Double Anvil 2019 DNF Recap

In the 7 years that I’ve been racing, I’ve yet to have an DNF. I’ve always been intrigued by others who have, and listened carefully to the ‘whys’ behind them. Sometimes they’re uncontrollable, such as a mechanical issue or outside forces. Other times they’re within the individual’s control, but are unintentionally mismanaged or influenced by outside forces such as not being prepared for weather changes and/ or not fueling properly. Worst of all, your body betrays you at the worst possible moment, despite months or years of injury-free training.

There is a long list of contributing factors that happened in the days leading

up to attempting my third Double Anvil. A very busy work and travel schedule,

loss of a full night’s sleep only days before, less than ideal nutrition, basically

just trying to - you know - live life. Despite all of these issues, I still felt

capable. I likely wouldn’t PR, but I didn’t need to. Everything I’ve done the

past 4 months has been laying the groundwork for the triple in Mexico, which

was only 2 and ½ weeks after Virginia. My strategy was the same as it was 4

weeks earlier at Ironman Wisconsin: be smart, be conservative, don’t do

anything stupid. 

I had discussed plans and strategies with Coaches Ebe and Lauren, and Ebe

asked me what I would do if the wheels fell off? I answered honestly: That I

would evaluate my condition and if necessary, pull the plug. I don’t think he

realized it at the time, but it was the best thing he could have done for me

mentally. I don’t like to think about quitting races, but with another in just over

two weeks, this was new territory for me. All options needed to be on the

table and taken seriously.

A motley collection of quins, triples, and doubles. Each one of them amazing in their own right.

The day before the race I drove up to the site and got checked in. It was great

seeing Steve Kirby and his amazing, all-volunteer staff. John, Tina, Cindy, Chad,

Shawn, and so many others I know I’m forgetting. Races don’t happen without

these people donating their time to help others achieve their dreams, and when

you’re in their presence you truly feel that they are there to help you. I finally

started to feel more comfortable and relaxed. It had been a stressful week

working while travelling, and ‘race therapy’ was what I needed. I saw familiar

faces already racing their quins (Dave Seres) and triples (Frank Judge and

Neil Hershman). Joining me on the course Friday would be fellow Ironman

Wisconsin finisher and former teammate Josh Keicker doing his first double,

and Will Turner doing his 84th single going back to January of 2018.

I just want to pause and let some of those achievements by others sink in.

Think about the sum of miles all of these people have put in. Imagine the

saddle-sores, tired legs, and endless laps in the pool. It’s humbling, and

when I say it’s an honor to share the course with them, I can’t stress enough

sincerity within that statement. That includes all the other participants out

there, doing quins, triples, doubles, continuous and non-continuous. It takes

a ton of effort to even prepare for something like this, let alone go out and

finish it.

The challenge with travelling is eating healthy and maintaining a somewhat

normal schedule. I stayed with my niece Holli the first few days in Richmond

and her husband is an outstanding chef. But on Thursday I was left on my

own, and between working in the morning, getting up to the race site,

checking in to the lodge, getting race-day food only 12 hours before starting,

I simply ran out of time to properly fuel. Despite having a nice room to

myself, I didn’t get to bed as early as I should have, and easily had the worst

night’s sleep before a race in my life. Maybe I got 4 hours of sleep total,

obviously less than ideal. Mentally, I wasn’t in a great place and I can’t explain

why. I called Wendy before trying to sleep, and she reminded me that I always

have nerves before a big race, that this was normal. All I needed to do was get

out there, and do what I love to do and also what I ‘get’ to do.

5am rolled around, and I did my race-morning rituals. I chatted with other racers

who were using the lodge, and headed up to prep my transition/crew table for

Holli and Matt. I then drove down to the swim area and got my bike set up.

Josh did the same right next to me, but neither Holli or Matt had made it down

yet. I was not as well-prepared as I usually was. I didn’t have my Bag-o-Balm to

prevent chafing, I kept running up and down a hill to get my bike stuff all set up,

in a sense I was mildly freaking out. It didn’t help that for the first time ever, the

race director Steve Kirby was ACTUALLY ready to start at 7am! (He would be

the first to admit he has historically been late, sometimes starting around

7:30am). Luckily Holli showed up just in time, and I was ready to go with a few

minutes to spare, plus Kirb knew I was flustered and wasn’t rushing things. Again, he's a great and very accommodating race director.

Swim start, mine is the second arm from the left sticking up :)

I got in the water, which was a very warm 78 degrees and if anything it felt

warmer. IUTA allows wetsuits in nearly all conditions, but if it had been any

warmer I probably would have had to ditch the wetsuit after a few laps. When

we started, I was at the front with two others, and we stayed together for the

first lap. Once we started the second, they were able to hang together but I got

out of their draft and fell back. I was fine, staying steady and consistent. I had

my watch set to go every 12 minutes which was my target for each lap. I was

actually ahead of it for the first 3, but then it was even, and soon started

falling off the pace. I was OK with it. I had a weird shoulder issue after

Wisconsin, and wasn’t going to push the pace to go faster. The warm water

wasn’t helping, and my breakfast from 2 hours earlier wasn’t sitting well either. This was going to be a long swim, but I never doubted I was going to finish. The water was relatively clear, and we were all spaced out so well that you didn’t have to worry about bumping someone, a rarity in this sport.

