Run
Predicted time: 4:45
Actual time: 5:06:40 (an Ironman marathon PR)
Total Predicted Time, including Transitions: 12:55-13:05
Actual Time, including Transitions: 13:39:51
Placement: 7/24 in AG (including the DNF’s)—does that make me a FOP???
I’ve been running a lot in the past few years, but I am by no means a “runner.” Actually, I’m not a swimmer or biker, either. I started all this crap in the year 2000, after spending 1 year “running.”
I’ve done Goofy’s Challenge twice, now, where you run a ½ marathon on Saturday and a full marathon on Sunday. Both times, my marathon time was right about 4:30, although I think I could run faster if the weather conditions were right. When I have begun the marathon there, my legs feel similar to the way they feel when I get off the bike in an Ironman. I have now revised my interpretation to they actually feel much better in Goofy’s Challenge at the start of the marathon than they do in an Ironman! The cumulative fatigue of a 112-mile bike ride (plus that silly swim) is greater than a ½ marathon run at jogging to cruising pace.
Even still, I figured I should be good for a 4:45 Ironman marathon, and I now still think I can if I can learn to dig deeper into my suitcase of courage (I did see a sign out on the marathon course that said “Here’s your Suitcase of Courage,” and it made me laugh).
People talk about suffering during an Ironman, but the only time I have really suffered was last year during Ironman Brazil because I was so deeply sad about the death of my mother. I have never felt like I was truly physically suffering. How can I say this? Because I have experienced far worse physical and mental pain personally outside of triathlon than I think I could ever inflict upon myself. I’m sorry, but there ain’t nothing that compares to being held at gun and knifepoint for 3 hours while being raped and accused of being a scourge on an entire group of people and focusing on one thing: convincing these people to not kill me. So my perspective on pain and suffering is a bit different than for many people. Also, I have never (touch wood) had a seriously debilitating disease. I have 2 good arms, 2 good legs, 2 good lungs, a functioning brain, and hey, there’s a lot you can do with that. I also come from a very intellectual (ok, geeky) background, and I am very accustomed to doing the work to achieve certain objectives and having a lot of confidence in myself, so I feel like as long as I’m doing the work, I will get a good result.
Sure, I got beat to shit in the swim, and while I was on the bike, my feet hurt eventually like sons of bitches, and my crotch was none too happy from the sheer amount of mileage and climbing and then the sun beating down and all the nasty sweat, but was any of that suffering? Hell no. See, I
expect those things to happen, and when I get discomfort that I expect, it’s not suffering to me. My coach told me he’s concerned that I may be using up my “suffering chits” because of all the crazy shit I do. I told him that so far, I hadn’t really suffered, and that as long as I keep things fun (which I believe I do), I’m good to go. I think that’s why he told me a few weeks ago that maybe I shouldn’t do an Ironman in 2008. What the hell—to me, an Ironman is not the big deal—it’s all the fucking training you have to do! Now, maybe I have the wrong attitude and need to find a way to dig really deep in the race to suffer in order to go faster. We shall see!
So I get out of the transition tent in a good time, and I begin doing what I’m supposed to do for the first 6 miles—jog. Not run, not shuffle, but jog. I’m taking it easy and not looking at my watch—my time will be what it is based on what I am able to do at this point. I actually don’t feel bad in starting the run. I know that will change, but for now, life is good.
The first few miles out of town are just lined with spectators, so it’s hard not to feel good! Since my bib prominently said SHEILA, and my bib is about as big as my hips, it was tough for people to not see my name and shout it out. I sported the same streamers I wore at Triple T for good luck. I always carry this tiny piece of lava from Hawaii and a gold cross with a small pearl in my running shorts during every Ironman that I do. The lava is to remind me of the most beautiful place that I know of in the world, and the cross is from my First Communion, and while I don’t consider myself a practicing Catholic, it does remind me of my spirituality and how blessed I am to be so healthy and able to do an Ironman. I also wear my lucky, red Race Ready long distance shorts. They have seen me through 6 Ironman races so far.
So at the start of the run, I’m smiling broadly, just doing my thing, and nothing feels bad physically except that it is noticeably hot. I didn’t know what the actual temperature was, but while on the bike I could feel the sun beating down. At least it wasn’t humid—I’m fine in dry heat. I heard reports that it hit 90 that day. Good thing all the aid stations had cold, wet sponges, which I took to putting on my shoulders to keep me cool. I didn’t realize until after the race when I took a shower that I was sunburned. See, some things just escape me while I’m racing, which is a good thing, because if you dwell on the negatives, you put yourself in a bad place.
