C.: Well, it’s Sunday, and Ralph still has laryngitis. So, I’m going to fill in for him at The Kennel tonight, but I do have enough time to read one chapter in my friend, d.c. scot’s manuscript entitled “BEYOND THE THIRTEENTH MILE: THE IRON MAN CHRONICLES.” I’m on chapter fifteen, I think. Oh good, it sounds like it might be about math, and I love math.
CHAPTER 15: TWO HALVES DO NOT EQUAL A WHOLE (IRONMAN)
1815: Run course; mile 13:
I’ve finished one-half of the run course. That’s pretty good! I’m still on pace to finish within 14 hours. Wow! And I was going to pull out of the race at the last transition area.
I must have hit the ultimate “runner’s high.” I believed I could run twice as far as this, but I won’t attempt that now. I just want to finish this course and be able to say, honestly, that I’m an Iron Man. That would be phenomenal!
I never thought this day would come. Not after my first attempt at a one-half Ironman distance triathlon. At least I’ve finished that course and two more of that distance. However, no matter how you look at it, two one-half Ironman distance triathlon finishes (or even three) don’t equal a whole Ironman distance triathlon...
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I'm really not bad at math. In fact, I'm quite good at adding and subtracting figures in my head. But if you ask any experienced triathlete, they will tell you that doing two one-half Ironman distance triathlons is not the same as completing a full one.
My disappointment level was extremely high that next season because I tried unsuccessfully to enter the only Ironman distance triathlon in which I could feasibly compete, factoring in the time of year and the distance that I would need to travel to compete in the race: Ironman Florida. This was before many of the new Ironman distance triathlons existed. Now, I would only need to travel about 50 miles to find the nearest race of this description—Ironman Texas. However, that year I would have needed to travel outside of Greater Houston to accomplish my goal of completing an Ironman distance triathlon.
Heeding one of my swimming companions' warnings to enter early, I tried to enter in mid-May. Unfortunately, I found out that the early November race had been closed—for the second time.
Not masking my disappointment very well, I set my sights on what I believed to be the toughest one-half Ironman distance triathlon on the circuit at the time: Buffalo Springs Lake. There’s a reason this race is a qualifier for the Hawaiian Ironman distance World Championship Triathlon: It’s a tough course.
Remembering the year before, I seemed to hear Mac Davis's "Happiness is Lubbock, Texas in the Rearview Mirror" in my mind every time I thought about that horrific experience. Usually, every leg of a race isn't torture. There’s at least one phase of a triathlon that triathletes regard as their strength. For me, that part of the race is usually the bike leg, except for the one involving the hills outside of Lubbock, Texas.
Between the twisting, hilly roads, the fresh-cut hay playing havoc with my sinuses, and the cramps in my legs, I really had little desire to get back on that course again. So why did I even go back? Because I can take being beaten by a better (or smarter) triathlete, but that was the first time that I felt like the course had beaten me. I knew the second I set foot in that pickup truck the year before that I had to go back—and finish!
To add to the tension, there was only one triathlon in which I could feasibly compete as a warm-up race for the one-half Ironman distance triathlon at Buffalo Springs Lake, and it was only a week before the Lubbock race. However, it was only five miles from my house, and it was staged in the same park in which Nicole and I were married.
Nicole thoughtfully tied a ribbon from one of the balloons from our wedding decorations to the handlebars of my bike, which took my focus away from racing (slightly) and helped me relax. I would have liked to have been a ''hometown hero” (especially since this race was in its inaugural year) and at least finish at the top of my division. Sometimes, the best races you do are the ones you have no intention of trying to win. I needed to conserve energy for the following week, so this would seem to be a good plan.
Even though I got squeezed into the first buoy at the first turn in the swim, I was very relaxed in the water, finishing it two whole minutes ahead of my projected time. I then proceeded to waste those two minutes in the transition, my weakest phase of racing.
The bike leg started out nicely, with a 22 mph tailwind. However, this being an out-and-back course, that also resulted in a 22 mph headwind on the second half of the bike leg, which resulted in fatigued legs from fighting the wind. Not wanting to "overrun my legs" as Seth had, I ran a cautious run leg, about one minute per mile below my normal pace. This was frustrating, because many of the triathletes I had “burned'' on the bike leg passed me while I was trying to put on my knee brace as I walked out of the transition area. It also didn't help that I misjudged the finish line, almost missing it altogether. I finished in the middle of the pack but, as much as ever, I felt ready!
