The Ultra Race Recap: Double Anvil Florida 2018

It seems only fitting that an ultra-distance race requires an

ultra-recap. If you’ve read my race recaps before, you know my

goal is to take you on the course with me. I provide a lot more
detail than you may need or want. Since this is by far the

longest race I’ve ever competed in, it’s only natural the recap
will be the longest I’ve ever written. So grab a beverage, sit
back, get comfy, and enjoy.

I signed up for the Florida Double Anvil back in November because
a former friend asked if I would race with him. I had already been
doing research on this race, and had also considered doing
UltraMan in Florida (slightly different format over 3 days instead

of 36 hours) for a few years. So I wasn’t doing it completely on a whim.
Plus the success I had experienced at my first 100-mile race in
Booneville gave me a small bit of confidence that I could finish in a
somewhat respectable manner.

Although I had been successfully self-coaching myself the past two

years, I was mostly training for running races. I wanted additional

knowledge and perspective for long-course triathlon, so I enlisted

the help of Ebe Boettcher with TCE Multisport. We started

developing a plan in early November: admittedly not the most ideal

time to start, but my run base was good, my swim form is solid, so

we focused on a lot of bike work. 224 miles is a pretty daunting

distance.

I was also familiar with the course, having competed in a sprint

triathlon in the same venue - Lake Louisa State Park - two years

earlier. A big difference this time was the weather. The first time I

raced here it was typical Florida weather for March: temps in the

low 80s and the ever-present humidity. Temps were similar when I

arrived 3 days in advance of the race, but the forecast indicated a

cold front moving through by race day/night. It would turn out to be

worse than anyone expected.

THE SWIM. ALWAYS FUN

Race day morning wasn’t too terrible: temps in the low 50s, and

water temp of around 70 degrees, which meant I could go with my

new sleeveless wetsuit and be comfortable. But the sand was

extremely cold! I was curious to know how I would feel getting out of

the water after a 4.8 mile swim.

At 7:17am, the starting horn went off a bit suddenly and

unceremoniously: most competitors looked around at each other

slightly confused until someone yelled “GO! START SWIMMING!”

So off we went. I expected to be near the front and hoped to draft

off one of the leaders while keeping things steady with good form.

That was my plan. I settled in, got into that steady rhythm, and

somehow by the second buoy, I was in front all by myself. I was

leading a freaking ultra triathlon!

A nice little fog hanging over the
water - nice to help hide the
gators! Yes, they do reside in
this lake, but there were no
sightings of any that day.



Slower swimmers always like to remind us fast ones that “there’s
no medal for being first out of the water,” and I was convinced I
wouldn’t be. But at that moment - leading a race, with beautiful,
calm water in front of me and the sun just starting to rise, doing
a long-distance triathlon again for the first time in over 18

months - it was the happiest I had ever been in a race. “This must

be what the pros feel like,” I thought to myself. That was quickly
followed by another thought: “Enjoy it while you can,” and I just
focused on completing the 12-lap course.

As you complete each lap near the beach, you have to stop and stand up
briefly, look towards the timer’s table, and call out your name and number.
For the first several laps, I was the first one back. I couldn’t believe it. Surely
there was someone better out there who would use the strategy I had
planned on - draft off a leader, save energy until the final lap or two
then kick it up for the finish.

I knew there was someone not far back. I didn’t know who it was, but they

had a neon pink swim cap on, so I nicknamed them Pinky. Pinky always

seemed so be coming to turns just after I completed them. I got a mild

surprise at lap 7 when Pinky came out of the water right after me and

called their name to the timers, and I heard a woman’s voice. Whoever

Pinky was, she was damn good!

Pinky gave good chase the rest of the way, and I kept telling myself I didn’t care

if she passed me. But when I had reached lap 11, I changed my mind and was

determined to lead the swim start to finish. I gave a bit extra on the final lap to

ensure I was first out of the water, and unbelievably, I was. On my way to the

changing area, I confirmed with the co-race director Teri that Pinky had just

finished about 15 seconds behind me. I was glad I had given a little extra - at

the moment.

First out of the water somehow!

There’s a changing area and bathrooms right at the beach, and that’s where I

changed into my bibs and Wendy and Kaitlynn helped me get on the rest of
my gear for the 224 bike ride. I initially thought leggings would be a good idea,

but on my way to the bike I realized I was already pretty comfortable, the

temps would be warming up, so why waste time stopping later to take them

off? When I finally got on Phoenix (my bike's name), I was told that Pinky had
already beaten me to the start of the bike course. I had gotten ‘chicked’
already!

