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.

Ironman Wisconsin 2019

No triathlon is easy.

It doesn’t matter the distance, it doesn’t matter how many you’ve done. Sprint

or ultra, first or a dozen. That’s why not everyone signs up to do one, and also

why many are “one and done.” You have to be good enough at 3 different

disciplines just to finish, and that’s not taking into consideration the numerous

factors that are out of your control: weather, mechanical issues on the bike,

insects and small animals, other participants, even spectators (who are not to

be confused with insects and small animals!).

Going into Ironman Wisconsin for the 3rd time, I was feeling very confident.

Coaches Ebe and Lauren with TCE Multisport had done everything they could

to help set me up for the first of 3 major races over the span of 7 weeks. I was

having better workouts than ever before leading into a big race. All signs

pointed towards a PR (personal record) day, and deep down I knew it was

entirely possible and I had the physical tools to do it. 

When race day finally came, however, I knew from the moment I woke up that

it wasn’t going to be a PR day. I didn’t feel as energized as I usually do. It

wasn’t due to lack of sleep, I think it was just my brain reminding my body that today was supposed to be a (ridiculously expensive) training day. At times my pre-race routine felt like I was just going through the motions. In retrospect that’s not a bad thing; I wasn’t freaking out over anything minor, and I wasn’t in my own head over-analyzing what I could potentially do. I was honestly more excited for my teammates, many of whom were doing their first Ironman.

After our team photo, I got in line for the swim start. Since my last IMWI in 2015,

they changed from a mass swim start (all 2,000+ participants in the water at the

same time) to what’s called a self-seeded start. It was honestly a bit of a cluster,

but when they opened the starting chute I was able to pretty easily join the 1

hour to 1:10 expected swim time group. After the pros went off, we started

marching forward, 5 or so athletes entering the water at a time every 5 seconds.

The coolest part was seeing Mike Reilly - The Voice of Ironman - standing right there at the swim start, high-fiving every single athlete who walked by. (If you don’t know of Mike and his visibility in the sport, Google him. It’ll take too long to explain). He doesn’t announce every race, and I’ve never seen him actually in the thick of the swim start like that. That was a cool way to start the day.

Moments after I received my high-five from Mike, I dove into the 69-degree

water on an overcast and soon-to-be very windy day. I have mixed feelings

about this self-seeded swim start. I will fully admit, it takes a lot of the challenges

in the first 400 yards out of play: elbowing other swimmers, swimming over each

other, fighting for position, and simply just trying to keep taking in air instead of

water. I expected with the sorting, it would be easier to find someone to draft

with and I could have a relatively easy, fast swim. I could not have been more

wrong.

The water was already a little choppy, which is a little unusual for IMWI. As the

swim progressed, the winds picked up and the chop got worse. Swells of 1 foot

or more may not sound like much, but it makes sighting the buoys VERY difficult.

I usually have no issues sighting since I tend to swim pretty straight, but it’s

reassuring to peek up every 10 seconds or so to make sure you’re not drifting

too far out of line. It was affecting everyone. All strategies went out the window

after making the first turn. Strong swimmers were coming to a dead stop. People

who couldn’t sight well were breast stroking and frog-kicking. There would be no

drafting, this was about surviving and just getting out of the water safely.

To give some perspective, there are safety watercraft surrounding the entire

swim course. They are there to provide emergency assistance if needed, and

they can also serve as a resting point for athletes. The craft can’t advance

anyone, but if someone is out of breath or not feeling well, maybe need to

readjust their goggles, they can do so while hanging on to the side. I remember

seeing people clinging to 3 safety craft between turns 1 and 2 (imagine a

NASCAR track and it’s pretty much the same swim course layout) and halfway

along the back stretch I saw a pontoon boat that had at least 10 participants

hanging on to it. In previous years, I’ve never seen more than 3 people in the

fast swim group looking for assistance that early. I heard afterwards that over

60 people did not make it onto the bike course in time.

I was relieved to make the final turn and have a slight current assist towards

the end. When I got out of the water, the 55 degree temps didn’t feel awful

except for on my feet. The concrete path up the helix of the Monona Terrace

was numbing! But the crowd is what makes Ironman Wisconsin special: the

entire path is lined with spectators cheering on every single person. You can’t

help but smile and feel a little bit like a professional athlete.

The carpeted hallways never felt so good to my feet. As I entered Transition 1

to change into my bike gear, I saw Tim Fencl - transition volunteer

extraordinaire - and he helped me get on my way. I felt like it was a good

transition, but I wasn’t paying any attention to my watch. I figured the swim

took me well over an hour and 10 minutes, maybe closer to 1:20 with all that

chop. It didn’t matter to me, it was simply time to get out on the bike course.

