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I'm not sure where to start with this one. I suppose that's appropriate, since we had no idea what 2020 had in store for us. Heck, we didn't even know at the beginning of this year what 2021 was going to be like. That's probably the theme here: more unknown and uncertainty than ever before.
Bear with me while I rewind to June of 2020, when this race was originally supposed to be held. I had a great off-season of training. The Trifecta wasn't too far in the rear view mirror, and Coach Ebe had put me on a great path trading my ultra-endurance for speed. That speed would be necessary to qualify for the IM 70.3 World Championship, which was my goal at the time. I was confident, strong, and overall feeling good about where things were, despite the pandemic that had disrupted the world.
As we all know, the race got postponed for a few months, then for a year. During that 'down time' I won the COVID lottery in August, but recovered well enough to do a sprint tri barely a month after testing negative. I took a few trips out to Colorado to get something out of the training I had put in; I biked up Mt Evans and Loveland Pass, I hiked 4 mountain peaks in one day (and injured my right hamstring in the process) and was doing all I could to stay physically sharp. Despite all that, I was at the beginning of a rapid downward slide mentally. Working from home was taking its toll, and I went through a very difficult patch with several clients and co-workers. Even though exercise and fitness was my usual escape from work, I wasn't getting the endorphin rush or excitement that I used to. COVID fatigue is a real thing, and it was affecting me more than I realized.
By November, I was miserable. My confidence was gone. I had no more motivation. I no longer was able to leap out of bed at 5am and eagerly slip on my shoes and go knock out a run. I had to convince myself to do the work instead of looking forward to it.
I was also getting into bad habits. For several years, I could basically eat and drink whatever I wanted to (within reason, it's not like I wolfed down a Whopper and fries every day). Now I was gaining weight back that I had worked so hard to lose and keep off. I told myself that once I got back in a rhythm with training, it would melt off again. It didn't, and I every morning I had to look at a guy in the mirror who was looking less and less like the guy who was endlessly optimistic and confident not so long ago. I was stuck in a downward spiral and I knew it, but was having a hard time finding my way out.
I eventually had a breakdown with Wendy and Kaitlynn. I tearfully apologized to them for not being the husband or father they were used to. A big part of it was work-related, but having unfulfilled personal goals left on the table wasn't helping either. I promised them I would change, that I would fight my way back to my old self. I started doing little things like getting back to early morning workouts, changing my attitude, and trying to get back into good eating habits again. It's been a challenge and is still a work in progress. I'd like nothing more than to report that I came all the way back, but I'm not there yet. I knew for certain I wasn't from the moment I hit the water at the start of the Des Moines Ironman 70.3 swim.
I always get nervous before a race, no matter the format or distance. I get anxious, excited, a little emotional, and I always feel grateful that I'm there and able to at least attempt another finish. That day, I felt nothing. If I felt anything, it was frustration: I waited too long to drive down, waited too long for a porta-potty, and basically had to run over to the swim start from transition. I knew I was missing that nervous, excited energy, but I attributed it to having done so many races that maybe it's now more routine to me.
No matter the reason, I still had to get the swim done. We were all supposed to self-seed based on our expected finish time and went off 4 or 5 at a time. I got off to a good enough start; I've learned over the years with these self-seeded starts that I don't have to swim as hard off the bat to get separation and out in front of slower swimmers. Usually the group is within my pace and I just try to find a good line, get into a rhythm, and settle in.
On this day, however, there would be absolutely no settling and zero rhythm. The entire 1.2 mile swim was a cluster of everything that could go wrong for me. I don't think a single person started in the correct wave, myself included. I was swimming up on people, and getting swam over as well. I got boxed in probably half a dozen times where I couldn't swim around the person in front of me because I was flanked on both sides, and sometimes even behind. I never panicked, but I was getting angry. I couldn't draft off anyone because of all the jostling. I've done over 30 triathlons now, and this swim was one of the worst I've been in. Mass starts were less physical than this. I was getting grabbed so often, I swore I was going to stop and punch the next person who couldn't sight properly and give me just a little space.