THE BIKE. 224 MILES OF EXCITEMENT

No matter. I had my race plan to execute. I never expected to be first out of

the water anyway, and I always expect to be passed on the bike. Surprisingly,

I caught Pinky within 3 laps of the 6 mile out-and-back course, and at this point

she had changed into what looked to me to be a brown-colored jersey. So of

course, now her nickname was Brownie!

Heading out for 224 miles of fun!

When I did get the lead back, it was only briefly. The eventual winner passed

me not long after, and about an hour after that the eventual second place

finisher also passed me. Around this time, everyone had finished the swim

which meant there were over 30 competitors on a short course, and everyone

was making stops for different reasons at different times. Some were for food

and drink, some were for comfort, some were for mechanical, and some were

for… let’s say ‘biological necessities.' That was where I had one advantage: I

didn’t get off my bike for those, I just did it while coasting when no one else

was around. I know it sounds gross to some, but when you’re riding for over

14 hours, you save time whenever and however you can.

The rest of the breaks/pit stops happen where both the bike and run courses

loop around at the start and finish area. It’s 2 rows of tents called the AnVillage

(clever). All competitors have an area assigned to them for their gear, food,

and support crew. The nice thing about this is you come back to your crew

every 20 to 30 minutes depending on your speed. I was next to another racer

from Iowa, which was great because on one side there was his crew and on

our other side was Kory and his wife Deanna. All of them would prove

later to be just as helpful to my success as anyone else.

The problem with all the breaks happening at different times is it’s difficult to

know where you are relative to everyone else unless you’re paying really close

attention. And with 3 miles out and 3 miles back on a rather technical course,

your mind is usually focused elsewhere. Also know that there is a ‘Single Anvil’

race going on simultaneously (what most would categorize as traditional long-

distance, being 2.4 miles swim, 112 mile bike ride, and 26 mile run). So combine

different race distances with different racing strategies and different pit stops

happening along the way, even if someone passes you, you don’t know

exactly where you are relative to them.

So just like the swim, I found my comfort zone and settled in. My plan was to go

at least 56 miles before making a pit stop for solid foods. There was a bit of wind,

and it never seemed to be favorable! But I reminded myself that the conditions

were equal for everyone. I was told that chatting with other racers made

the day go by faster, so I did whenever I could. I got to know several racers

that way, and I learned that Pinky/Brownie was named Jaclyn. She was from

Long Island, racing with her teammate Kenny. I would try to chat with some of

the participants from other countries, but the language barrier was sometimes

too much to overcome when you only have a short time to chat.

I made my first stop as planned, and decided that those brief stops would be
good if I had them more often (I had originally only planned on three). I was
also giving my body a break: my neck was hurting, as was my left arm and
shoulder. Deanna, at the table next to us, happened to be a personal trainer
and they were far more prepared than we were! Deanna had all manners of
quick therapy, including a foam roller. She correctly diagnosed it was my lat
that was giving me issues, and invited me to try and roll it out. Holy hell, what
PAIN! But it was helpful.

Even though the foam roller helped, and Wendy had put KT tape on my neck
with some remote instruction from Ebe, the pain was still persistent enough
that I decided to take two ibuprofen around 2pm. There’s risks associated with
it on endurance events, primarily kidney failure. But I was doing a great job
staying hydrated, so it was a calculated risk.

Added together, all my stops on the bike - there were at least 5- would add a
total of 1 hour and 20 minutes to my bike time. But they were necessary: I
needed to re-apply some chamois balm, switch to a different pair of bike shorts
with thicker padding, switch lenses on my helmet,put on warmer (and drier!)
socks, plus add another layer and swap out a headlight when the sun went
down.

Ah yes, the sun going down. That brought some incredibly drastic temperature
changes. Once the sun went down, the temps followed and fast. I was still
somewhat comfortable, but it wouldn’t last much longer. I did not want to put
the leggings on until I was close to finishing the ride because, you know…
‘biological necessities’ were a time-saver and I didn’t want to ruin my leggings
before starting the run! I remember Sara Cooper saying when she did Race
Across America that her strategy was to sleep and nap less than everyone
else. I was going to try and do the same: eliminate unnecessary stops as much
as possible.

Our Florida friends Cris and Cristine Rowe showed up with their oldest
daughter Riley around 7pm to support and help crew so Wendy and Kailynn
could take a break. When I made a long-ish stop to change into dry socks and
tape up my bike shoes to keep some air out, Cris suggested that I put on his
boots to warm up my toes. It sounded crazy, but I’ll tell you what - it was the
most ingenious thought anyone came up with that night!