Finally got an action swim shot! Thanks Shawn!

The best part of the swim was when the rest of Holli’s family came down. They

made signs and were cheering so loudly for me every time I finished a lap. It

was perfect timing also, since I was mentally in a less-than-ideal place. They

lifted my spirits more than they can know. Their daredevil daughters even

came out in the water to make sure I saw their signs!

Best mood-booster I got all day was Lucy escorting me out of the water!

When I finished, I learned I was in second place but I wasn’t too concerned

about it. I would end up having the fastest T1 split, and that’s saying

something. At this course, the swim venue is about a mile away from the

Anvillage (main transition). After finishing the swim, you get on your bike and

ride it up to the main timing area - that is where your bike section officially

begins. It’s logistically the only way it can be done, but it’s just mean because

it’s about 1 mile, all uphill. Not what anyone wants right after a 4.8 mile swim!

When I got on the bike, I started feeling better. The weather was nearly perfect,

about 60 degrees with a predicted high of 75. I was rebounding mentally. I was

doing what I love, and things were looking good.

Feeling really good early on the bike. 

The bike course layout is unique. It’s a 5 mile out-and-back, uphill one way

(slight, but noticeable) and downhill the other, with the Anvillage just about

halfway so you pass it far more frequently than at Florida. The downside is

there’s a lot of traffic in the village, from runners doing their quins and triples

and bikes headed in opposite directions. You can’t just fly through - you have

to work with your crew on bottle exchanges and food. To their credit, Holli

and Matt picked it up quickly.

I was good about finishing my first bottle of Skratch and some solid food in

the first hour. I was slower with solid food in my second hour, and by hour 3

the Skratch - up until now always my consistent source of carbs - wasn’t

tasting good at all. In fact, nothing was. I knew this wasn’t good. I tried

choking down a Honey Stinger Waffle that Holli handed me. I didn’t finish it.

Around the same time I also become mindful of my knee. It was acting up on

the uphill sections, as it had been the previous 6 weeks. As long I didn’t grind

it out in low cadence, it would last the 112 miles just as it had in Wisconsin.

But I started to think about what would happen after those 112 miles. I knew

from experience that later in the night on tired legs, I’d be looking for relief

and standing up. Usually when I stand up I get into a low cadence, and that

wouldn’t be good. Even if I didn’t stand up, I knew those uphills would be

tougher and my cadence would be slower. The knee getting worse was

almost a certainty, and running 52 miles after that would hardly make it better.

Chatting with Frank during the bike portion. At this point he had less than 40 miles to go before staring his 78 mile run. 

I remembered the promise I made to my coach and to myself: pain or injury,

I pull the plug. While I was debating it for several laps, my nutrition feel further

behind. Nothing was tasting good. I stopped once to talk with Matt and Holli,

and they offered me everything they had brought in addition to my race food.

I choked down some carrots, but nothing else was appetizing. The certainty

that I wasn’t going to finish had sunk in. I stopped again at about Mile 80 and

told them to notify Kirby that I was doing to drop to a single. At that point, I

thought finishing 112 on the bike and running a marathon was still a good

training strategy.

I did finish 112 miles on the bike, but was more exhausted than I expected.

I knew I was in the hole nutritionally, and didn’t know if I wasn’t going to be

able to run at all. I lied down on a hammock that Holli and Matt had brought,

and called Ebe to give him an update. He gave great advice, reminded me

that I was doing the right thing, and then he told me how proud he was that

I was making the difficult but correct choice. I started tearing up then, not

because of DNF-ing, but - hell, even now I can’t quite put it into words. When

someone says they’re proud of you in your worst moments, it means more

than just about anything else. Ebe pointed out that making those hard

decisions is something that can’t be coached, and most athletes are too

determined (or stubborn) to make it.

My decision was made, so I then called Wendy to let her know. She also told

me she was proud of me and the tears started flowing again. I told her not to

worry, that I was going to go to medical and make sure I wasn’t too far gone.

I was mentally focused and not dizzy or anything, but wanted the opinion of

professionals before I decided to even try running.

Mercedes and the medical crew were doing double-duty, racing the double

as a relay while also  rotating at the medical tent. She sat me down, got food

in me, and monitored my heart rate and vitals for a good hour. I had beef

broth brought to me, and slowly I began returning to normal. I had been chilly,

but the shivers had stopped. After an hour she pronounced me fit to return,

with strict orders to Matt to make sure I stayed hydrated, got some sodium,

and ate every hour I chose to remain on the course.

