Tuesday, May 30, 2017

Booneville Backroads 100 Mile Ultra: Race Recap

72 hours later I’m sitting here, looking at the results, still dumbfounded.

22 hours, 37 minutes, 46 seconds (average pace: 13:34min/mile)

Total distance: 100 miles. Officially a Booneville Badass.

I’m dumbfounded because I never thought this was possible. As Wendy and I were driving to the race start, she asked why I was so nervous. She couldn’t remember seeing me quite this apprehensive before. I told her my concerns: that for every other endurance event, I had usually done at least 80% or more of the race distance during training. But for this 100-mile foot race, my longest practice had been only 37 miles, almost all of it during daylight. Now I was facing triple the distance, and running well into the night. There was a huge Fear of the Unknown. Wendy did admirably trying to remind me that I had similar feelings before other races, and always came through with a performance within my expectations. While she was 100% right, I was wondering if I had set my expectations too high for this one.

Brian and Ann arrived at the start early to see me and other runners off (they would run the 50k loop one hour after we started). I stood with 35 other bold 100-mile participants, plus another 18 who would be running “only” the first 100k loop (62 miles) with us. We had a bagpipe escort to the start line. There was light conversation and joking from many participants. I was quiet, which anyone who knows me would call that very uncharacteristic. The reason being is that adversary dressed in red who sits on everyone’s left shoulder was whispering ton of negative thoughts to me. “You’ve never ran farther than 37 miles. Your last training run was a disaster. Your dog died exactly one week ago today. Your expectations are way too high.”

All at once the emotions and thoughts came to a head and I started tearing up. I clenched Nessa's collar in my hand looking for strength, but only found more tears. At that exact moment, Brian came over, grabbed me by the shoulders, stared me in the eyes and said “You are ready for this. You’ve trained for this. You’re going to be amazing. OK?” I choked back tears and thanked him. In that brief moment he brought me back to the moment and task at hand.

The race director gave us the command, and we were off.

Now, how the hell do you pace for a 100-mile run? You go out stupid slow. One great piece of advice I read was “if you’re at the front of the pack, you’re going out too hard.” Luckily I was not leading. There were about a half-dozen or so guys that quickly went out to the lead, and I just settled in to what felt casual. I had recognized Brad from an earlier running event, and knowing what his finish time was the previous year, I had already committed to stay at his pace as long as I could.

I stayed behind Brad and a friend he was running with for about 5 miles. After that, I felt it was just a tad too slow, and made a pass. Another runner came with me, and we struck up a conversation. His name was Mike, and he was attempting his first 100-mile race too (although he had completed some 100k races previously). We later would catch up with Phillip, who recognized me from the 50k race last year. After Phil, we picked up Stacie, who said this was her 4th attempt at the 100 mile distance (last year she made a wrong turn late, and ended up with a DNF).

It was great having company. We all reached the 10-mile aid station together. After that, Mike and Phillip dropped off the pace a bit while Stacie and I kept together. We were nearly the same age, and we had a lot in common – particularly our running styles and the way we conducted ourselves on the road: moving as far to the left as possible for cars, acknowledging all of them with a wave as they would pass by, chatting with any other runner we encountered. We were great company for each other. I wouldn’t realize until much later in the race what a tremendous help she would be.

We got to the Mile 22 aid station at the same time. Wendy was there, as she had been at the previous aid station. From the back of the car I chugged a Pepsi with real sugar, wolfed down a handful of Lays potato chips, kissed her goodbye and said I’d see her at the next aid station (mile 30). Stacie and I teamed up again, and congratulated ourselves on doing a marathon in good time (4 hours and 15 minutes). That was just before we encountered the first real test of the day: 4 miles of Class B roads.

For those who aren’t from Iowa, a Class B road is an unmaintained road. While most of the Booneville Backroads Ultra is ran on packed gravel, Class B roads tend to be dirt (and more often than not, mud). Every entrance has a sign posted which reads “Drivers enter at your own risk.” They're surely a nice revenue-generator for local tow truck operators.

The first 2 miles of this stretch of Class B road were rolling hills among trees, with a long descent over the last ¾ of a mile. It was damp, but not super slick. Still, we had to be careful picking our way down to not twist an ankle or suffer injury. It was also at that time we noticed the skies growing dark. Very dark. At one point Stacie asked “Was that just thunder?” My reply was “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

We exited the hills and trees and started the second 2-mile stretch of dirt road, which was flat but out in the wide-open expanse of Iowa farmland. As we began that part of the run, Stacie asked another question. “Did you just see lightning too?” My reply was similar, “I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that!”

What neither of us could pretend to ignore was the immediate opening of the rain clouds above us. It rained. Hard and relentlessly. It was coming down so hard and the rain drops were so big, it felt like we were in a hail storm. The dirt road was now a muddy, sloppy track, so much so that there was no way to ‘run’ through it as much as we were navigating the safest and least-deep trench. We passed a gentleman who had traveled from New Jersey to do this race, and he was not at all pleased with the conditions. “If this keeps up, I’m pulling from the race,” he muttered to us as we slopped on by him.

As luck would have it, the rain stopped immediately once we left the dirt (mud) road and arrived at the Mile 30 aid station. Despite having muddy and wet shoes, I didn’t change even though Wendy had spares of both in the car. I told her I’d take them on at Mile 42 instead, knowing there was another Class B road ahead. Why trade out for clean shoes now if they'd only get muddy again in a few miles?

Stacie and I left within moments of each other, and Mike caught back up to us as well. I tried to get a picture of all 3 of us, but my phone had been giving me issues all morning trying to complete a software update. In retrospect, it’s just as well since it could have been more of a distraction, but I did get in at least one picture of us marching up a hill. It also cooperated long enough to deliver a text from Wendy, saying she had to get home to check on Kaitlynn, but had left my shoes and other goodies in a drop bag at the Mile 42 aid station. That was such great thinking on her part. She was the best race sherpa all day and night!

Mike, Stacie and I would all trade taking the lead, with me in front for the next class B road. Luckily it wasn’t as tough to navigate as the first. It wasn’t anywhere near as muddy, which was fortunate since it was mostly uphill for about a mile. Unfortunately at this point, I realized I had made a critical error and didn’t refill my hydration backpack at the last aid station, and was nearly out of water. Despite cool temperatures (helped by the monsoon), I didn’t want to overheat myself and work up a thirst. I told Mike and Stacie I was going to drop back a bit to conserve some strength as they passed me. Yet they were always close enough to look back and make that I was still there and still doing OK. What great competitors they both are!

(In case you're wondering why they didn't offer me any of their water, the rules clearly state this is a self-supported race. Even if they would have offered, I would have refused unless I was in a state of emergency, which I wasn't. Plus I knew I could make it to the aid station without, as long as I was smart.)

As I came into the Mile 42 aid station, Stacie had arrived just a minute before me and Mike was on his way out. I waved, told him to keep up his great pace, and while I would see him a few more times in passing, I wouldn’t be running alongside him the rest of the race. He would continue on to have an incredible race, finishing in 2nd place, over 3 hours ahead of me.

The volunteers at Mile 42 were nothing short of superstars. They had my hydration backpack off and refilled it without me even asking. They sat me down, grabbed the drop bag Wendy had left behind, and they went to work on my shoes like an Indycar pit crew! Two of them took off my muddy shoes and socks, wiped them down, dried them off, and got on my next pair while another volunteer grabbed whatever food or drink I asked for. They were so great, I almost hated to leave! But my legs were still feeling good at that point, the weather was great, so back out I went.

At this point, the course doubled back on itself a bit so you could see who was within a mile of you coming in to the aid station. I saw no one close to me. Looking ahead, though, I did see Stacy, and she was nice enough to wait for me at an uphill portion of the next stretch. We tag-teamed through the next 10 miles, exchanging stories and just generally keeping our minds off the task at hand. She also lent me her phone so I could call Wendy and give her an update on when I would be done with the first loop.

After we hit the aid station at mile 53, Stacie began to pull ahead. I thanked her for being such a great help for the first half of the race, and she expressed the same gratitude towards me. I really can’t emphasize how much of a help she was for those 40-plus miles we ran together. Sometimes you can feel pretty lonely during just a training run, so to have someone to talk with for nearly 7 hours (!) is pretty rare.

It was just about 4pm. That was the time a week prior that I lost our family dog, Nessa. I had been carrying her collar with me all day. I was watching the clock, and at 4pm I stopped running and took a slow walk, talking to her as if she were still with me (and I know she is). That gave me a little boost and push to get back to the finish area of the first loop. As I came back, I was amazed at the time it had taken me: 11 hours and 45 minutes. I was averaging a seemingly-impossible 11:22 minutes per mile after 62 miles. I was hoping to do 13 minutes!

Coming up to the end of the first loop and start of the second, I saw Wendy along with a host of other friends. Brooke, Shawn, Brian, Ann, and Dave were all there. On my brief phone call with Wendy, she had mentioned Dave wanted to pace me for the second loop. So there they all were, cheering me on as I came in and crossed the timing mat for Loop 1.

Before heading out for Loop 2 (which is 31 miles), I stopped by the car with Wendy and my cheering section. They were full of praise, optimism, and encouragement. But suddenly, without warning, my mind went to a very dark place. Everyone I had talked to said it would happen, but I didn’t think this was when or where it would hit me. Here’s my crew and wife pampering me and telling me what a great job I’m doing, but my mind isn’t processing it. I had to turn my back and hide my face for a moment, just to quiet that damn voice. Shawn tried cooling me down with ice packs, Wendy got me a cooler to sit on, everyone else grabbed food or drink for me. After I sat down for a few minutes, I came back thanks to Brooke, Ann, Wendy, Brian and Shawn. They kept talking me up, and helped bring my focus back. I ditched my heart rate strap (it was annoying, chafing my chest, and I was well within my threshold anyway). I told Dave how I felt and what my goal was for the second loop (a lot of walking) and he said whatever I felt like, that’s how it was going to go. After a few more hugs and cheers, Dave and I went out to take on Loop 2.