I can never remember a marathon mile-by-mile (same as the bike course, sadly), so where/when exactly things happened for the most part will be a big blur. Hey—I just thought of a new way to bill an Ironman race—“140.6 Miles of Blur.”
I do remember that when I reached the turn onto River Road on the first loop, there was Rich right at the corner. He flashed his always welcome smile, and asked me how I was doing. I remember my response being something like this: “Feet on fire—gone. Crotch on fire—gone. Stomach feels great, so I feel pretty good!” I’m pretty sure I was making some wild hand gestures while having this short conversation, because, well, it’s hard for me to talk without my hands!
Later on on River Road, and I don’t remember if it was the first or second loop, I saw Rich again, and I said something like, “Ice fixes ANYTHING.” I am all about the ice in races. Ice in hat, ice in bra, and if I’m wearing bike shorts or a swimsuit bottom, ice in shorts! Since I was carrying my supply of Ultra Violence, I would also go through aid stations, grab a cup of ice, and pour that heavenly liquid over the ice, and presto—ice cold pop!
The first time back into town, Shelley’s husband and kids were camped out, including lawn chairs (the nerve of them being
comfortable). Shelley’s youngest, Eric, and I developed a particular affinity for one another. It seems we have the same silly sense of humor. Eric spotted me, and he shouted (he made sure to shout really loudly so I wouldn’t miss it), “I CAN’T HEAR YOU, CRACKHEAD!!!” I turned, spotted him, and shouted back, “I MUST BE WAY TOO FAT!!!” That got me going for quite awhile. On the second loop, when I was nearing the finish, Eric yelled, “I CAN HEAR YOU NOW--YOU'RE NOT FAT ANYMORE!” Believe it or not, the statements both times carried deep meaning—on loop 1, there was no point in me getting too happy with so many miles to go, but I lost weight so that he could hear me finally!
The rest of my description is in no particular order, as I can’t really remember whether the memories are from the first or second loop. I do remember that my feet felt fine for the first loop, but by the second, I was back to feet on fire. Not just that, but it was MY FEET ARE FUCKING KILLING ME. It was nothing I didn’t expect, and I knew I had a few blisters going, and I knew the camber of the road was messing up my left foot a little more (and also my right quads), but there was nothing to do about it but acknowledge it and keep doing the best I could.
There was an aid station in the area out of town before you reach River Road where they had a Mr. Potato Head smack on the yellow line of the road. He was about 12” tall, and I think he may have been holding a flag or something? I would kill for a picture of that. Anyway, I think it was coming back on my second loop and there was this car (some regular idiot trying to drive while we are all over the road) that was trying to get through that aid station. The car was going really slowly, and everyone (including me) is shouting, “DON’T HIT MR. POTATO HEAD!” People were swinging and flailing their arms wildly to make sure the guy in the car (I think it was an old, light yellow Chevy Impala) didn’t run over him! That was fucking hilarious!
There were lots of Janus signs out on the run course, in fact, they were so thick, you couldn’t read every single one. Those signs were a fucking brilliant idea of Janus, whenever they started them, which I think was 2002? If you need to be taken out of your (not mine, I don’t have any!) misery, all you need to do is read the signs. In addition to “Here’s Your Suitcase of Courage,” I remember one that said “You’re not here to make friends.” I sure wasn’t. While I was perfectly happy chatting away during the bike ride, on the run, I am saving all the energy I can, and while I say Hi and Thank You profusely to the volunteers, I am not much for talking to the other athletes, as this is MY time—it’s when I need to focus on staying in my happy place and getting it done. So I understood that sign very well. Besides, I already have lots of friends!
Have I said yet how wonderful all my friends are? Not just the people who were physically present in Lake Placid, but all the people who watched me online and sent me good vibes. You were all right there with me, and believe it or not, I can feel that spirit while I’m out there running. It’s like this extra bit of lift in my step, and while I don’t actually scroll through the names of everyone I know, I can sense there’s this energy that is outside of myself that is carrying me along. I do spend time thinking about people that I know who are on the course while I’m running. I hadn’t seen Shelley all day, so when I finally saw her running with a great lead on me, I just got this really nice feeling, you know? And each time I saw Cindy, I was so happy she was doing so well. See—I think I know how to do these things—maybe I’m not fast, but I execute pretty well, and so I don’t think I have much to worry about. As I’ve already said, I more or less know what to expect, and I don’t have nutrition issues or cramping or anything like that, so I get a chance to just enjoy myself and celebrate my health and fitness. Yet I know it’s not like that for everyone, so I do sort of worry about my other friends out there.
