (16:25:03). My 5th GFT, 8th IM.

My wife was also a big part of this one. She had to get in a 10 mile
training run while I was swimming, but she still managed to see me get
started on the bike. (A reflection of both my swimming and her running
ability.) Then she volunteered in the Bike Special Needs and
Transition ares for about 6 hours (they're in the same area at GFT.)
She was able to give me my Bike Needs bag, which was really a lift.

Then she managed to get herself stationed at the exit of T2 (it helps
to know the Transition Area Director) and saw me off on the run/walk.
She met me a few times on the course and then ran across the Finish
Line with me - a first for us.

Again, congratulations on your first. It's the one you'll remember
most.

Mike Tennent

"IronPenguin"

10-25-2004, 06:39 PM

John
Wow, great report. Inspirational and with plenty of great advice.
I've heard some pretty good things about the Blue Devil, I'm glad you got
to accomplish something that you will have for the rest of your life.
Congradulations.
Dale

10-25-2004, 08:11 PM

On 10/25/04 9:31 AM, in article wrote:

> Great job, John. Welcome to the Ironman ranks!
>
> I hope some future IronVirgins read and remember your T2 comments. Of
> all the advice I offer on the Great Floridian forum each year, that's
> the most important - get the hell out of that tent ASAP. Don't think
> about anything except changing clothes and then get moving.

Snip

Thanks Mike and everyone else who replied. I hope there is something in
there that proves useful to future Blue Devil participants and Ironman
hopefuls. That's why we're here.

John

10-27-2004, 03:12 PM

In article <[Only registered and activated users can see links. ].com>,
John Hardt <[Only registered and activated users can see links. ].com> wrote:

> List,
>
> Last Saturday I had the incredible experience of participating in the Duke
> Blue Devil, my first Ironman Triathlon, which I finished in 14:05:52. What
> follows is a race report of my experience for anyone who is interested.
>
> This post would be incomplete without thanking several members of this list
> who have provided valuable information: Thank you to IM Ken for his advice
> on what to carry on the bike; Harold Buck for his race preparation list
> (minus the teddy bear)

Never underestimate the power of the bear!

> The next 15 miles were uneventful. We wound our way through the countryside
> on Woodland Church, Bruce Gardner Road, and Highway 96 then to the first aid
> station not a moment too soon. I had started the bike leg with a small
> amount of liquids on board so I wouldn't have to lug the weight up the
> hills. With the hills behind me, this was my first chance to load up.

This makes far less difference than people think. I read a study in
Bicycling magazine that said a five pound increase in weight will slow
you down about 30 seconds on a 5k uphill time trial with an average
grade of 7%. That means over the course of a whole Ironman with 31 miles
of such hills, you'll save only about 6 minutes for that 5 pounds. Plus
the extra weight helps you on the downhills.

Congrats on a great race and a *very* well done report!

--Harold Buck

"I used to rock and roll all night,
and party every day.
Then it was every other day. . . ."
-Homer J. Simpson