We went out easy at first. I let a lot of the food I had at that 10 minute-plus pit stop settle in before we started jogging. Dave told me how he had just decided over lunch that day that he wanted to come pace me, and read up all the rules in about one hour! As important Stacy was to me on the first loop, Dave was to me on the second.

The sun was setting on us as we hit the Mile 72 aid station, where Wendy was waiting at the tent. I had another brief sit-down (only a few minutes) and asked the volunteer if he had any beer. He did, and he gave me one! I didn’t think it was a good idea to drink it right then and there, but he let me keep it for later. As we set out again, Dave kept looking back and noticed there was finally another runner closing in on me.

That other runner’s name was Scott, and he would catch and pass us just after nightfall around Mile 76. But later on up the road he stopped to talk to his wife, and we passed him again, then he caught us again around Mile 80. From that point on, we all stuck together. It was smart: 3 lit-up runners with 3 very bright headlamps and safety vests would be very visible to any late-night traffic (not that there was much). It helped that Scott and I seemed to be at the same place pace-wise. I suspect he burnt more energy than he anticipated trying to catch up to us, but if the situation had been reversed I probably would have done the same thing.

Regardless, we had a good pace and more good conversation. Dave kept reminding me to get in a bit of a run during every mile. Even though my pace was slowing, at one point we ran a 9:51 split! Most of the others would be around 13 minutes, give or take. We all reached the Mile 83 station together. I took a seat while deciding what food I should try to get in my stomach. The aid station was well-stocked, not to mention well-decorated with an inflatable palm tree and Christmas lights. They also had mylar blankets, and I took one. I started to shiver, something I hadn’t done yet. Wendy brought me one of my running jackets, then brought me another. I can’t say enough how wonderful she was, all day and night. Scott reminded me not to sit too long, and Dave reminded me to keep eating anything I could. Such great support. I think the baby dill pickles saved the day for me. They were delicious!

I knew I shouldn’t stay long, because there was another runner who had been in front of us all day, now wrapped up in both a mylar sheet and a sleeping bag. He didn’t look well. He was conscious, thankfully, but clearly exhausted. The volunteers were keeping good tabs on him, so knowing he was not in serious condition, we headed back out on the road.

At this point, I felt I was mentally sharp. Physically, I was feeling mild pain and discomfort, but nothing that I couldn’t manage. The worst was my knees whenever we’d try to take “free speed” and run downhill. The impact was too much for me to take for very long. So we would only run on flats and slight downhills. Keep in mind it’s pitch black in rural Iowa with nothing to light the way but our headlamps, so it was hard to predict exactly how long or far those bursts of speed would be. We ran as much as possible - or as Stacie had called it earlier, the "ultra shuffle" - keeping nearly all of our splits under 15 minutes. I couldn’t believe we were doing it. Dave was an incredible force of positivity and encouragement, reminding both me and Scott to drink every time we walked, and to eat whenever we could.

Another fun part came upon us: what I called “The Muddy Mile” from the previous year’s 50k race (the 50k loop is Loop 2 of the 100-mile course). I told Dave and Scott how soon it was arriving, and somehow managed to navigate it well enough to exit that stretch about a minute ahead of them. It was still wet, slippery and sloppy from the thunderstorm earlier. We all had about 5 pounds of Class B road mud on each shoe at the end!

Wendy and Scott’s wife were at the exit, which was an unmanned aid station. We cleaned off our shoes and grabbed a few more bites to eat. I knew from there it was just under 6 miles to the end of Loop 2. After that, it was a small 10k loop to finish the day.

Scott and I were both hurting from fatigue. Dave pushed us as often as we would allow him. At that point I had already done the math in my head, knowing I could walk the rest of the way and still finish under 24 hours, which was my original goal. Scott had told us earlier in the night that his goal was to finish in less than 26 hours. We knew at that point we would both easily surpass our expectations. All we had to do was keep moving.

As we arrived at the end of Loop 2, I saw Stacie as she was just starting her final 10k lap. We exchanged words of encouragement and thanks again as we passed. At the start/finish area, Wendy, Ann, and Brian were waiting, along with Scott’s wife (who had apparently fallen asleep in their car, but can you blame her? It was 2:40am)! I checked in at the timing mat, and went back to where Brian was waiting to pace me for the final 6.2 miles. I thanked Dave immensely as he got ready to go get some Hurtz Donuts before heading home. I was so appreciative, I would have bought him the whole store. Scott was still searching for some things in his car, and at that point I just wanted to hurry up and get the race over with. So Brian and I set out to finish.

It was the perfect way to end this race. I reminded him that it was he and Ann who convinced me to sign up for this race, prior to the price increase back on New Year’s Eve. Brian laughed and correctly pointed out that if I was going to assign them blame, they also deserved credit. And they both deserve it. Throughout my training they were not only great sounding boards, but full of consistent encouragement and belief. They believed in me more than I believed in myself.

Brian was as great of a pacer as Dave, continually reminding me to drink (eating at this late in the game wouldn’t have done anything to improve my performance, but I tried). We walked the most during this stretch, which I was fine with. I had already done the math, knowing I could walk the entire final 6 miles and still finish well under my goal. As we got near the end, I said, “Hey Brian. I’m going to finish my first 100-miler in under 23 hours and it’s all your fault.” Of course right after I said that, that’s when my Garmin watch died. With about 1 mile to go! Go figure!

Luckily my Garmin wasn’t the official race clock, and I would cross the line a few minutes later. Steve Cannon, the race director, welcomed me with a bear hug. He brought over my finisher’s medal and belt buckle. I looked at the results display, and saw that I had come in 5th overall. Stacie had beaten me to the finish by only 12 minutes, but had just left the finish area. At that point I wish I had ran faster on the final loop to see her at the finish to thank her and congratulate her one last time. She ended up beating the previous women's course record by nearly 3 hours!

I sat down near the campfire Steve had going for the late-night/early morning finishers. Ann and Brain tried to help me get comfortable while Wendy brought the car closer so I wouldn’t have to walk far. Pictures were taken. Laughs, congratulations, hugs and gratitude were exchanged. Scott crossed the line just a few minutes after I did. He thanked me and also expressed his thanks for Dave being out there for him as well. I hope he knows I didn't purposefully leave him alone for the last 10k, I was just anxious to get it over and done with.
Shortly after that, Wendy drove me home. I took a soak in an epson salt bath, then tried to sleep, but couldn’t for longer than 2 hours. I couldn’t relax or unwind. My mind was still trying to absorb it all. That little jerk in red, who had been sitting on my shoulder only 24 hours earlier filling my head full of doubt had long been chased away. I don’t think I’m going to be hearing from him anytime soon. In fact, I might not ever hear from him again. Because here are some of the things I learned from those 100 miles.

  • When you put in the training, and follow the plan, it’s almost certainly going to get you to your goal. Just make sure to do the first two: you won’t get to your goal without training and a plan.
  • Friends are there when you need them. Sometimes they appear out of nowhere.
  • Your brain is more powerful than your body. Always.

So of course, everyone wants to know what the next crazy thing is that I’m going to attempt. Right now, I honestly don’t know. What I do know, is that I’m owning this race. Sometimes in the past I’ve downplayed some of my achievements. Not this one. And everyone who was out there with me that day - Wendy, Brian, Ann, Shawn, Brooke, Stacie, Mike, Phillip, Scott, Dave, the aid station volunteers, the race organizers and Steve Cannon - they own a part of my finish too.

Thursday, September 17, 2015

Ironman Boulder 2015 Race Recap

Warning: this is the long version!

Wendy, Kaitlynn and I arrived in Denver on Wednesday night to have time to acclimate, even though altitude has never negatively affected me before. We stayed in Littleton with my Aunt Maureen for a few days, and she was a great host. She even took Kaitlynn for a day of fun which allowed Wendy to help me recon the few parts of the bike course I wasn't familiar with, as well as scout best spectator options. On Saturday morning we headed up for Kaitlynn to participate in the IronKids run. She did great! She also got to do warm-ups with Rinny Carfree (current women's Ironman World Champion) and have her pic taken with her afterwards. The lack of breakfast and altitude got to her soon after, though, and she got sick before we went up to the Reservoir to check in my bike and bags. I was agonizing and worrying if I had packed all that I needed. A fellow participant gave me some calming words: "You've got your bike shoes, helmet, bike, and running shoes, right? You've got all you need." Wendy was great too, being patient while I went through my minor freak-out. Ah, the joys of Ironbrain. We checked in to our hotel that afternoon, just 6 blocks away from Boulder High School, where Transition 2 and the Ironman Village were. After Subway for dinner, we all went to bed a little after 8pm. Race day would come quickly no matter how much or little sleep I got.
I slept fairly well, unusual for most on race-day eve, but luckily I've never had that problem. I was up at 3:45am for breakfast, a combination of liquids and a few solids (2 Nakeds, 2 bananas, 1 yogurt 1 Cliff bar, coffee, and my morning supplement). We were out the door at 4:30 and hadn't walked one block before I realized I had left my Special Needs bags in our room. After I got them, we walked the 6 blocks to SN bag drop-off, then got on one of the free shuttles up to The Reservoir. It's a bit of a walk from where they drop you off to Transition 1, but it was a beautiful morning with a gorgeous sunrise. I got to my bike and loaded up my nutrition, then went up to body marking. They announced a water temperature of 78.1, making it wetsuit-optional (76.1 is the cut-off, so those who raced in wetsuits would forfeit any awards). I had already decided to go without it due to the pinched nerve I had in my left arm, plus I was looking forward to testing myself in a 2.4-mile swim with no assistance (wetsuits make almost everyone faster because you're more buoyant). Maybe if my shoulder was better i would have gone with it, since there were easily several hundred others who decided still wear theirs. I seeded myself in the 1:00-1:15 group, which I thought was honest since my last pool practice was 1:12. As I approached the water, I saw the "Jeff-Heads" waving to my left - there was Wendy and Kaitlynn, and even Maureen and Kelly had made it up too! They started playing "Beautiful Day" by U2, one of my favorite songs, and I was feeling great. Despite my shoulder, I thought I with a steady swim I could be between 1:10 and 1:20.