A man I know from back home, Joel Zucco, has been at several races and events I’ve done this season. He was racing, and at some point during the run, I saw him and he flashed me our private gang sign. The first time he did it to me a few months ago, I thought I recognized him, but I wasn’t sure, and then I realized it was him. This time, though, I knew exactly who it was. Joel had a great race, and just like for Shelley and Cindy, I was so happy to see him doing so well!
I saw Nick, aka Colossal Quads, when I was going back into town on my first loop. He was going out on his second, and he looked strong. He spotted me and shouted at the top of his lungs, “HARDEN THE FUCK UP” while pointing at me. Man, did I need to hear that! I was having a brief moment of wanting to slow down, and that just got me going and made me realize that I wasn’t really in any pain here and to keep running.
I had applied several temporary tattoos, which you can sort of see in some of my race photos. Armbands around each biceps, an Energizer Bunny on the back of my left calf, an
Endurance Nation on the back of my right calf, and a Canadian Maple Leaf on the front of my left shin. The Maple Leaf was good for a few extra spectator cheers, as many of them thought I was Canadian. One guy actually asked me if I was Canadian (what, I don’t
look Canadian?), and I told him I was just a “Canadian sympathizer.” He said he
is Canadian, but that he’s
not a Canadian sympathizer! It’s interchanges like this that really keep me going and help me keep perspective during an Ironman run.
Rich was all over, riding a bike, while I was out there. I was always happy to see him. He was always smiling, and I was except for once—when I was almost back to the Oval and I was taking a short walking break, and he made some comment about how he had caught me walking, and I’m pretty sure I rolled my eyes and hoped he couldn’t tell because I had my sunglasses on. But it got me back running, so it was all good. One time he was on the opposite side of River Road on his phone and telling me that one of his dogs, Sonny, said hello. For some reason, I didn’t really care about it at the time, and I shouted to him that he needed to be telling me to harden the fuck up! I do like all the happy encouragement shit, but I also really like being told to suck it up, so here’s words to the wise for any of you who plan to be in Lake Placid in 2008: Smile at me, but then tell me to harden the fuck up if I’m running! I will still probably smile broadly back at you and thank you either verbally or in my head.
I think it was on loop 1 when I was nearing town and there’s a hill where lots of spectators stand, that I later found out is called the IGA Hill (there must be an IGA there, eh?). There was some guy with a megaphone who acted as the spotter, and would get the crowd all riled up to cheer for whoever was running up the hill. They also had music blaring. I don’t remember what was playing, but I love music, and I love to dance, so I spontaneously did a little razzle-dazzle footwork for the crowd, and they cheered madly, and then just as I was about to turn the corner, I decided, what the hell, let’s flash a moon, so I bent over and more or less gave myself a wedgie—enough so, that you could see my butt, and the crowd went wild! I heard later from a guy I know that was up there that Megaphone Guy went temporarily speechless. I totally had fun doing it, and I didn’t even break stride, and I didn’t notice I was climbing a hill!
On loop 2 on River Road, at one point there was some sort of bird emitting this high-pitched scream, almost like it was looking for dead meat on the road. So I yelled out, a la Monty Python in a forced, fake British accent, “I’m not dead yet!” That got a few other athletes to crack a smile, and I had fun doing it. I ran past where the bird was and when I hit the turnaround and circled back, it was still there, so I gave another round of “I’m not dead yet” and got some more athletes smiling.
Around Mile 16, Rich came by and told me there were a lot of folks “going backwards” ahead of me and that if I just kept pace I would probably pass a lot of them. Talk about something to get me motivated! Now everyone became a target. I didn’t start counting until I saw the Mile 17 marker, and then I remember counting to 65 somewhere by Mile 20 and then I just quit counting, but kept plugging along. I didn’t feel like saying anything to those I passed, not even a “good job,” because I was doing my own job and now I didn’t have much extra to spare.
Turning off of River Road, I got some comments like I made a cute cheerleader (that wasn’t the point of the streamers at all), someone commented on how pretty I looked especially since I took the time to put lip gloss on (what the hell, man, I’m sunburned!), and how tan I am! I just didn’t have the energy to correct anybody, and besides it would be rude, since the spectators are just trying to take you out of your alleged misery, which I truly wasn’t experiencing. At this point, it’s all about get it done.
With about 2 miles to go, Rich rides up and tells me he’s going to go change and then there will be many beers to drink! I was all over that plan, but I needed to keep running, so I did. In the little out and back section before you are home, one humungous spectator dude stuck his hand out for some reason and ended up hitting me in the gut, like what happened to Lori Bowden a few years ago at Ironman Hawaii. It hurt a bit, and then the guy is trying to hug me and I’m trying to get him off. I told him, “Let me go I have to keep running!” I know he meant well, but I didn’t need to be stopped dead in my tracks with less than a mile to go!
