Ironman USA Lake Placid Race Report--The Swim and T1

Swim
Predicted Time: 1:15-1:20
Actual Time: 1:23:19

Well, holy fucking crap, Batman! This swim start was unlike any other Ironman I’ve ever done. It was immediate and total congestion, body contact and really not so much swimming but jockeying for position. I could feel myself wanting to hyperventilate, so I just kept telling myself that it would clear up and to just keep moving forward somehow. I don’t know how to train myself for this shit. It really isn’t swimming at all—most of us were nearly vertical in the water, and yet we were being sucked forward. I actually let some people go by me because I just wanted to find a 2-foot area of clear water, if that was possible.

I have no idea how long it took before I was actually able to swim, but even then it was constant body contact, and not always the nice variety. I just tried to keep my face out of other peoples’ feet and try and not get my arms ripped off. I was pulled, hit, kicked, punched, you name it. OK I can understand the ratio of men to women is quite high, but some of the super-aggro people were FEMALE. What the hell, ladies? When did we take to a cage match mentality?

I tried my best to stay off the buoy line (there’s a yellow rope underwater for kayak races that you can see in a radius of about 6 feet), but whenever I would get slightly away from it, the draft would just suck me back in. Note to self: next year wait about 30 or 45 seconds to let the fucking Ultimate Fighting crowd get on that line.

Once you get sucked into a particular pace group on the buoy line, it’s tough to get out, so my swim was going to be whatever these people were doing. It certainly felt like once we got going that we were moving pretty well, but again, unless you are extremely aggro (which I’m not in the swim), you get what you get.

It was particularly unnerving to reach the turn buoys (the course is laid out in a rectangle, and you do the loop twice), because this is where you typically encounter super heavy body contact. Well, I didn’t even need to point my body around the turn buoys because I just got sucked around, and actually here was an opportunity to claim a little bit of open water. I used this to my advantage as best I could, but then found out there were still many other swimmers around me that wanted to hit, punch and kick.

I tried valiantly to get away from the buoy line, and I don’t have difficulty swimming in a straight line, yet I still got sucked back in. Oh well, time to stop fighting it and move on.

I was never so happy to get to almost shore when I saw the weeds. I was hoping that starting loop 2 would be a better experience. I stood up and ran wherever it was I was supposed to run to get back to the start of the second loop. I saw a lot of people taking their time waltzing back into the water, and I wanted none of that, so I just dove in and now I deliberately tried to get on the buoy line so I could make some time (hopefully).

Lap 2 wasn’t as bad as Lap 1, but the same issues existed, only there was a bit less body contact, but not by much. I got kicked in the face on Lap 2, but my goggles didn’t come off completely, and even though they developed a slight leak, it was no big deal because I was on the final loop back.

I have never before swallowed water during an Ironman swim, but this time I took on a good amount—nothing I was worried about, but you always have these flash thoughts of whether the water will make you sick. But I didn’t feel bloated or badly when I got out of the water, so I figured I’d be OK. I actually negative-split the second lap by a little bit, but I was disappointed in my time, but it was a done deal, so it was time to move on.

T1: 7:08

First things first—find a wetsuit stripper. I tried to get a hottie, but in the interest of time, I pointed at the first available guy on my left. He did a great job, and I got up and started running. There’s a rather long run (maybe ¼ mile) to get to the transition tent, and since I wanted to keep making forward progress, I kept running.

There were athletes who were taking their sweet time, and I would try my best to be polite, saying, “Excuse me,” or, “On your left,” and I think I got a few nasty stares. Come on, people, it’s a race! The faster I get on my bike, the faster I can begin tackling the bike leg and getting on my nutrition.

I got into the bag area and it was easy to make my way to my bags (being in the end zone ON THE GROUND and all), and I was shouting out my number just to be sure someone would grab my bag for me, which I got and ran with into the changing tent. I picked a spot in the corner on my right and sat down. Well, I must have swallowed quite a bit of water, because my body decided it needed to pee, and RIGHT NOW, and I mean I couldn’t even get up and run to a porta-potty. It was all water anyway, so I just had to let it go and move on with my day. I know that sounds disgusting, but once the floodgates were opened, there wasn't much I could do.

I had put a towel into my T1 bag so I could at least dry my feet (which is all that needed drying) before putting my socks on. I already had on my top and bottom and arm warmers, so all that was left to put on was my number belt, shoes, sunglasses and helmet, and after directing my volunteer what to do with the wetsuit and sunglasses case (she wanted me to take the case for some reason), I stood up and ran the hell out of there. There were a lot of women in there in various states of disorientation, so I got out as quickly as possible and began the run to my bike.

I got lucky even though I didn’t need someone to unrack my bike for me, a man did it, and I was pretty happy to get it and now I could run from the end zone back to the other side of the field and get onto it.

The mount line was fucking crowded, so I watched carefully, because I’ve seen people crash or tip over at this point in a race many times, so I jockeyed for a safe position and got on Bitchie. Boy, I was never so glad to get on my bike!