It was a rolling start - once they fire the cannon, everyone starts wading in, wave by wave, and when your feet hit the water, you dive and go. I got off to a solid start, but there was a lot more contact than I was expecting. It started to clear about the third buoy though, and I was into my rhythm. Then out of nowhere, someone cut in front of me and kicked my Garmin watch loose from my wrist (it's on a quick-connect, twist-and-release band). I felt it go, stopped, and grabbed blindly at it, but down it went to the bottom.

I froze, not knowing what to do. I screamed a profanity at the nameless swimmer who obviously didn't do it on purpose. I had no choice but to resum swimming. For the next half-hour my mind was in a dark place. All I could do was obsess over it, feeling both angry at and sorry for myself, wondering how could I possibly finish the race without it? I'd have no reference for power, heart rate, speed... hell, I wouldn't even know that time of day it was! "This is going to be the worst day ever" was a thought that kept coming to mind. I was second-guessing myself and just generally miserable.

Then, after making the last big turn back toward the beach, another part of my brain told the negative part to shut the hell up. Instead of being the worst day, this could actually be my best day ever. I reminded myself that my power meter didn't calibrate properly at Boulder 70.3 in June and I still did just fine. I also reminded myself that I've ridden 70% of the bike course 4 times before. A PR (personal record) was probably not in the cards anyway - not with a bad left arm - so I got back to focusing on finishing this swim, getting out on the bike, then just relax and enjoy the rest of the day.

When I finally exited my swim, my family was at the end of the bag collection chute going crazy. I smiled wryly, and showed my wrist to them. The look on Wendy's face was one of shock: she instantly knew that this was a major setback. I got into the changing area and having nothing to 'race' for, I took my time while others rushed. When I reached my bike, Wendy and the others were there, and she offered me her watch (a ForeRunner 220). I told her to keep it but I may take it on the run later. I gave a thumbs up and smile to my cheering section, got on the bike and headed out for the 112-mile ride.

My new strategy now was just to take it easy, enjoy myself, and cross the finish line. The new number I was chasing was two - as in two Ironman finishes. So I went out with an easy pace, and I was shocked at how many people I was passing. I had no idea what my swim time was, so I didn't know if I was passing strong, average, or really slow swimmers. I knew my swim time was slow - it felt like it had to have been at least 1:20 (I would find out later it was 1:24). I definitely felt in control, calm, and the weather was as perfect as the views along the front range. I was taking Gatorade and water at every station at a 2-to-1 ratio. I also kept eating my protein bars and turkey jerky. 

As if losing my watch wasn't bad enough, I was about to 'donate' some more gear to the course. Immediately after leaving Hygeine around Mile 30, there's a set of railroad tracks at the bottom of a hill. Even though they had carpet on them, I knew I should protect the water in my rear right cage. Of course, once I hit them, the bottle in the LEFT cage - which had my spare tube and cartridge regulator - is the one that launched. It had NEVER even come close to launching on any other ride the past 2 years. I just couldn't stop donating my stuff to this course, apparently. This now meant if I had a flat, I would have to wait and hope that a support crew would come and assist me.

The good news was, it wasn't needed. The road conditions were outstanding. The temperature was rising but the cloud cover was increasing also. Shortly after losing the spare tube, I saw Wendy and the crew, now joined by Devin and Sara. They were exactly where we had planned, but they weren't paying any attention and weren't even looking in my direction. I yelled out to them, and THEN they got loud! It was great to see them. They would later tell me that they had JUST parked the car not even a 3 minutes before I came up on them. Talk about good timing! I asked what time it was, and I thought I heard Devin say 10:26. I was really disappointed when I heard that. I started doing the math in my head, trying to figure out how slow I must have been. Was my swim slower than I thought? Was I going TOO easy on the bike? It just didn't make sense. There was nothing to do but to keep on pedaling. Halfway through the course I stopped at Special Needs to get my additional protein bars, but that was all - a very quick stop-and-go. Others were getting off their bikes completely, with a line forming for the porta-potties. At the aid station I heard someone yell "Hey, there's OutKast!" I turned and looked, and saw Tiffany and yelled HI at her but went by too quickly to see or recognize who gave me the shout-out. 

I didn't want to stop, because I honestly didn't feel like I needed to. Luckily there was no headwind to speak of until Mile 90, when the route was out on the plains headed east. This is also where the two toughest climbs of the day were. I was still passing people, and for me, to be passing people on the bike this late on the course is rare. It was also at this point my right foot started feeling weird, an odd tightness I'd never felt before. I didn't know if I should tighten the shoes or loosen them, so I went tight first. Didn't seem to have an effect, but then I saw a guy riding with his foot on top of his shoe, and I decided to give that a try. It worked - the pain went away almost immediately. 

Coming back into town, the final 10 miles are an absolute blast. I asked someone what time it was around Mile 100, and when they told me it was 1:30 I nearly shit myself. I still had a chance to finish in less than 12 hours! I ate more food coming back in to fuel up for the run. I flew into Transition 2, had a Tums as I got off the bike, then had a long walk with my bike to where our bags were. I jogged up into the changing tent, and when I came in I yelled "Did you guys all know we have to RUN now? What a bunch of bullshit!" I got quite a few laughs. My change was quick, and I was on the course in short order. Only 26.2 miles to go!

Within minutes I found a guy named Mikael and started chatting with him. I asked what pace he was shooting for. He said he wanted a 4-hour run and I asked if we could work together. He was really nice and said absolutely - this was his first full Ironman. It also helped that HE still had his watch, and could pace us accordingly.

I saw Wendy and my cheering section again, now joined by Len, Heather and Bree. The Jeff-Heads were waving like crazy! It was so great to see them all throughout the day. Wendy offered me her watch one more time, and I said no again. I had come this far without it, now it was almost a point of pride to do the whole race without it. 

Mikael and I did really well and hung together nicely the entire first loop. I got a bit ahead of him, then he would pass me, and so it went on the second half. I saw Dave Rodda and Ben, and I wondered how long it would be until Dave chased me down like he did in Wisconsin last year. I figured he'd catch me for sure when I started getting major GI issues around Mile 16. It was almost the same mile as Ironman Wisconsin last year (dammit!) but these were different and worse - the pain was so severe I had to stop several times, and I hate it when I have to stop running! I also couldn't trust farts anymore, so I had to visit the restrooms at nearly every opportunity to be on the safe side. Unfortunately half of them turned out to be false alarms. I was upset with my stomach because I wasn't physically or mentally tired. I very much wanted to finish the run in under 4 hours, but this was my "B" race, and I didn't want to wear myself out or get hurt with my second appointment with Ironman Wisconsin only 6 weeks away.

I had lost Mikael for a while, and asked a spectator what time it was around Mile 20. They said it was a little after 6pm, and I knew  finishing under 12 hours wasn't happening. Reminding myself that Madison was coming up soon and that I had nothing to prove or gain by going all-out, I relaxed. In the final three miles I saw people I know who were just starting their run or struggling, and I would walk with them and do what I do best - talk! Try to get their minds off of the run, or give them a pep talk - whatever it is I felt they needed. Susan, Leib, and even a stranger named Steven from North Carolina. Mikael had caught up with me, and he went up ahead to give a pep talk to one of his fellow teammates who looked like they were having a rough day. That's what I love about this sport - it's never a "me-against-you" mentality (at least it's not supposed to be). It's supportive to everyone of all ages and abilities, and it come from everyone and everywhere. 

With only mile to go, I wanted to finish strong as always. The crowd support the final mile is amazing. They were playing Run DMC "It's Tricky" and me and some spectators were lip-syncing and dancing/running together. I was doing what I promised myself - having fun. I found my finishing kick and worked up the crowd coming down the final 4 blocks into the chute. I got teary-eyed seeing the arch, knowing that I had done it - I had survived this race going 100% on perceived effort and nothing else. 12 hours earlier I was furious, lost, angry, and wallowing in self-pity. Now I was elated, smiling, feeling as good as I ever have been. I saw and heard Wendy, Kaitlynn, and the rest of my cheering section again about 2 blocks from the finish. I dropped off my water bottle, gave some hugs and high-fives, and ran backwards towards the finish for a few yards. The crowd was loving it, and I was loving them, slapping every out-reached had I could coming down the final stretch. I head those magic words once again: "Jeff Wamser - YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!"  I held up two fingers as I crossed the line, not even bothering to look at the clock because I was too busy celebrating being a 2-time Ironman finisher.

I spent quite a bit of time with my family afterwards, recapping not just my day racing, but their day spectating - they all had an excellent time! That meant a lot to me - I know spectating makes for a long day, and to hear that they all enjoyed themselves made the day that much better. We went back to our hotel (close enough to walk!), had a few beers, then went back to get some food and watch the midnight finishers. 

Given how the day had started, I was pleased with the final result. Madison will be here before I know it, and I'm glad I didn't do anything stupid to put that race in jeopardy. There will be a few days of celebrating being a two-time Ironman, but then it's back to work. This was a great race venue, and I will definitely be back to have the race I know I'm capable of.

Ironman Wisconsin 2015 Race Recap

Returning to Madison this year would be more of a challenge than the first time last year. For starters, I had no time to come out and ride the bike course and re-familiarize myself with it. Not a huge deal, but it might have helped. The bigger challenge was being only 6 weeks removed from completing Ironman Boulder. I didn't know if my legs would hold up. My main concern was my right knee. It did a weird snap on my last big training ride two weeks earlier, and that was followed with a dull but persistent pain while pedaling. Even on a short ride in Madison a few days before the race with Max Zitner, that pain was subtly reminding me it was still hanging around.

With all that, I still expected to improve because I was finally understanding race strategy. I said all season I would cross the line sooner not because I was any faster, but because I was smarter. I just had to do my regular swim, manage the bike to set up my run and be disciplined (insert your own joke here). Coach Carl Nofstger and I agreed than a finish time of 11 hours and 15 minutes was realistic with a solid performance.