In my phone call with Ebe, he confirmed what I already knew – going 26 miles was not an option. Could I have done it? Absolutely. But it would have come a great cost to my legs. It was enough to just get back to a good baseline nutrition-wise, but to try and run a marathon at that point would pretty much be the worst thing for my body. The knee can recover in a few weeks, but the damage to my leg muscles would be insurmountable at that time. We agreed the absolute max distance would be to run 13 miles for training, and if at any point I felt the slightest misgiving – physically, mentally, or emotionally – I would stop and call it a day.

I finally felt normal when I started running, odd as that may sound. I went out at what felt like a comfortable pace, and it was at 9:30-ish. That was a positive sign, but there was no need to go that fast. I was looking to ‘shake out’ my bike legs, nothing more. To slow myself down on subsequent laps, I found others to talk to and tried to help take their minds off running, since I know that helps me.

I had a fun conversation with Paul who was doing the 1x5 quin (one iron-distance each day). He commented on how fast I was going compared to everyone else, and I said to not be at all impressed since I had been resting for over 60 minutes. He thought that was even more impressive, saying that most people don’t even want to move after resting for that long. I’m sure that’s true for most, but being a runner first and foremost, the idea of NOT running is worse in my mind.

Chatting with Frank Judge during the run (photo was actually taken on Saturday morning, but it looks good here).

On the next lap I caught up with Frank Judge, who I met in Florida earlier this year, and he was 18 miles into his triple marathon. It was great catching up with him more, as we had also chatted earlier during the bike portion. Talk about incredible: he came up with no crew at all, and was doing this race totally self-supported (he would go on to finish the triple Saturday afternoon). On the next mile I chatted with Will Turner, who was as steady and consistent as ever. On the next one I met Matt, who was friends with the medical crew who were also doing the relay. He was doing the quin also, and I have to say he was in really great spirits for being out on the course for so long.

On my final lap, it seems appropriate that I found Neil Hershman. Neil is a young, very accomplished ultra-triathlete. He’s completed a deca (yes, that’s 10 iron-distances) and we’ve raced together in Florida the past two years. Neil is much like many other ultra-athletes: a majority look miserable in the later stages of a race. I know from experience that talking to him helps, so I did. His knee was wrapped up, and I believe he had 30+ miles logged out of 78. We talked about how neither of our races were living up to our expectations, but here we were – still out there going at it as darkness fell. I gave him as much encouragement as I could, and when we finished that lap he looked better. Maybe it was coincidence, maybe I had something to do with it. Unfortunately, Neil’s knee would ultimately betray him also, and he had to stop later that evening for the good of his health as well. Another wise choice.

I had completed 6.2 miles (or a 10k) at that point, and my knee was ever-so-slightly making itself known again. That was it for me. I sat back down at my transition table, and Holli’s husband Matt made sure I was following medical’s orders. I apologized to him and Holli for not being able to finish for them (he had taken the day off work to help crew me with Holli). They were as supportive at the end of my day as they were at the beginning. Before heading back to the lodge, I was able to see Will finish his 84th iron-distance race, and also see Josh and pass on some quick advice as he closed in on finishing the bike. I also lent my bike headlight to Marcon, a young Columbian who was also racing his first Double Anvil. His light had gone out and he didn’t have a backup one. But that’s what we do at ultras - we support each other, all trying to help each other get to the finish line.

There was no finish line for me though. I went back to the lodge, had a beer, called Wendy one more time, then went to bed. I slept through the night and woke up without an alarm at 8am the next morning. I packed up, and went back to the Anvillage to see how everyone was doing. Frank had stopped during the night for a brief 30-minute nap, but slept through his alarm and woke up 3 hours later. I think it was the best thing that could have happened to him, since he looked like the freshest runner out there that morning. I was excited and thrilled to see Josh finish, and win the Double Anvil outright. He even beat the relay team, and that’s saying something. I was happy and proud for everyone. I wanted to stay and see everyone finish, but I also wanted to get back to Holli and Matt’s and officially begin recovery. I thanked Kirb and nearly his entire crew.

Josh finishing his final lap and winning the 2019 Virginia Double Anvil.

It hit me as I left that this was the first race I was leaving without any finisher’s swag. And you know what? I didn’t care in the slightest. It’s funny, because when I started racing I got caught up in the medal designs and shirt styles. I’m happy to say that stuff hasn’t mattered to me for a while now. I’m at a place where finishing times and rankings don’t matter. This is ultimately about managing my body and seeing what it’s capable of. All the other things are bonuses. 

At the end of the day, the fact is I came to Virginia and swam 4.8 miles, biked 112, and ran 6.2. There was a time not so long ago that would have been physically impossible for me. There was also a time that I would have pushed beyond the red line to my detriment, and possibly done some very long-term damage in the process.

I’ve learned a lot the past several years, but I learned the most valuable lesson yet this past weekend: DNFs don’t matter. Even DNSs (Did Not Start) don’t matter. We’re all given only one body, and you have to make it last a lifetime. I could care less that “internet results are forever,” as long as I’m able to dance at my daughter’s wedding someday, play with grandkids, go on more adventures with Wendy, and still have fun at endurance events, I’ll do whatever is necessary to keep those future events on the table. No medal or finish is worth sacrificing any of that.