I saw a lot of creative things during the race. Michal Ortiz had to ride with a
portable charger taped to his aero bars because his Garmin started to die on
him. Another one rode with at least two headlights that I could see because he
wasn’t sure if one would last the night. I should have borrowed that idea,
because sure enough - at around 10pm, in the pitch black of this state park with
no streetlights and no moonlight, my headlight died. There was no one around
me to ‘borrow’ light from either. I ended up riding over a mile with blinding
oncoming lights from other racers, but had nothing except the white line at the
side of the road to guide me. Finally near the turnaround, I caught Karen - the
oldest woman to have completed a double Anvil race - and stayed safe behind
her until someone a little faster came along, then I got behind them and finally
back to the AnVillage to swap a new, fully-charged headlight. That dark part
was a bit scary, I’m not gonna lie.

Not long after that, my bike computer said it had a low battery. CRAP! All these
issues! So I made another unscheduled pit stop, and Cris hooked up my
portable charger, putting both it and my computer in my back jersey pocket.
The only downside was I didn’t have any data for how fast I was going or how
much power I was pushing, but I was already past 150 miles and was mostly
dialed in at that point.

After 10 hours on the bike and darkness settling in, one way I kept my mind
engaged was keeping track of how the runners were doing. Remember,
there’s a shorter race going on at the same time, so all of those racers were
off their bikes before the sun went down. I gave thumbs-up and a smile each
time to all of them, including Will who is turning 60 this year and doing 60 Iron-
distance races in 12 months Talk about amazing! I was also giving huge props
to Tanya, who we met at the pre-race dinner the night before. She said she
was a runner first and foremost, and she wasn’t kidding! Holy cow, she was
flying on the run and looking great! She would race all the way up to second
place overall in the Single Anvil - what a competitor!

Eventually there came a point when all the single Anvil competitors were
finished, and there were only double participants on the course. That made it
easier to tell where I was overall, since we all started at the same time. I saw
one, then two people on the run course. At that point I figured I was at least
two hours behind the leader, and one hour behind second place. But just like
with all triathlons, anything can happen on the run. You never know. First
things first, though - I had to finish this bike ride.

Before the race started, I had a best-case scenario of being off the bike before
midnight with a solid swim and bike. With 4 laps to go, I realized that I had
made too many stops, and that wasn’t going to happen. But I was close: I
would get off the bike around 12:20am Saturday morning, becoming the third
participant to get on the run course.

THE RUN. THE LONG, PAINFUL RUN.

My feet were freezing after riding for 6 hours in the night chill, even with my
bike shoes taped up and hopping into Cris’s boots earlier. I got into the SUV
we rented, cranked up the heat, and let my feet thaw out to the point when I
could feel my toes again. It took longer than I wanted, but now... NOW I was
ready to run!

Damn it felt good to be running. Again, I had a plan, and that was to run the
first 26 miles, then wait for the inevitable slowing to occur on the next 26. When
I started out, my pacing felt good and right where I hoped to be, averaging
around 10 minute miles. Perfect. But I wasn’t totally physically comfortable.
I was sacrificing comfort for speed, and that would prove to be a big mistake
later on.

Bundled up and ready to run!

When I stopped after 12 miles, I tried making some wardrobe changes to
address the comfort. They didn’t work. In fact they made me feel much worse
and slowed me down. I had to walk most of the next two laps - each lap being
1 mile out and 1 mile back - giving my legs a break until I could find a pace I
could maintain again. I got back into it around mile 15, and I kept it for a while,
but each lap was getting slower.

After the 24th mile, I switched shoes to my more comfortable but worn Altra
Escalantes. Oh. My. GAWD. They made all the difference in the world! Even
though 10 minute miles weren’t going to happen again, I found a pace that
worked that was in the 11’s. But running straight through to the finish wasn’t
an option anymore either.

I tried chatting again with other competitors. It was a bit of a challenge in the
dark, you couldn’t always see the face of the person you were talking to due
to their headlamp. And sometimes you couldn’t recognize someone until you
were right up on them. This made for some struggles with the competitors
from other countries who knew minimal English. But I did have a lot of
conversations with Michelle from Guatamala, Rob from Palm Beach, and every
time I saw Jacklyn (aka Pinky/Brownie) and her teammate Kenny - both from
from Long Island - we’d always have a fun exchange. Kenny had a fantastic
attitude the entire race and kept things as light-hearted as possible. Eric from
Fort Collins was a fantastic motivator for everyone, pairing up with anyone who
wanted company and conversation.

Still, everyone was fighting both the cold as well as the physical toll. My feet
hurt, along with my ankles, calves, and knees. Mentally I was still focused
and my nutrition was going very well, but the discomfort was getting to me.
I wanted to take more ibuprofen, but knew there was a real danger of doing
kidney damage if I took too much. I asked Deanna what she had heard about
the dangers of ibuprofen and endurance athletes, and she confirmed what I had
heard: don’t take it unless you have to. So I sucked it up and motored on.