Race morning went smoothly. We parked at the terrace thanks to Wendy's volunteer parking pass, and were just 30 feet away from body-marking. I checked my bike, loaded my nutrition, dropped off my special needs bags, visited the bathroom, then got my wetsuit on and headed down towards swim start. On the way I saw Lauren and Ashten, and seeing them both helped make a great morning even better. Wendy and Kaitlynn walked with me until the crowds started getting thick, then wished me luck and headed to their first volunteer station (applying sunscreen on participants exiting the swim and starting the bike).

I waded in the water, tightened up my goggles a bit, and went to the same spot I did last year: to the left of the ski jump, about 3 rows from the front. When the cannon went off, I got into a rhythm much sooner than last year. I got to the first turn buoy and "moo'ed" and heard others do the same. Unlike last year, the crowd never thinned out and I never got any open space to work in. I always had someone within 3 feet of me. At one point I took an elbow right to the middle of my forehead. I felt like I was sighting the buoys OK, but it was hard to tell for sure with so much contact. Legs grabbed, arms tangled up, it was a mess.

After that second turn for the long back stretch, I was swallowing more water than I cared to. This was starting to upset my stomach. My neck was also chaffing from my wetsuit, worse than it ever had. I had also tightened my goggles too much, and felt them pressing into my skull. All of these things threatened my focus, but I kept pressing with good form. When I got to the third turn buoy I couldn't take it anymore. I stopped and took my goggles off, and allowed my stomach to calm down. I did the same thing just after turn 4. I knew I was going to be close to last year's time, but not better. That's OK, I told myself. 3 minutes isn't going to ruin my day. Swim was done in 1 hour 10 minutes and 57 seconds.

Getting out of the water I found a wetsuit remover right away, but she fumbled a bit. Going up the helix is freaking incredible. The crowd really does make you feel like you're a rock star. I saw Thomas Eibner and he got a great pic of me. I know I heard my name being shouted by others, but didn't have time to stop and look around and see who it was.

I felt like Transition 1 went pretty fast, but it ended up a tad slower than last year. I had my helmet, shoes and socks on in a flash, but I almost left without my nutrition!  I headed out the door to get some sunscreen and BAM! Right there were Wendy and Kaitlynn, all ready with the sunscreen. I gave them both a kiss and went to my bike. I was a few racks away when I saw Carl, and I jokingly yelled at him to start paying attention and get my bike un-racked. Another volunteer grabbed it, and I gave him a big high-five as I headed out.

This year I did not get stung by any bees on the bike, but I did lose my spare empty water bottle just one mile in. No big deal. Max Zitner had a great swim too, and he caught up with me a few miles before we got to Verona. We stuck together for a good 10 minutes. Once we got through Verona, Max went on ahead and I told him I would see him on the hills. I would catch up with him again around Mile 40, but not see him again until the run course.

Fan support on the bike course is second to none, at least not in my experience. I saw so many friends, and they were everywhere! Tiffany greeted me first in that long grinding hill up into Mt Horeb, and immediately after that I saw John Smail working the aid station, and immediately after THAT I saw Thomas Eibner again - the dude is FAST! I love the rolling hills on the course. And there's a spot at the top of Garfoot where the view is stunning.

Everyone knows that the biggest challenge is the Three Sisters (or bitches) - hills that are in close succession to each other. They have to be done twice (it's two-loop course). That's where I saw even more familiar faces. Todd Bindel, Ben Cooper, and the rest of the crew from Zoom, and Ashten once again. She ran up the hill with me for a bit which would have been more fun if I wasn't so freakin tired! The guy behind her said she should get off the course. Seriously dude? I wanted to donkey-kick him, it's not like she was costing him a Kona slot. I can't remember exactly where I saw Ebe, but I do know where I saw Dave Rhodda - at the bottom of the third bitch and he told me I needed to pick up the pace and start chasing some people down!

I finished the first loop with no issues, although my knee was already reminding me not to push too hard. So much for a fast second loop, which oh-by-the-way almost didn't happen. As I was turning right to start that second lap, an SUV came through a turn ahead of me, and was driving in the clearly-marked bike lane! In front of a police officer!! I had nowhere to go but on his left, headed straight for a traffic cone and into oncoming traffic. I thought "This is going to end my day right here, I'm going to flip off my bike." But I ran right over the cone, and the car in the opposing lane was far enough back to not put me in danger. Still, I shouted a mouthful of obscenities at the driver of the SUV, then got back to finishing the loop, which was blissfully uneventful the rest of the way. I knew by my average speed and power output I was slower than last year, but I reminded myself that was OK, because I still had the run, and the whole day was leading up to that. As it would turn out, I was only 7 minutes slower on the bike than last year, which overall isn't too bad at all. My bike legs were still fatigued from Boulder, that's all there was to it.

Coming back into town, I went past the Clarion Hotel where we were staying and saw my parents. They were wearing the Team Wamser shirts Wendy had made for them last year! It was a great boost, just what I needed heading back to Monona Terrace. I handed off my bike to another great volunteer, hustled into Transition 2, swapped bike shoes for running shoes and was on the run course in 3 minutes.I saw Carl and Allison right away, another great boost and high-five moment. "See you in 4 hours!" I told him.

I love to run more than anything, and my biggest challenge on long-distance triathlons is not pacing properly: I always go out too fast. I was determined to not let that happen today, but I still was for the first block or two. I forced myself to slow down, and stopping in at a porta-potty helped bring down my first split. I also saw Wendy and Kaitlynn again, right there at Aid Station #1! They offered me Red Bull, but I passed.

I found my stride and I stayed there, even up Observatory Drive and along State Street. I saw familiar faces in my fellow Ironman participants everywhere and was shouting out every time I saw them: Dan Memmel, Brook Winston, Nicole Stockburger, Steve Mayberry, Max Zitner, Tyler Greenwood, Simon Surrey, Steve Houg, Ryan Glover, fellow Team OutKast members I had never met. I know I'm forgetting some people, and I'm so sorry but that run was just a blur for me! I think I saw Ebe the most, and every time I did he kept telling me how great I was looking. I was feeling great too! Every single mile split was where I wanted it to be. I saw OT and Ellen coming back up State Street, ready to turn around and go nail the final 13 miles.

I grabbed my secret weapon at Special Needs - TUMS. I popped in about 4 or 5 and was set for the final push! My dad ran with me for half a block on Mifflin, and I saw my mom, Wendy and Kaitlynn again. I told everyone I saw that I was going to negative split this run. I knew I could do it. I felt greater than I had at any point in any race I'd ever ran. I saw Andy Bernholz ahead of me as he was leaving Camp Randall and told him I'd see him again soon. I made good on that promise about 2 miles later, just before the last big climb up Observatory Drive. I got through the State Street turnaround, saw Todd one last time, and started booking it back to the finish. Less than 6 miles to go. That 4-hour marathon  was going to happen!

Then I hit Mile 22.

It all caught up to me. The drop-off was so quick I couldn't believe it. I thought I could hang on and do high 9-minute miles, but it was a struggle to maintain 10's. I blew through the final 3 aid stations knowing they wouldn't help. Coming back on Dayton, Steve Houg passed me at the exact same point Dave Rhodda did the year before with less than a mile to go. I tried to find one final big push to stay with him - it would have been so cool to cross the line with one of my favorite training partners and a great friend - but my legs refused. I was still in high spirits, though, knowing I was going to PR.

Coming down the finish chute with 1 block to go, I saw Wendy, Kaitlynn, Mom & Dad going crazy again.  The emotions are impossible to put into words or for anyone to comprehend. The experience of coming down the street, lined with thousands of people all staring at you, cheering for you, holding out hands to hi-five you, and to find your family among them... it's overwhelming. You have to experience for yourself. Last year I cried, but this year I smiled bigger than I had the entire day, soaked it up and let it all in. 11 hours, 41 minutes and 21 seconds is how I finished my third Ironman.

My initial two catchers were great, but then I was immediately hugged by none other than Dave Rhodda. He was working the catcher's area and had just missed me crossing the finish line. He helped me to my finishing picture, and from there it was family time. It means everything for them to all be there. It was so much more enjoyable to be able to stand, chat, and celebrate with them, as opposed to last year when I ended up in medical and couldn't thank them properly or say good-bye. I'm so happy I had that opportunity this time. As a bonus, Lauren crossed the line not too long after I did (with a killer PR of her own). It was another similarity to '14, when her race sherpa and mutual friend Ashten had also finished only a few minutes after me!

In the 48 hours that have passed since I finished the race and my writing this, the post-race gamut of emotions have all had their run. Did I want a better finish? Yes, I wanted to be at least 20 minutes faster. If I hadn't done Ironman Boulder, I probably would have. And that is where I have to keep reminding myself of how far I've come and all that I've accomplished in the past year. Hell, I did THREE full Ironman races in one year's time, and the two most recent ones were only 6 weeks apart!

The emotion that always dominates, though, is joy. I think I show that pretty well out on the course. I get a lot of good-natured ribbing from regulars who I train and race with that I talk too much while racing, and I honestly can't argue that point! But the one thing I hear most from people is that I'm always smiling when I'm racing. Which is true, because race day is a celebration of all the hard work that has been put in. I'm always proud to be sharing the course with so many other people who have put in the same amount of effort, if not more. To see their determination, the shared struggle, but mostly the confidence that they're going to also hear their name called as an Ironman when they cross the line, it's almost impossible for me NOT to smile all day.

Sunday, September 14, 2014

Becoming An Ironman (IM Wisconsin '14)

This past weekend, I set out to achieve a milestone: I competed in my first Ironman race. I had been training for it nearly 9 months, but the goal was set 15 months earlier, and the originating seed planted back in the 80s thanks to ABC’s Wild World of Sports, when I first saw the Ironman World Championships on television. This was a long time coming.