And then I finally near the oval where you see the 2 signs—Loop 2 to your left and Finish to your right, and this is where I think every athlete just lights up and all the pains disappear and you know you’re about to be home free. Even though it was still relatively light outside, everything outside of my direct field of vision appeared dark. I knew there were people there cheering, but I had to finish, so I just kept running. There was some stupid Ford vehicle on a platform—what the hell??? There was a RAMP that we had to run over, and I bet some people tripped and fell on the stupid thing. But up and over I went and then it was the final home stretch, and again, I didn’t look anywhere but straight ahead, and I haven’t seen my finish video, but I’m pretty sure I was all smiles, and some volunteers held a tape for me to run through, and it was over!
I was grabbed by a gracious volunteer and wrapped in Jiffy Pop (what I call the mylar blankets used at Ironmans and marathons) and asked how I felt and what did I need? All I needed was a bit of water, my medal, finisher hat and T-shirt! I was given these things, and I told my nice man that I was fine and would be good to go on my own. As I walked through the finish area, there was Rich, all smiling and changed up, and we immediately set to getting all my crap out of there. He told me to go grab some pizza, and I did get in line but they ran out at the guy in front of me! Well, they weren’t out for good, but they finished one pizza up and there was going to be a wait for more, and I must say it wasn’t a very efficient operation. So I walked out of that line, found Rich again and we decided on how to manage getting stuff out. He went and got my bike and I went and grabbed my bags after taking some of the crap off my body like the Fuel Belt, number belt, and stashing my medal and shirt, and getting out of my running shoes and into flip flops.
When Rich came back with my bike, he told me that now they were getting volunteers to go retrieve the bikes and bring them to you. What the hell? He just waltzed into there like he knew what he was doing and thankfully didn’t have to wait in line to get my bike! I tried to carry some stuff, but he said he’d manage everything and I felt so useless. We walked out of the oval across the street basically to Patrick’s (Rich’s business partner) place, where we could shower. There were several bikes in there from various athletes and whoever was there chatted with us about how things went and stuff. I was pretty anxious to shower, so I headed upstairs for the BEST SHOWER EVER! I thought I was going to scream more in the shower, because usually I find some chafing that I didn’t know about, but actually things weren’t too bad. I put on my brand new T-shirt, my Spongebob pants that I had worn about 14 hours earlier, and I was ready for some beer.
Rich and I headed to a sports bar that he knew had the Tour de France on, which it was great to watch. My bike was in the bar and after 2 beers some guy tells me my bike can’t stay there, but it went outside and a bouncer was watching it. I really didn’t care by that point and was more interested in the beer!
4 beers and one burger later, I’m feeling much better and pretty giddy. I’d remember something that happened in the race that I found funny and would tell Rich and I think he was laughing more AT me than WITH me, but it didn’t matter.
Rich went and got the car and we loaded my crap in and went back to the hotel where I thought I wanted one more beer, but I passed out in about 30 seconds once I laid down in the bed, and I slept really well and woke about 7AM hungry as hell (expected). I told Rich I was going to McDonald’s and what did he want? I got the biggest breakfasts they make and brought everything back. There were a number of other finishers in there getting a fix. Rich then had to leave to drive to JFK to catch his plane home.
After breakfast, I got my bike mostly put away and my clothes organized, and I had lunch with Cindy, Jovan and Matthew, again at Tail of the Pup. Beer went down great and I think I had some combination of BBQ stuff to eat. Cindy et al then began their drive home, and I went back to finish packing everything. I went to McDonald’s one last time to get a large cup of coffee for the morning, and I managed to get to sleep early since I needed to get up at 2:15AM.
Ironman doesn’t stop with the race—it’s not truly over until you are back home in your own bed. I awoke just before the alarm went off and chugged the cold coffee and loaded the car (I had put the bike box in there the night before to avoid waking anyone), and began my 140-mile drive to Albany. The drive was uneventful except for a few pairs of eyes on the sides of the road. I went to McDonald’s one more time because I was starving.
My plane left on time, I had a Bloody Mary in flight and began working on this race report, and the rest is history. I’m already plotting my revenge on the course in 2008!
Thanks for being my friends, fans, and personal cheering section, everyone. A special thanks goes out to Rich, who helped me train well even with the bizarre stuff I choose to do, and who was my biggest supporter on the day.