Eventually the swim finish came into view, and I was never so relieved to get out of the water. I was pissed. I glanced down at my watch and it confirmed that I was nowhere near my target finish of 35 minutes or less. Instead I got out just under 40. As I ran the half-mile to transition, I passed Wendy and Coach Ebe and gave them a thumbs-down as an evaluation of my swim.
I ran barefoot all the way to my bike and got my shoes and helmet on as fast as I could. The bike course had been shortened due to heavy rain that delayed the start of the race, and we would only be biking 27 miles on a straight out-and-back route instead of the planned 56 miles. I figured with a shorter ride, I could take out my frustrations from the swim and start to feel better. The course was uphill on the way out and downhill on the return, so I thought I could use the return to recover my legs before the run.
Just as I started, the clouds gave way to an intense sun which immediately cranked up both the heat and humidity thanks to the early thunderstorms. I drank a full bottle of my Scratch electrolyte mix in less than 20 minutes. Usually I try to make one last for 45. In my rushed rage, I had also forgotten my semi-solid food and salt. My nutrition plan was already falling apart, and on a shorter race you don't have time or opportunities to make up that deficit.
For reasons still unknown, my hips were tight. Maybe it was the barefoot half-mile run, maybe it was the constant adjustments on the swim, maybe it was the lack of strength training due to a hamstring issue I dealt with in the winter. Whatever it was, I told myself to just keep pedaling and they'll loosen up. I would have the downhill return and possibly a tailwind to push me back. It turned out I was only half-right: there was no tailwind. I tried to relax and get my heart rate down. I can usually do an intense ride and keep my HR in the 140-150 range. Apparently I was still riding angry because it was up in the 160s for a lot longer than I expected. I did some box breathing as I came back into transition before starting the run, and that helped some.
As I got off the bike, conditions were drastically different from when I got in the water 2 hours earlier. The sun was still bearing down, and a fantastic volunteer applied sunscreen to my neck and shoulders while I topped off my water bottle. As I ran out onto the half-marathon course, something was still off with my hips, but not as bad as when I had first gotten on the bike. I felt slow but told myself to take it easy and find a pace I could maintain for at least 10 miles.
Barely 2 miles in, I knew there wasn't a pace out there that I could hold for even 5 miles, let alone 10 or 13. My first mile was fine at 7:46, but that wasn't sustainable. It was going to be a long, hot, slow run. I did some 'runner math' in my head and changed my goal to do the first half under 55 minutes, then go easier on the second half and get the run done under 2 hours.
At Mile 4, I was starting to question if even those modified goals were possible. While my hips had in fact loosened up in the heat, I just couldn't sustain the pace like I'm used to. I've never experienced something like that before, not in a race of this distance. I started giving myself a walking break at every other aid station, then every aid station. The good news what then when I was actually running, I was running at a good pace. I just couldn't keep it up.
Seeing Wendy and the TCE Multisport team at Mile 5 helped, particularly Doug and one of the most creative cowbell contraptions I'd ever seen! When I saw Coach Ebe, I told him I was throwing all original goals out the window and just going to try and finish. If I saw other teammates or racers that needed help or assistance, I would slow down or stop to provide it.
Running through downtown Des Moines actually provided some shade due to the height of the office buildings. But as any triathlete will tell you, one of the hardest parts on a two-loop course is when you hit the turnaround, because you're reminded of how much farther you have to go. If you're having a great day, it can be a great boost. If you're having a less-than-ideal day, it can bring you down if you allow it. I didn't allow it to bring me down; I just accepted the fact that it wasn't my day but I would still try to finish as best I could.
I saw my teammates Melanie and Erin on my second lap and gave them some encouragement, although neither of them seemed to need it - they did great. I think we were all just trying to get the race over with, but knew how much work it was going to take in those conditions. As I walked up the Fleur Drive bridge, I took the time to scroll through some splits on my watch and see where my times were on both the run and overall. I had just over 1 mile to go, and my overall race time was at 3 hours and 50 minutes. I would have to complete the last mile in under 10 minutes to finish under 4 hours. It wasn't the biggest of goals, but it gave me something to work for in the closing minutes.