For those who don't know, an Ironman is a long-course triathlon, which consists of a 2.4 mile
swim, followed by a 112 mile bike ride, then finishing with a 26.2 mile marathon which results in a total distance traveled of 140.6 miles. Ironman events start at 7am and all participants have until midnight (17 hours) to complete the course. Ironman is most commonly associated with the World Championship held annually in Hawaii, which were brought to us back in the 1980’s by ABC's "Wide World of Sports". There are now 16 Ironman races in North America alone (not including Hawaii), one of which has been held in Madison, Wisconsin, now in it’s 13th years. It has gained fame on the circuit as one of the most challenging, as well as being one of the best-supported by spectators and fans.

This isn’t a traditional race report. Those are usually written by triathletes after an event as reminders of what went well and what didn’t. They’re part of the routine, and it helps to learn from mistakes made on that particular day. Instead, I’ve written this to take you on the journey with me. From checking in to out on the swim, bike, and run, and across the line. It will take much longer to read than a race report (which again, this is not).

I’m doing this because I want to try and share the experience the best way I can. After finishing, I’ve thought time and time again how I wish I could bottle the feeling and let others have the same sensation. Since I can’t do that, this is the next best way I can share with you what I saw, what I thought, and what I felt that weekend.

I'm lucky enough that my cousin Megan and her husband Scott live in Sun Prairie, about 20 minutes from the race site in downtown Madison. I say lucky because every hotel in an Ironman host city intentionally jacks up their rates and requires 3 night minimum stays on race weekend. I had also been up to train in late July/early August and had gotten myself familiar with navigating the course.

I arrived Wednesday night, a full 3 days before the race so I would have time to get settled. On Thursday I went early to register, and right away I saw a familiar face: Nicole Stockburger, who lived in Sun Prairie also. I had met Nicole back in August at the formentioned training. She had suffered a severe accident on her bike a mere two weeks earlier, hitting a dog and ending up with major road rash and a destroyed bike as a result. She was in good spirits, and talking with her set a positive tone for the weekend right off the bat.

After registering, I strolled around the expo and made a few purchases, but nothing would be worn until after completion. I also would buy nothing that said “Finisher” on it, as to not jinx myself. I went outside and walked through the vendors, selling various triathlete wares such as shoes, bikes, and other components and gear. I was already prepared, so I was just window shopping. It was close to lunch and I hadn’t seen any other familiar faces, so I walked up a few blocks and had a quiet lunch by myself outside at the Tipsy Cow.

After lunch I took a nice stroll around downtown Madison, going over to State Street and giving myself a self-guided tour of the Capitol. After that it was back to Megan and Scott’s, and we had leftover chicken for dinner. It hit the spot. Then it was time to watch the Packers game. So much for a relaxing game! Scott and I watched it in their basement, and it was nice to have my mind off Ironman for a few hours, despite the loss to the Seahawks.

The next morning I went back downtown to met up with some friends I had met over the summer while training to go for a swim in Lake Monona. Dave Rodda, who I ran with in the Des Moines Marathon nearly a year earlier. Lauren Ann from Chicago, who I had met on Facebook and then in person during WIBA. As we were getting started, we saw Ashten Hayes, another Iowan, who was just finishing up her swim. It was a pretty nice swim, only about 20 minutes. Afterwards I went for a 20 minute run around downtown by myself, visualizing what it would be like on race day.

After my run I went to meet my friend Max Zitner at a coffee house, where I was introduced to another new friend, Christine Schultek who also was from the Madison area. The three of us were all first timers, and we had great conversation talking about the upcoming race.

At 10:30 we went to a training seminar put on by Endurance Nation, and I met up with John Smail from Illinois (met him on the training weekend) and the rest of my Iowa crew. Of all of us, Lauren was the only one who had competed in an Ironman before, the rest of us didn't quite know what was in store for us. The seminar helped and laid out some very good strategies. I had already seen an abbreviated version of it online the previous week, but it was more enjoyable in person.

After the seminar we went for lunch together (except Max and Christine). Over lunch we shared our goals, and I was embarrassed to say mine out loud because I didn't want to jinx it. But I relented and sheepishly admitted my primary goal of less than 12 hours, and possibly even coming close to 11 hours. I knew the latter was ambitious, but I really felt it was an achievable goal. I wasn’t scoffed at, and that’s the great thing about this group of people - you get support and advice, not criticism.

After lunch we hit the expo for a bit, and I bought some Wetsuit Juice - basically it’s lube for a wetsuit to go on easier. My new Helix had proven to be snug, and I thought the lube might help with comfort come race day. I refrained from spending any more money that day!

We split up after that for respective rest and naps. I went back to Megan and Scott's, and started laying out the 5 bags I was given at registration. The bags you're given are to contain whatever you need throughout the day of the race. They consist of:

Morning Clothes Bag. After you change into your wetsuit, this is where your 'dry' clothes go.
Bike Bag: This bag is for when you finish the swim and get on your bike. It holds bike shorts, bike helmet, shoes, jersey, and the like.
Bike Special Needs Bag: At the halfway point of the bike course, you can access this bag for anything you may need or couldn't fit in your first bike bag. People put special dietary items in here, medicine, bike repair items, all kinds of odds and ends.
Run Bag: After you finish the bike, this bag has your running shoes, likely a hat or visor, fresh socks, anything else you need for the run.
Run Special Needs Bag: Just like the bike, this bag is available halfway through the run. Some people put in motivational notes for themselves, or ones that friends and family wrote for them. Mine just had Advil, an extra pair of socks, and an energy gel.

It may sound easy, but people freak out over what to put in these. I had already prepared a list the week before, so I just had to put stuff where it belonged.

That evening I drove back to the terrace to meet up with everyone for the Athlete’s Dinner that Ironman puts on, and Mike Reilly emcees. I had read previous comments that the food wasn’t that great, and only first-timers usually go. That said, I was expecting a few hundred people to be there. Boy, was I wrong. The line was out the door and around the building! Luckily my crew was near the front. We were joined by Dell Finney from Michigain, who had lost nearly 100 lbs (if I remember correcly) while training for Ironman Wisconsin, and Bill Knapp, another fellow Iowan and Ironman first-timer. You should know by now where I met them.

The dinner was definitely worth it. I thought the food was quite good, although nothing super spectacular. I thought Jon was going to break something with the rock-hard breadsticks! There was a lot of excitement and energy in the room. Mike Reilly, who is “the voice” of Ironman (he announces all North American races), did a great job getting all of us first-timers even more excited and worked up. He introduced the two oldest competitors, a woman who was 69 and a man aged 72. Wow - I hope to still be doing this at that age! They both looked phenomenal.

When dinner was over, Max, Jon and I went to Great Dane’s down the street for a few beers. Others were supposed to meet up with up, but they only popped in briefly to say they were heading to bed early. I had one beer, then went back to Megan and Scott’s, where Wendy and Kaitlynn had now arrived. We chatted a bit but not too long - Saturday was going to come early, and there was still plenty to do.

Saturday morning I went for one last quick run and ride before loading up my bike to take it down to the terrace and check it in for the race (Ironman makes everyone do this to avoid chaos on raceday morning). We had been invited to join Lauren at her hotel for breakfast at 9am. We got there a few minutes late, but were thankful for the invite because the food was delicious. I had everything in one last effort to fuel up: eggs, sausage, bacon, pancakes, fruit, yogurt and orange juice. I was plenty full when we left, just like I wanted to be.

We walked the 8 or so blocks back to Monona Terrace where I checked in my bike and dropped off my transition bags. Doug Staudt was volunteering at bike bag drop-off, I joked with him to keep a special eye on mine and give it it’s own special place. At run bag drop-off I ran into Dan Memmel and we talked briefly about race strategies, and also the upcoming Badger game - which we were going to.

We had to leave right away, as it was already 10:30 and the game kicked off at 11am. I knew we were going to be late since we had to walk, but then I remembered Madison has a public bike-rental system. There was a rack right next to the terrace, and a drop-off location right in front of Camp Randall Stadium. Perfect! We rode over and just barely missed kickoff. It was so much nicer than having to walk. And the best part was, since we had the bikes out for less than 30 minutes, it didn’t cost a thing!

After the game we rented the same bikes and rode back to the terrace, where we ran into one of my coaches, Matt Zepeda. He asked how I was feeling, and I told him the only thing I was concerned about was which wetsuit to use - my trusted, comfy QR or new, snug Helix. He reassured me that the Helix was the right choice.

We went back to Sun Prairie, where the rest of my cheering section was arriving. My parents pulled in just seconds after we did, and my aunt Peggy and her daughters Dee and Paige had arrived as well, Dee bringing her friend Eric along. We grilled some burgers and brats, but I went easy on the food since I didn’t need much more fuel for tomorrow, certainly nothing heavy. I allowed myself one beer with dinner, but was all water after that. I went downstairs around 8pm, knowing it would take a while to get to sleep. I finally did after 9pm, and only woke up once at around 1am to go to the bathroom. Other than that I had a great night’s sleep. That’s rare for me - usually I toss and turn on the night before a race, but I was actually very calm. My family was here, everything was checked in and ready to go. It was - surprisingly - the best pre-race night of sleep I’ve ever had.

My alarm went off at 4:30, and I just laid in bed for a minute or two, visualizing the rest of the morning and what I had to do, and what I was about to embark on. I put on casual clothes, saving race gear for when we got down to the start area. Breakfast consisted of coffee, cereal, 2 bananas, a blueberry muffin, and yogurt. Tried and true, always works.

Wendy drove with me down to the terrace, and we arrived around 5:20am. First stop was body marking, followed by the transition area where I pumped up my bike tires to around 115 PSI and loaded up my water bottles and half of my nutrition (the other half I would be carrying in my tri top after the swim). From there it was up to Main Street to drop off the Special Needs bags. After that, back to the car where I hid out of sight while putting on my swim shorts, heart rate monitor, and tri top.

Down to the terrace once more to find a spot to hang out while waiting for the swim start to get closer. I decided to put my wetsuit, and violated the #1 rule of triathlon: Nothing New On Race Day. These are hallowed words, and I’ve never violated them until now, when I applied the Wetsuit Juice. Something that either isn’t told or I wasn’t aware of: wetsuit juice makes body-marking come off like nobody’s business. Wendy noticed immediately, and we wiped it all the way off with my sock. Luckily we were right next to the body marking area, so I just had it redone. Well - so much for $14 Wetsuit Juice. Into the wetsuit without it, and on goes the timing chip.