The flight to Lubbock was fairly uneventful. Nicole and I decided that, without Luke to help us drive, we would "fly the friendly skies" instead of reliving our midnight run of the year before.
A stop in Austin resulted in our once comfortably filled flight being filled to the gills with triathletes and their bikes, all in boxes. I decided that, if I needed help with the details of rebuilding my bike, I may have some help, because we were all headed for the same destination. This helped calm my frazzled nerves since I found that I must tear down my bike to put it in my new bike box that I had bought for the flight. Of course, this meant I must put it back together by myself, a first for me, upon our arrival at the Arid City on the West Texas Tundra. Putting a bike back together after shipping it in a box was a new experience for me, but not an unpleasant one. It actually is easier than it looks, as I discovered.
Race day morning brought two surprises; one was pleasant, and one was not. The great Scott Tinley, a two-time winner of the Hawaiian Ironman distance World Championship Triathlon, had just retired from professional status six months before this race. Tinley, ever the competitor, decided to participate in several races as an age-grouper, "just for fun." This was one of the races in which he chose to compete. Nicole, recognizing one of the speakers from the seminar the day before, pointed Tinley out to me. He stood directly behind me, waiting to get his body markings done. I was, unfortunately, unable to say even "hello" before he was finished with his body markings and out of sight. Tinley has a reputation as one of the friendlier professionals, and I was disappointed that I didn't get a chance to at least meet him. At least once, though, I could say that I was ahead of Scott Tinley—even if the race hadn’t even started yet!
The next surprise wasn’t as pleasant as the first. Remembering how cold the water had been the year before and how much of a struggle the swim leg was, I had fully intended to bring my wetsuit with me. The wetsuit, however, had remained in Brazos, as I discovered much to my chagrin before the start of the swim. Without the wetsuit to increase my buoyancy, I struggled a bit with the swim, as one of the other swimmers probably figured out after following me closely for much of the last part of the swim. I was a little annoyed by the end of it. I finished the swim about ten minutes over my projected goal of three-quarters of an hour but didn't feel nearly as tired as I had the year before. Maybe because of that, the bike leg didn't seem nearly as taxing as it had previously.
Sports drink spilled out of my reservoir on my drop handlebars, wiping out my computer. As a result, I had no idea how fast I was going most of the time. That may have been a good thing, because my watch read four hours as I racked my bike, just in time to hear the announcer begin to call out the leaders’ names as they came into his sight.
It was extremely hot on the run course, though. The official temperature at the finish line was 108° Fahrenheit, a new record for the course. Well, that was the official temperature, but someone put a thermometer on the pavement, and it registered 120° F. That made me glad that my water bottles had been secured to the frame of my bike. I needed fluids, and a lot of them. Losing one-third of my fluids wasn’t pleasant. Dehydration was a distinct possibility.
Seeing people falling over in the grass from heat exhaustion and dehydration did nothing to improve my mental condition, already fragile from reliving the nightmare of the year before. However, I was very thankful for the electrolyte replacement capsules a friend had offered me for this race. I must have miscalculated how many I needed, though. Between mile nine and ten I ran out, and the cramps started. I walked for what seemed to be miles, but the cramps proceeded. Around the 11th mile, a quick glance at my watch and some very simple math told me that I could still hit my adjusted goal of seven hours. All I had to do was run two eight-minute miles, by my calculations.
That is something I was normally very capable of doing. At this point, the course was shaded and many of the residents of the park were kind enough to sprinkle the road with their water hoses, giving the triathletes a chance to cool off if they chose to do so. As I started to trot, I felt no pain. Then I decided to run, which caused extreme pain in my weary legs. Losing the sports drink on the bike leg had unpleasant consequences. I depend on my legs much too much in my job to risk serious injury, so I trotted to the 13-mile mark, sprinting the last one-tenth of a mile, and finishing in seven hours and 11 minutes and some seconds, well under the time limit.
I began the race ranked 94th in my division and finished 90th, but I did finish, something that 5-10% of the field chose not to attempt after the bike leg, mainly because of the brutal, unforgiving heat.
I went on to have a decent season, setting personal bests (some by as much as 10%) in every race in which I competed. I also finished in the top 20 in my division twice, something I had never accomplished once in a season before. I believe that I peaked at the right time (late in the season).
I still believe that, had I been able to get into Ironman Florida, I could have finished it in less than 17 hours, the legal time limit. I had a new goal now, though. I didn’t want merely to beat the time limit; I wanted to finish the course in less than 13 hours. That time should have put me in the top one-third to one-half of my division.
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