With a forecasted high of only 65 degrees and overcast skies all day with a

chance of rain, it would be important to eat and drink plenty on the bike. It’s

always important, but on cool days people often don’t drink enough and

become dehydrated on the run. My 3 bottles had Skratch in them for

additional calories, which is why I wasn’t happy with what happened about

1.5 miles into the ride. I hit a large bump, and heard one of my bottles fall out

of its cage. Shit! I needed that nutrition, and I also didn’t want anyone to hit

my bottle and have an accident so early in the race, especially since a friend

and teammate had that happen to her a few years ago on a training ride. I

wouldn't be able to live with myself, leaving that bottle out there and risk the

same thing happening to someone else. Luckily the bottle had rolled off to

the side, but I still safely retrieved it without getting in anyone’s way. 

My mantra on the bike was “take what the course gives me, no more and

no less.” People were passing me relentlessly, while I in turn passed very

few. I’m used to it. I always tell others, “I go backwards on the bike.” When

you know your strengths and weaknesses, it’s easier to deal with what could

be viewed as a negative. I smiled every time I “got chicked,” which in

triathlon terms is when a woman passes a male competitor. I smiled because

it’s great to see more women in the sport, and to see them doing well.

A boring ride is a good ride, but it was always a boost when I saw Wendy, my teammates and friends on the course. I smiled coming up all the major hills, and drew energy from the crowds there. They were awesome as always, and it was great seeing so many people out there despite the weather. I had a little excitement at times, avoiding a few bottle launches myself, but what I was most pleased with was how I handled the big descents. Most of you probably know of the crash I had just before Memorial Day weekend, and I’ve been more cautious at high speeds as a result. But being out there with other cyclists gave me more confidence, and on most downhills I took advantage of the free speed and twice got up to 45mph (don't tell Wendy)!

I kept an eye on my heart rate and cadence to make sure I was never working

too hard. I ate and drank all my nutrition, and when I was done I took bananas

and Gatorade from the aid stations. I peed three times (yes, on the bike while

still moving) which told me I was doing a great job staying hydrated. I was still

envisioning a strong run, possibly even under 4 hours if I had enough legs left

over. But my legs weren’t happy with me that day. I did something to my right

knee a few weeks ago, and it was flaring up from time to time. Nothing

detrimental; in hindsight it was probably a good thing because it helped keep

me in check. But when you do as much climbing as that bike course has, it’s

hard to come off and knock out a fast marathon. Especially with a headwind

most of the 15 miles back to downtown Madison.

I made it back, and I finally looked at my bike time. My best-ever IMWI bike is

5:57, and I came in at 6:12. It was an average of 18mph, and I was satisfied

with that. I was ready to get off the bike and do what I do best - run. 

Transition 2 was a little slow, a volunteer kept trying to take my bike away

before I could hit stop on my bike computer (I think we looked like Laurel and

Hardy for a bit). When I got into the terrace to get ready for the run, Tim was

again there to help me along with another volunteer and before I left he

wanted a picture. I didn’t mind: it wasn’t a PR day anyway, right?

I headed out on the run and started clicking off miles. My original goal was to

shoot for an 8:40 average for the first 20 miles. The first 2 were very fast, even

with two stops to adjust my shoes. I ran through aid stations, grabbing more

bananas and Gatorade on the go. My mantra on the run was “keep it

sustainable”, and early on I felt like it was. I finished the first run loop in 1 hour

and 56 minutes. If I could maintain that pace, a sub-4 hour finish was doable.

It wasn’t meant to be, though. The bike course had taken a large toll on my

legs, and both of my achilles started feeling tight. I eased up the pace on the

second loop and reminded myself to have fun. I joked with my teammates

and gave Wendy a quick kiss as I headed out for the second loop. I high-fived

all the little kids who stand alongside the course with their hands out. I thanked

every police officer who was controlling traffic (on the bike course also). When

I saw familiar faces I gave them big smiles and encouragement. When I made

it to Mile 20 and only had 6 miles to go, I knew sub-4 was not likely unless I

dug deep and pushed it. 

But why push that hard? I had nothing to gain and so much to lose. With two

more races looming in the distance, it wasn’t worth risking injury or additional

fatigue. I also was having some GI issues which were forcing me to take brief

pauses, and I also had to make two visits to the port-o-johns (another sign of

good hydration). I was truly content and happy with simply finishing, and

looked forward to seeing Wendy at the finish line.