We started making our way down towards the swim start, with Wendy texting family to see how close they were. The race would start promptly at 7am, and it was 6:30 with no sign of them. I kept checking my watch, knowing I’d HAVE to get in line no later than 6:50. At precisely 6:49, I saw my daughter, parents, cousin with her kids, and aunt. I went over to thank them for being there and started getting choked up. My dad wished me luck and I almost started crying right there. I waved good-bye to them and hurried into the line for the arch to the water.

I took deep breaths, shuffling along with the last of the other 2,900 entrants, spitting into my Nemesis goggles to keep them from fogging. It always works. As soon as I hit the water, I heard Mike Reily saying there were only 3 minutes until the start. Shit! I still needed to swim about 80 yards to get to where I wanted to start next to the waterskiers ramp. It was already crowded, but I got there quickly and was able to look back at the shore and take in the sight. It was incredible: people lined up in both directions, flanked in the water by thousands of green and pink swim caps in the water, all of us treading water, waiting for permission to start our 140.6 mile journey.

In that moment, I thought of all the cumulative training and athleticism that I was surrounded by. How had I managed to get here? How was it possible I could be with such elite dedication and courage? The answer came quickly: I had earned it just as much as they had. I did belong here. If anything, this was the crowd I belonged with more than any other.

One minute to start, Mike announced. He asked the crowd “Who’s going to be an Ironman today?” I raised my hand and tried to shout, but emotion was getting the best of me again and I choked up. Time to focus. I had my spot, I was ready. The cannon went off, and my Ironman race had began.

I had read and heard about these mass swim starts. Terms like ‘washing machine’ were most commonly used. I have one that I think better describes it: A boxing match on water. I’m not exaggerating.

It was so crowded I had to keep my head up for the first 25 yards or so, trying to find a good line. I thought I found one and tried getting to a rhythm, but it only lasted 10 seconds before the contact began. It was non-stop, and on all four sides. I couldn’t escape. Arms hitting me, catching mine and interrupting my stroke, catching my legs and screwing with my kick, legs in front of me getting in my way! At one point the guy on my right caught my right goggle three times in a row, severely suctioning it to my eye socket. I tried breathing to my left, but that person’s stroke happened to bring up water to my mouth every time I turned to breathe. I had had enough. I needed to change something, get out of this mess. So I just stopped. Only for a few seconds, let out an F-bomb at the insanity going on around me, then bore back down and tried to get a rhythm again.

I was able to, but barely. It was still crowded. I knew things would start to thin out around the first of four turn buoys - it’s a tradition that when people pass the first one, they briefly stop to say “Moooo”. I made up my mind that I would not stop, but I did shout out a weak “moo” as I turned to breathe while rounding it.

It was just before this point my Garmin watch vibrated. In open water races, I have it set to go off every 15 minutes to gauge where I’m at. This was too soon. WAY too soon. I had done this swim on Thursday and nearly did it in 10 minutes - I guess the crowd had slowed me down that much. This sucked. Oh well, nothing else to do but suck it up and keep going. I rounded the second turn buoy and it went off again not long after that. “Shit,” I thought to myself. “This is going to be my slowest swim ever. So much for coming out in less than 1:10 today.”

It was then I remembered Thursday’s swim. How did I know it took me 10 minutes to make it to the first buoy that day? Because I had changed the timer to go off after 10 minutes instead of 15! HEY! I’m right where I’m supposed to be!

Coincidentally, the crowd started thinning out at that point and the swim became much more enjoyable. It was still crowded, mind you, but the contact was much less frequent. I was able to see the Terrace and capitol dome when I would breathe to my left, and enjoyed progressing past them. Only two things went wrong the rest of the way: one, I was lining up just inside the buoys, and some people thought they HAD to go to the right of them, and they would cut to the right sharply in front of me, getting me out of my zone. Two, I couldn’t find anyone to draft off of. I know someone was drafting off me, and one time they got too close for too long and received a donkey kick as a result.

Rounding that final turn buoy and seeing the swim exit arch was great to see. I stayed in my zone, but increased my kicking to wake the legs up - they’d have work to do very shortly. I wobbled a bit coming out of the water, and fumbled for a moment getting my suit unzipped and watch off my wrist. I glanced down at the time: 1 hour, 7 minutes. Exactly what I had trained for. My Ironman was off to a great start.

When you come out of the water, you’re a little disoriented. I fumbled for my quick-release zipper, and also for my watch since it was being worn on the outside of my sleeve. Luckily they have wetsuit strippers right as you exit the swim. You get your wetsuit off your arms and down to your waist, then lie down in front of two people, kick your legs up in the air, and they yank that sucker off with one quick pull! You stand up (or someone helps you), you take your wetsuit off, and away you go!

I was holding my wetsuit and running, scanning the crowd quickly for my family. Just as I was about to head up the helix, I saw my parents to my right. I smiled and yelled something at them. Great sight. Unfortunately, while my head was turned looking and smiling at them, I went right past the rest of my cheering section who were on my left. This picture was taken at that exact moment.

The run up the circular helix was amazing. You keep running (jogging) up this circular parking structure, and it’s lined the entire way with spectators, 3 or 4 deep, all of them cheering you on. I had heard about it, and thought I was prepared, but it blew me away. Cue the second time today I’m about to start crying. Nope - refocus, get up this ramp, and get some dry clothes on.

When you enter the hallway, volunteers are pointing which way to go. They also call your number ahead to where your bike bag is. My number was hard to read, so they didn’t have it ready for me. Luckily I remembered exactly where it was, and snatched it up while jogging. From there, volunteers pointed me into the men’s changing area, appropriately named “The Get Naked Room!” Once inside I was again pointed towards open chairs, where I sat down and started getting ready.

I had heard about how great the volunteers are in transition: whatever you need or want, they do for you. Unfortunately, I had no one waiting on me right away. Oh well, I’ve done plenty of transitions before with no help, this would be no different. I start to open my bag, and realized it had been tied shut. This made me very angry - I had intentionally NOT tied the bag shut so it would be easier to open! Now I have to undo two granny-knots just to open my damn bag. UGH. Once I undid the knots, I started fumbling through my bag, getting out my bike helmet and tinted sunglasses in lieu of the clear ones I had packed in case it was overcast out. Straps were getting tangled, and i still had to get out my chamois cream (to prevent chaffing on the bike ride) and bike shorts, and socks and shoes and food! Finally a young volunteer came over and meekly asked if he could help. I asked him to try and find my socks. He picked through the bag slowly, and I got a little frustrated at this point. I took the bag from him and dumped out all the contents. As it turns out, I had forgotten to pack socks. Oh well, I could deal with that. I yanked off my swim trunks, slapped on a big ol’ glob of chamois cream, on went the shorts. I then got out my race belt, which you don’t have to wear on the bike ride, but since I was wearing a GPS tracker for the benefit of my family, it was easier to wear it then. I turned it on and was almost ready. I just needed my nutrition out of the baggie and in my tri top pockets. Anyone care to guess how difficult it is to open a baggie with butt butter all over your fingers? Yeah, it was that kind of transition (again, with no assistance from my overwhelmed volunteer). I finally got it open, shoved the food into my pockets, and exited out to the parking ramp where my bike was waiting.

Sunscreen volunteers were waiting right outside, and I gladly let them slather my arms and neck. OUCH! My wetsuit had chaffed my neck during the swim, and sunscreen didn’t feel good on it at all. Anyway, moving on towards my bike, my number was again shouted down the line, with the intent of a volunteer taking it off the rack and having it ready for me. Once again, I got there too quickly and the volunteer’s hands were barely on it when I got there. I still thanked her, and ran to the bike mount line. I gave room to others, hopped on, and rolled on down the other end of the helix to start a 112-mile bike ride after finishing a 9-minute Transition 1, about two minutes longer than I was aiming for.

One of the things that had stuck with me at the Endurance Nation seminar was pacing your bike ride intelligently to set up the run when you got back. What that basically means is, don’t burn up all your energy early trying to achieve a great bike split; you’ll likely have nothing left on the run, when you still need to have something left in your legs.

I took that advice seriously, and started out nice and easy on the bike. It’s tricky getting out of Madison, with narrow bike paths and an odd route behind and around the Alliant Energy Center. But I was relaxed, I was calm. I had ridden the hard part of the course, The Loop, 5 times and was prepared for it. I knew I would get passed a lot on the bike also, and I was prepared for that as well. My motto was the same as it always was: “My race, My pace.”

As Madison disappeared behind me, I took some time to reflect on what just happened. I had finished one leg of an Ironman, and I was already on the second. If my watch was accurate, I had a great swim time to boot! I started thinking how fortunate I was to be doing what I was. Then I had a sudden realization: out of nowhere, I remembered that the previous 4 days, I had dreams that all had at least one appearance by each of the 3 grandparents I knew, two of which - both my grandfathers - had passed away years earlier. I’m not very religious anymore, but I am spiritual. When I remembered that I had dreamed of them both as well as my still alive-and-kicking grandmother, I felt as if they were all with me in spirit. I knew they’d be so proud of me, and I felt my deceased grandfathers would both be looking out for me that day.

Almost immediately after thinking that, I felt a weird twinge in my left armpit. I reached up to feel for a rock or bug… and was promptly stung by a bee! OWW! “What the fuck!” I yelled out, pinching the little bastard and throwing him off to the side of the road. A female cyclist came up behind me and asked if something was wrong, and I told her what happened. She told me a bee stung her friend and it was supposed to be good luck. I thanked her for putting a positive spin on it, especially if she had just made that up on the spot! (She assured me she hadn’t). Two miles later, a fly flew straight into the vents of my helmet, getting stuck inside. The woman wasn’t around at that point, so I couldn’t ask her what kind of luck that was supposed to bring.