I made the second-to-last turn with 5 blocks to go. I glanced down at my watch, and there were less than 3 minutes remaining. "Well fuck, I'm not going to make it," I thought to myself and began walking again. After realizing it was only 5 blocks to the end, I said "Nope, gotta finish strong" and got my ass back into gear. Running down the chute is always fun, strangers cheering you on and reaching out for a hi-five. I smiled and returned as many as I could. A woman came running by me, and I didn't want to crowd her finisher photo so I backed off (I've got enough finish photos already). I crossed the line, stopped my watch, and got a water from a volunteer who also immediately dumped a nice cold one on my head. Holy crap did that feel amazing! It felt so good I asked him if he was married (at least I still had my sense of humor). I heard Wendy calling out to me and I went over to give her a fist bump - she would want no part of my sweaty and drenched hugs. I then looked down at my watch.
3 hours, 59 minutes, and 49 seconds.
Well, at least that was something.
Of course, Ironman's official timing couldn't even get that right - for some reason they have my official finish at 4 hours and 18 seconds, which is ridiculous because I never start my watch early, and if anything I got a few steps past the finish before stopping it. I don't know how they can make a 30-second error, but I digress. My teammate Donnie finished not too far behind me, and we congratulated each other on getting through a grueling day.
I needed quite a bit of time to get my breathing and heart rate under control. The post-race food was 2 long blocks away, and didn't even have chocolate milk! At least the burger was good, and sitting in the shade for a while was nice. After a bit, Wendy took me back to our team's location - Coach Lauren had magically shown up from Chicago! - and we cheered teammates and friends as they also finished. From a physical point, I was feeling fine, and I accepted the race results for what they were. Everyone I talked to had struggled, and even those who I typically compete with in close to the same times had difficulties of their own.
Still, something was missing for me. I've always been able to feed off the energy of spectators and other athletes. Even on the toughest courses, you'll be hard pressed to find me without a smile on my face. I still cheered on friends, teammates, and other people I knew when I saw them and told them all to keep going, that they were killing it, reminding them to race smart in the heat. But I wasn't getting the boost that I typically do from those interactions. I thanked volunteers at every aid station and police officers at every intersection trying to generate good race mojo, but the whole day just wasn't at all what I had expected it to be. Maybe it's because I was away from racing for such a long time. Maybe my the goals I set were unrealistic. I knew a World's spot wasn't possible in 2021 - hell it was a stretch even in 2020 had the race gone as planned. I had hyped this race up so much in my mind that anything less than achieving those lofty goals was bound to be a let-down.
What sucked the most for me is that I screwed up a lot of things that were under my control. I was too rushed getting transition set up in the morning because I thought being a local gave me some kind of knowledge or advantage getting to the race site. I likely had one beer too many the day before. I didn't load up on enough sodium prior to and during the race. I didn't get enough calories on the bike, short as it was. Sure, Mother Nature kicked all of our collective asses, but I've ran in hotter conditions and done harder bike courses. Ultimately maybe this was just a perfect storm of all things going wrong when all things leading up to it had been going so right.
The number question I get asked is "What are you going to do next?" I honestly don't know. I don't think I'll be doing many more Ironman races in the future, but I won't rule it out either. I think I might be at an age where I have to pick a lane: commit to shorter triathlons, medium ones, or long course and ultras. There are pros and cons to each: varying training schedules and costs, plus the locations, quality and quantity of races. The one thing that is a constant in all of them are the people. I've said it many times before, and I'll say it again because it's worth repeating: the sport of triathlon has introduced me to some of the most wonderful, amazing, determined, generous people from all walks of life across the country and around the world. I'll never turn my back on it; it's given me so much.
I think I'll take a little time off and think about what Wendy and I both want to do with Kaitlynn going to college in August. I had always planned on taking time off to be around for her as she finished high school and prepared for her own T1 to college. Work has fortunately gotten better, and I'm on the path back to who I was in 2019. I don't mind looking at that guy in the mirror anymore, although he did support too many locally-owned craft breweries during the pandemic. It's time for 2019 Jeff to show himself again.