A few miles later I happened upon Eric McGarrah, a friend from Des Moines,

and he was having a challenging day of his own. I walked with him for almost

two miles, and it was nice to have a talk with someone from back home. It

was exactly the break I needed, and I’d like to think it helped him also.

As we neared Camp Randall, I saw my teammate Karla starting her first lap.

This was her first Ironman, and when I saw her I was really happy, but she was

even more so! I knew from looking at her there was no way she was going to

be denied this finish. I would later learn she barely made the bike cut-off, but

she did in fact finish and had a great day!

Right after that I decided to run it in and be finished with my day. I figured I

could finish the run around 4 hours and 20 minutes. I hustled down Dayton,

thanking the volunteers at the aid stations, smiled while making my way up

State Street, and looked forward to coming around the final corner to the

finish chute.

I made my way down and saw Wendy waiting for me where the carpet for the

chute began. I stopped and gave her a big kiss, looked around to make sure I

wasn’t going to ruin anyone else’s finishing moment and photos, and headed

for the finish line. I heard Mike Reilly announce my name (correctly!) and as

has become a tradition of mine, I held up 4 fingers to signify my 4th finish.

Mike noticed it as I ran by his announcer’s platform, and announced to the

crowd I was a 4-time Ironman. That makes a cool moment from Mike to both

start the day and finish it.

The coolest surprise was waiting for me at the finish: Lauren had somehow

snuck her way through the volunteers catching finishers, and was waiting for

me with a huge-ass smile. It was such a great way to finish! For a moment I

thought about jumping up into her arms as she had done at one of her

finishes, but she’s short and even though she’s tough as nails, we probably

both would have fallen to the ground!

I felt as good physically as I have after any race. Lauren walked me back to

get some food, Wendy came over to check on me, and it was only then that

I asked: “What was my time?”

Lauren looked at the app, then looked at me with wide eyes. “Dude. Sub-12!

11:57!”

I couldn’t believe it, with walking nearly 2 miles of the run and my slowest

Ironman bike split ever! How was that possible? I then learned that my swim

split was 1 hour and 11 minutes, which was FAR faster than the 1:20 I had

estimated. Plus my T1 time was barely 8 minutes, which is the fastest T1 time

I’ve had in an Ironman race. Add those in, and that's how I (barely) pulled off

another sub-12 Ironman Wisconsin.

Like I said at the beginning, this was not easy. I was often uncomfortable on

the bike. My lower back was bothering me, and when the discomfort would

start to guide my thoughts to a dark place, I thought of my grandmother.

Grammy passed away back in June. She had been suffering from back pain

for well over a year, and I thought that if she could get up every day and live

with that pain, I can handle the rest of this bike ride.

Almost exactly a year earlier when I was spectating and volunteering at

IMWI ‘18, I wrote her my weekly email and told her that I was dedicating all of

my races in 2019 to her. This is the second race I’ve done since her passing,

but it’s the first race report I’ve written that she won’t be reading. It’s very

bittersweet, because she always told me how much she loved my writing

(she claimed I missed my calling as an author) and enjoyed reading my race

recaps. 

Yes, these recaps are long, but when I wrote my very first one 5 years ago,

one of my stated goals was to take readers out on the course with me. If

you’re an experienced triathlete, maybe reading all of this is too much detail

for you or you're looking for analytical data, or maybe you’re just looking for a

quick summary. These recaps are probably not for you. You already know

what it’s like out there, but so many people don’t and they may not have the

physical tools or abilities to do so on their own. Now that Grammy has

passed on, maybe someone else I know who isn’t as physically able can

get a sense of what it’s like to do a race. I also stated that I hoped these

reports would inspire others to attempt new goals, and I’ve had several

people tell me publicly and privately that I did in fact achieve that. So these

lengthy race reports will continue!

I suppose these aren’t really race reports at all. They’re more like race

stories. I truly appreciate anyone taking the time to read them (you could

be playing Words With Friends or CandyCrush instead)! 

I also need to make it clear how much I appreciate my amazing wife

Wendy for allowing me to pursue these crazy endeavors and chasing

me down on race courses across the country; Coaches Ebe, Lauren,

and the entire TCE Multisport Team for providing me with the outlet that

we all need to vent our triathlete frustrations to; to the volunteers who

truly are the heart and soul of events like this, without which they simply

would not exist; to all my friends who were also racing and spectating

that weekend, I wish I had more time to hang out with you all; to the

local businesses that aren’t sponsors but treat me as if they are, and to

everyone who has supported me along the way. Your comments and

encouragement mean more than you think. 

Next up: Double Anvil Virginia in 3 weeks.