As I rode out to Verona, I kept an eye on my cadence and heart rate. My cadence was just find, but my heart rate was over 142 bpm, into my Zone 3. That wasn’t good - my bike ride was supposed to mostly stay in Zone 2, below 142. It was odd because I felt like I was going at an easy, relaxed pace. Apparently not enough. I told myself I was probably still jacked from having a great swim and frustrating transition, and that if I kept going at a perceived easy effort, the heart rate would come down soon enough.

It didn’t. I made Verona in Goldilocks time: not too fast, not too slow - juuuuuuust right. But I was starting to worry I was burning too many calories too soon. I stuck strictly to my eating schedule: GU gels on the half hour, honey waffle at the top, water whenever I felt like it.

The loop started out very well. Still getting passed (no big deal) and my heart rate was finally starting to come down a bit, but not as far as I would have liked. But I was enjoying myself - it was a beautiful day, and things were going nicely.

Then we turned onto Highway 92.

A guy who had been behind me for a while passed me on a climb, and reached back for his water bottle. I could see him having difficulty reaching back around and putting it back in the cage. My worst fear happened: he dropped it, right in front of me. I had nowhere to go, and I braced for the worst. People have bike issues all the time because of stupid incidents (riders) like this that happen and are completely out of the victim’s control. My front tire hit it square on, but luckily the bottle skidded to the side and didn’t get under my rear tire. I yelled out another F-bomb (couldn’t help it) but was able to stay upright and keep moving. Whew - thanks Grampa and Papa for looking out for me! As for the fumble-fingers in front of me, he glanced back over his shoulder… and kept pedaling. Didn’t even shout back an “I’m sorry” or anything. A few miles down the road, this same douchebag (bib #541) threw his gel wrapped to the side of the road. Asshat. Littering on the course is a penalty if an official sees you. I thought about saying something, but just let it go. My race, My pace.

The rest of the loop was nice and uneventful. I traded positions with a woman named Tina several times - she’d catch me on the flats (what few there were) and I’d catch up with her on the hills. It’s a really scenic ride with some fantastic views. About midway through the loop there’s a long, winding downhill (Garfoot) that’s an absolute blast. After that, it’s mostly flat until you reach the first of the Three Sisters.

Also referred to as the Three Bitches, they are the most challenging portion of the IM Wisconsin
bike course. But the crowds come out in droves to cheer you as you charge your way up. They dress in costumes, they have some hilarious signs, and they do whatever they can to help motivate (scare?) you up those hills. At the bottom the crowds are sparse, but the higher you go, the denser the crowd becomes - almost to the point where it’s crowded! I saw my other coach Matt on the second hill along with my training partner Steve. Steve confirmed my great swim time, and Matt made sure I was doing OK. I told him my heart rate was elevated, and he reminded me to take it easy on the second loop. I took the third hill with relative ease, then made my way back to Verona to start Loop 2.

Coming back into town, there’s an aid station which is followed by a huge festival with crazy crowds again. I was saddened to see a cyclist on the left, curled up in obvious pain as I came in. It couldn’t have happened more than 30 seconds sooner to my arriving. If I had been any faster, that could have been me (thank you again, Grampa and Papa!).

I grabbed fresh water leaving the aid station, preparing some Skratch (electrolytes and calories) in my main water bottle. I saw my family at the festival portion, and that was a great boost. I stopped at special needs just long enough to grab more honey waffles and some Advil - my neck and back were tightening up already, and I still had over 50 miles to go.

The second loop was uneventful, which was a relief. I did as much as possible to keep my heart rate under 142, and was largely successful. I just wondered if it was too late. I saw my main coach Todd on the second of the Three Bitches, and gave him a favorable report. However, something new happened - my left hamstring acted up on two of the climbs. It was not happy, and neither was I since I have never experienced any hamstring issues at all during training. This development was not welcome. I thought it may have been a cramp, but I was drinking plenty. Oh well, onward to finish this loop and head back to Madison.

Coming back in was great. I felt really good. I didn’t have any flats, no breakdowns (mechanical or emotional), or any other issues. As the Terrace grew larger, I knew I would finish in less than 6 hours, which was the goal I had set months ago. Mission accomplished, as I got off the bike in 5 hours and 57 minutes.

I slipped my feet out of my bike shoes, leaving them clipped into the pedals and rode up the circular helix to the top, returning to where I had started. Volunteers were slowing everyone down at the top, reminding us to take it easy and not cause an accident or do something stupid to ruin our day. I dismounted, and as soon as I was off Trin (my bike’s name) a volunteer was there to take her off my hands and place her back on the rack for me. I enjoyed this, I have to admit. It makes you feel a little extra special, like you have your own handlers.

I knew by now to start shouting out my number in advance so they would have my bag ready, and they did. This was going to be a fast, easy transition, and I had a great volunteer who ‘got it’ this time. He took my bag and promptly dumped it out, asking me what I needed. “Shorts. Socks. Shoes. Hat. Sunglasses.” As I called them out, he had them ready for me. I was dressed and ready to go. Heading out the door, I again visited the sunscreen volunteers, and was officially out of transition in 2 minutes, 54 seconds.

Now I just had a little marathon to run. For some perspective, my longest training run had been 18 miles. It’s not uncommon to NOT run a full marathon while training for one. Heck, when I prepared for my first marathon last year, my long run was almost the same distance. I knew I could do it, the only question was how quickly?

I started the run a little after 2pm, and I knew finishing in less than 11 hours wasn’t in the cards. I had known that since halfway on the bike. But my goal of sub-12 was still 100% in my grasp, as long as I avoided disaster.

To do that, I started out slow. The seminar had instructed us to go out “stupid slow” and I thought I was doing that. Then I looked down and saw I was running an 8:20/mile pace. Geeze, they weren’t kidding when they said I’d feel fresh. This, however, has been my downfall all season for my other two half-Ironman races: starting the run too fast. I knew I had to run my first several miles at no faster than 8:50, tops. Slow down, I told myself. Slow… down…

If you can believe it, I hadn’t gone to the bathroom since finishing the swim (yes, I pee in my wetsuit - don’t worry, I won’t ask you to wear it). As soon as I came around the corner of the capitol building, I saw three people come out of porta-potties. Sweet - that meant no waiting for one to open up. I got in and did my business. Coming out, there was an aid station immediately thereafter and someone is right next to me yelling “THERE’S JEFF WAMSER, KICKING SOME SERIOUS ASS TODAY!!” Wait a minute, who knows my last name out here? I look and there’s Doug - again! The man was everywhere! I had time to briefly thank him, then walked two tables of the aid station while taking a drink of water. After that, time to run again. That was my strategy - run to each aid station, and walk long enough to take on drink and nutrition.

As soon as I exited the station and turned right onto State Street, there was my family. They had a ton of “Jeff Heads On A Stick” that they were waving like crazy. It was hilarious and uplifting. I gave high-fives as I went by, and Wendy recognized I was going slow enough that she could run with me. “How are you feeling?” she asked. “I’m great, just gotta keep moving,” I told her. She gave me some last encouragement and cheered me on as I took the next left towards The UW campus.

Running through Camp Randal was nice, but there was no music being played, and no one inside except for volunteers making sure we circled the entire field. A little disappointing - at the Des Moines Marathon, when you run through Drake Stadium they at least have the JumboTron running with a stationary camera so you can see yourself running out. Oh well, I’d been on the field before, but that’s another story for another time.

Not long after leaving the stadium, Steve found me again. He was everywhere also. He told me how great I was doing, confirmed some of my splits from the swim and bike, and jogged just behind me almost all the way to the next aid station. He assured me I’d see more of him, and to keep it up.

I kept with my plan of walking each aid station. I was eating about every 45 minutes, and alternating between water and Perform (a Gatorade-like drink). This had worked for me in the past. I knew the most critical element was nutrition, since I had struggled with it in my earlier half-distance races on the run.

When I got near the State Street turnaround (about 6.5 miles in) I saw Todd. He asked how I was doing. I told him, “I’m OK”. “Just OK?” He asked. “I’m not doing great, but I’m not doing sucky either. I’m just OK.” He didn’t get to press for details and I didn’t want to stop and explain. But it was at that point I knew my run wasn’t going to go as well as I had hoped, and I’m sure Todd picked up on it too.

My stomach was starting to bother me. It felt like nothing was sitting right. Not quite nauseous, but not settled either. Like there was a burp starting to get ready. Knowing this would hinder my ability to eat and keep taking on badly-needed calories, I’d have to dial back the effort even more. I was averaging 8:55 miles up to that point, and immediately started slowing down. I revised my goal to keep my splits in the mid-9s to the halfway point, and see how I was doing then.

It was a comfortable pace, and seemed to be working pretty well. I felt good. I was still smiling - that was reaffirmed by so many spectators telling me how great I looked and they loved seeing me smile. That helped. Because I WAS having fun, if you can believe that. I loved being out on this beautiful day, nearly halfway through with a marathon - a freaking MARATHON! - after swimming and biking all day!

As I came back downtown and ran up near the capitol, State Street was again cheering, but as I passed it got incredibly loud. I thought someone behind me was working the crowd, but as it turns out I was about to be passed by the women’s pro winner,  Britta Martin. It was really, really cool. I tried to keep up with her, but she was obviously too fast. She kept looking back to see if another female pro was behind her, but there wasn’t. Even though the cheers and roar of the crowd wasn’t for me, I fed off of it. It was a great boost at a point when most people get disheartened: when you turn a corner, you are within sight of the finish line, but almost cruelly, that is where you turn around to start the second half of your marathon.

I turned, and saw Carl for the first time that day. I couldn’t make out what he said, but I smiled and gave him a thumbs-up. I also skipped the special needs station, since there was nothing in there that could have helped me. I had neglected to pack Tums, a mistake I will never make again. In the future I’ll put them in all four of my bags!