It was tough for everyone at this point, racers and crew and staff alike. The
USA Ultra Triathlon staff was doing a great job staying upbeat, but crews
were having a tougher go. It's easy to understand why: their athlete would
come through every 25 to 40 minutes. Crews are freezing. Just about the time
they get warm and comfy, their athlete comes through again needing something.
And of course the crew isn't exercising non-stop like the athletes. If it had been
warmer, they would have all been just tired. But add cold to that, and it makes
things miserable. Every single crew member deserves huge props for
staying through the night!

Crew trying to stay warm and awake.

Another expectation I had going in was to do the run in under 11 hours, which
would have me finish somewhere around 28 hours or less.. When the daylight
finally started returning around 6am, I knew that wasn’t likely. So I re-evaluated.
My new goal was to try and finish in under 29 hours. That would be an amazing
achievement for my first ultra triathlon. Barring anything catastrophic happening,
that should be good enough for third place.

Easier said than done, though. Even though I didn’t show it, I was in great
discomfort. But I knew everyone else was too. What was really amazing was
that even after all this time, nearly all the competitors were still out there. At a
certain point, you’re not even competing against anyone else anymore: you’re
competing against yourself. How much do you want it? How much discomfort -
how much pain - can you tolerate? How much can you convince your body to
keep moving forward when rest is so welcome? I had to frequently play in my
mind the song that I adopted as my theme song for this race, "Whatever It
Takes" by Imagine Dragons. Specifically the line "I was born to run, I was
born for this."

At this point the pain was just a constant that I internalized. I kept reminding

myself that good form leads to faster, easier splits with less wear. It must have
worked, because nearly every person who saw me commented on how good I
was still looking (I told many of them to go get their eyes checked!). When I had
less than 10 miles to go I knew I could come close to staying under 29 hours. I
just had to minimize the breaks for water and walking. With 6 miles to go I
started ignoring my watch and just ran (ok, more like lightly jogged/shuffled) as
comfortably as I could. With 3 miles to go I knew I was going to do it. I was
going to finish a freaking ultra-triathlon.

One of the great things about smaller races like this is they encourage family
and crew to share the finish with you. I was lucky enough to have been
welcomed by Simon’s crew when he finished his UltraMan. I had not only
Wendy and Kaitlynn, but The Rowes had returned and were waiting for me at
the finish as well. As I started the final lap, I asked all of them who was going to
cross the line with me. I let them figure it out while I ran the last 2 miles.

When I came around the last turn and into view of the finish chute, I saw them
all waiting for me and they started cheering. Kaitlynn was waiting to hand me
the American flag, and it all brought tears to my eyes. As I got closer they
started playing the national anthem, as they do for all finishers. I would later
learn I was the first American to finish - talk about a sense of patriotic pride!
Kaitlynn handed me the flag, and she and Wendy ran alongside me the last
100 yards or so to the finish. I could have floated at that point.

Finishing with Wendy & Kaitlynn.

The whole USA Ultra Triathlon crew was on hand to see me across the line,
taking video and photos. The race director Steve Kirby came over and gave
me an engraved hammer to hit the ceremonial anvil with - twice, since I had
finished the double. The two rings from my strikes may have been the
sweetest sounds I had heard in a long time.

After that, a lot of sweaty hugs. Kenny and Jaclyn happened to come through
the area not long after, and I was able to give them both hugs of appreciation.
I was disappointed they would not be able to attend the luncheon the next day,
they unknowingly were pushing me most of the run and I wanted more time to
thank them both for that. They still had a few more laps to go, though. I wish
I had been able to stay around and see them and everyone else finish. But
once you’re done, you just want to go somewhere and relax.

As I sit here thinking back to the finish, about what the entire experience meant
to me, I’m overcome with emotion again. I said it at the luncheon the following
day and could barely get out the words - at least typing them out I only have to
squint through tears of appreciation:

I’ve always considered myself a lucky guy. I’m lucky because of my beautiful,
wonderful, supportive family in Wendy and Kaitlynn. I’m lucky to have great
support from my coaches and teammates in the TCE Multisport Team. I’m
lucky to live a life that allows me the time to balance training for events like this
along with work and family. That’s a lot of luck right there.

This past week, if it were possible, I became luckier still.

I lucked out talking to people who had gone through it before and helped
prepare me. I lucked out being surrounded by great crews on both sides
and meeting Kory and Deanna. I lucked out having Jacklyn push me throughout
the race. Most of all, I lucked out signing up for a race that had - top to
bottom - the nicest, most supportive people both on the course, on the
sidelines, and behind the scenes.

How did one guy deserve to be so damn lucky?