I headed back out, and again passed Doug and gave him a high-five. That guy was a volunteer animal! And it was great to see familiar, friendly faces on the course. You were great Doug - thanks for being everywhere! Turning onto State Street again, I looked for my family in the same spot, but only saw my two cousins. I yelled at them in passing, but didn’t stop. Again, I heard them yell something but couldn’t make it out. The run course is SO noisy in that section: It’s great, don’t get me wrong, but hard to hear sometimes unless your friends and family are right there.

After making the turn, there was something else that had been bothering me for a while. I felt a very small pebble or something in my left shoe. It had been there for a while, but I could deal with it. Now, with stomach issues and lack of nutrition, I had to start eliminating anything negative, including this damn pebble. When I reached the field at Camp Randall again, I stopped, took off my shoe, and gave it a good shake. I resumed running again, sure I had gotten it. I had barely reached the opposite endzone when I felt it again. “What the hell?!” I said out loud to no one. I repeated the process, only to again feel it return. I soon realized that it was in my sock, not my shoe, and I didn’t want to stop and sit down to do that - my fear was if I completely stopped, I would lose my desire to resume. So I decided to deal with it and keep moving.

My splits were getting slower. So were my walks at the aid stations. Leaving Camp Randall I was now turning in 10-minute plus miles. Revised goal #3: Let’s keep them all in the 10s the rest of the way. A tough task, knowing that the dreaded Observatory Drive way coming up again, a steep uphill climb before hitting the State Street turnaround. I embrace hills on my runs, and I wanted to ‘suck some souls’ and run up and pass all the walkers - and at that point, everyone was walking Observatory. But not me. “I eat hills for breakfast,” is one of my training mantras, and I pulled it out on this last tough climb.

The reward is a winding downhill back to the State Street turnaround. It is there that I saw my family when I needed them the most. Mom and Dad had made it back from the Brewers game in Milwaukee! My sister and nieces and aunt and cousins were all there! My high school friend and fellow runner Teri was there! They were going absolutely crazy. I was too tired to cry at this point. But not to smile! I gave them all high-fives as I came around the corner, and then the best part of the day happened: my daughter Kaitlynn came out and ran with me for about a block. She put her arm around me and asked how I was doing. “I’m tired, kiddo. This is really hard.” “I can tell,” she replied. “I’m almost done though, I’ll see you in about an hour.” “OK Dad, go get ‘em!”

As soon as I left, I got another visit and boost from Todd. “How are you feeling?” I told him I was doing about the same, that I was tired. “You’ve done all the hard stuff,” he told me. “Take it easy the rest of the way, you’ve got this.”

I followed the course back along the lake, looking at my watch and doing math in my head. Less than 6 miles to go. If I average 12 minute miles the rest of the way, I’ll still finish under 12 hours. I’m good. I can do 11’s no problem. Hell, I may as well even skip some aid stations since I’m really not getting anything from them.

The final 5 miles were just about getting it done. My stomach was really upset with me now. If I ate anything I would vomit for sure. I skipped the second to last aid station, only to end up walking along Dayton with under 2 miles to go. I saw Todd and Steve then, and Dave Rodda passed me, wanting me to keep pace with him and finish together. I told him I couldn’t, as badly as I wanted to. I needed to give myself enough of a break so I could finish strong.

I broke back into my stride and went back up State Street one final time. The capitol was in sight. I thought about what I had posted on Facebook the night before, my “why do I do this” is for everyone, to be an inspiration. I thought about my grandparents again. I thought about how close I was, that I would be done in less than 5 minutes. I was going to do this.

I came up the hill and around the corner, scanning for my family. The crowds were so thick - it was non-stop people almost the entire final mile. The closer I got to completion, the bigger and louder the crowd became. I was almost to the final straightaway. Oh no - had I missed them?

I hadn’t - they were immediately around the final turn, to my left. The loudest they had been all day! I raised my hands above my head and ran over to them, giving frantic hugs and high fives, passing my sunglasses to Wendy. I then ran off down the chute, flexing my arms in triumph, and that’s when I heard Mike Reilly say it.

“Jeff Wamser from Pleasant Hill, Iowa. You’re an Ironman!”

As soon as you cross the line, there are two ‘catchers’ there that take you on either side by the arm. I was actually able to walk just fine, but I was tired. They put a finisher’s hat on my head, and hung a medal around my neck. The timing chip came off, and a foil sheet was draped around me. “How are you feeling?” one of the catchers asked me. “I’m great, but I’d like to sit down,” I told her. They guided me to a chair and eased me down. One went to get my finisher’s shirt, and the other got a water and chocolate milk for me.

I sat there and took it all in. I remembered to finally hit the stop button on my watch and saw the final time. My marathon of 4 hours and 29 minutes had led to an official Ironman finishing time of 11 hours, 47 minutes, 6 seconds.

The feelings immediately afterwards are so hard to describe. Exhaustion. Pride. Accomplishment. Satisfaction. Amazement. Those are just a handful. It’s one of those feelings that you can try to explain, but has to be experienced to fully comprehend. I continued to sit down, grateful for the shiny blanket which was doing a surprisingly great job of keeping me warm. I was in the shade of downtown Madison’s buildings now, and the sun was going to be setting soon as well. A daylight finish - that’s something else I had wanted.

My family and friends made their way over to the edge of the finish area, and I got up to go give hugs and thank everyone. Several had over an hour’s drive to get back home, so I understood why they had to leave. Usually after a race I’m very chatty, but my stomach was still letting me know it was not pleased with our journey. I wish I had felt better, I would have loved to have gone out and savor the euphoria with all of them. I barely got to say anything to my adorable nieces, who had even gone to the effort to make signs for me.

I sat back down, telling Wendy I would need a bit more recovery before exiting. While I was resting I saw Ashten - another fellow Iowan - cross the line. After she had given her family and friend’s hugs, I went over and we had a hug of our own. It was one of those special hugs, I would imagine similar to one that soldiers share after battle. I’m not saying completing an Ironman is the same as going to combat, not at all. But as Ironman finishers, we go through many shared struggles, and no one really understands except those going through it with you. We didn’t go to combat, but at one time or another we were at war with our bodies, our brains, our loved ones. Yet we persevered, we endured, we gave it our all to cross that line. It was a brief but powerful moment.

I got my finisher’s pic taken, and went to sit back down again. My catcher came back to check on me again, and when I said I’d like to lie down, they thought it would be best for me to go to medical. I didn’t object, and allowed myself to be escorted to the medical tent. I was weighed, had my blood pressure taken, and was asked about my symptoms and nutrition throughout the day. My blood pressure and heart rate were both perfectly fine, and I had lost only 5 pounds on the day. Apparently I did a better job of eating and drinking than I thought. They brought me some broth, figuring I needed more sodium. I wasn’t sure how it was going to taste so soon after finishing a chocolate milk, but it went down easy. I don’t know if it was the broth or just time spent resting and recovering, but I felt ready to go and rejoin my family. I was given the once-over one more time before being cleared.

Wendy and Kaitlynn were all who remained. We went to transition to check out my bike and retrieve my bags.
After that, I saw Todd, Matt, and Steve and a few others from Zoom Performance. I was told by all how great a race I had ran. Todd admitted that when I told him I was only “OK” at Mile 6 he had serious concerns, but he reminded himself of my mental toughness, and I wouldn’t stop unless it was impossible for me to continue. It was very reassuring to hear that.

We went back to Scott and Megan’s. Wendy and Katilynn were tired, but I was getting my second wind, if you can believe that. I decided to go back down and watch the final hour from 11pm to Midnight, when the race officially is over. The girls were both too tired, so I changed into my finisher’s shirt, hat, and medal, and drove back downtown. 

I’m glad I did. Seeing those final finishers was amazing - the determination, relief, and excitement in their eyes as they came down the chute, knowing they had finished and earned the title of Ironman. It didn't matter how close to Midnight they were - they completed the exact same 140.6-mile journey as everyone else had.

After the last finisher had crossed, I was still so pumped up I didn’t want the night to end. So I headed back to the Great Dane for a beer and cheese curds. The bartender saw my finisher’s medal and informed me the beer was on the house. There was no one else there, but it made sense that the one person who would walk through the door next was the one person I had seen all day - DOUG! He and his friend had finished their final volunteer shift as catchers at the finish line. We both had many questions and tales for each other - I couldn’t believe his energy throughout the day, and as a volunteer no less. Of all the people I gained inspiration from that day, Doug easily ranks in the top 3.

After just two beers, it was time to go home. I hit the pillow and promptly fell asleep at 1:30am, but would only get 3 and ½ hours of sleep. Finisher’s Gear went on sale at 7am (how cruel is that?) and I had been strongly encouraged to arrive an hour early to get a spot close to the front of the line.  I bought a finisher’s jacket - a must-have - and a few other items. I may not ever spent that much again on finisher’s gear, but you only have one “First” Ironman finish, so I allowed myself to splurge.

I was a little tired, but the 4 ½ hour drive home loomed large, and it was time to hit the road. The best part of the drive was when I stopped in Dubuque for gas, I saw a gentleman getting into his car wearing the finisher’s t-shirt. As he pulled out, I honked at him and held up my finisher’s hat. He got a huge smile and pointed at me, and we gave each other a thumbs-up.

First of all, if you made it all the way through to the end, I’m both impressed and flattered. I apologize if I went into too much detail at times, but as I stated at the beginning, I wanted readers to experience this with me, from beginning to end.

My recovery has been quick and painless. So much so that less than 48 hours after finishing, I signed up for my next Ironman in Boulder next August. I’m also giving serious consideration to competing in Wisconsin again, but if I don’t compete I will definitely emulate Doug and volunteer as much as I can, and provide a boost to my friends.

Finishing Ironman Wisconsin was easily one of the greatest days of my life. I wish everyone could have the opportunity to experience what I did. The relentless support and encouragement, not just from those you know but from total strangers. And of course, the unequalled sense of satisfaction in reaching an achievement whose seeds were planted nearly 30 years earlier, watching television on a Saturday afternoon.

The best part of all, is my Ironman journey has only begun. This is the first of what I plan on being many, many more. As long as I have the support of my family and my wonderful group of friends, I know now that anything is possible. Anything.