Race Day
Ironman 70.3 Boulder
Race Day
To all those who struggle or know someone struggling with addiction. To all those in recovery from PTSD, depression, anxiety or other mental health issues. To all those who have helped me raise money for awareness and the tri-4-youthsobriety drug and alcohol foundation. To all those who have been there for me. To my family and out of the deepest appreciation for my God:
Something special happens when you reach a new level of goal attainment. The beginning of the journey feels daunting, impossible. But as you trudge through the first few miles previous notions wither in the rearview and dust settles like a blanket of snow across the barriers that once held you back. Nothing is quite like the unraveling of self-doubt and the strengthening of a weakened confidence during the moments where dreams meet reality. Because of the predicative nature of self’s role in pain and fear, neither freedom from war nor famine can compare to the victory that comes in the rising from ashes encapsulating human potential from fear and self-doubt. This is my Ironman experience.
Typical Training Peaks week
A day or two before the race I received a humble message from Steven Moody of Smart Endurance Solutions. For the past 4 months I had been following a ½ Ironman training plan he uploaded onto an App called Training Peaks. Every day, I checked the app, gathered the appropriate gear, hit the road and then logged the miles onto the app watching the automated system turn a task from grey to green; indicating I successfully met the training plans demands. The message read, “ Good luck this weekend- key is to keep calm in the build up - all hard work is done - if you need reassurance, look back at Training Peaks and see all the miles covered- you will do well.” The words were game changing for me.
Training
The past 4 months were a daily accumulation of victories that together dwarfed the red-carpeted finish line crowded with cheering spectators. An old proverb says, “well begun is half done,” and this was my spirit. Therefore, before the gun sounded at the start of the swim I was already filled with accomplishment. Inside me the long hard battles had already been won, now all I had to do was have some fun subduing the rest of the skirmishes on my way to claiming victory over a war. However, this is all not to say that within the 5 hrs and 49 minutes it took me to reach the red carpet I didn’t have a few skirmishes that left their scars and could have taken my dream away quicker than lightening strikes.
2:45 am in a boulder, Co Hotel room my alarm finally went off. Relieved, I popped out of bed and hopped to my yoga mat like a spring. I had been attempting sleep since 6 pm. I was tossing and turning all night, but believe it or not it was not because the anticipation of the race. Rather, I had just dove through the final dreaded initiation of the triathlon community. I confronted the last hurdle that I had naively seen for months as a serious threat to my masculinity. An hour in the warm shower and 5 razor blades later I stood in the hotel bathroom with freshly shaven legs, fully initiated. Little did I know, without a blanket of wool cloaking your legs each movement interacting with the fabric of bed sheets across bare skin is like wet silk sliding across your nerves. I giggled at the experience I was going through and the sensation kept me awake and feeling squeamish. But at least it took my mind off the race, which would have kept me up anyways.
Upon awakening, I quickly put on smart wool leggings over my shiny calves, scared my southern man’s man of a father, whom I was sharing the hotel room with, would snicker and send me into a pre-race funk. Shortly after becoming limber I filled a bowl with turmeric honey coated corn flakes and blueberries. I was starving. My diet plan the week before the race made me feel light and fast each meal was very unsatisfying. It consisted mostly of high-carb items that contained little to no insoluble fiber. I’m a believer in carbs. I’m even more of a believer in carbs that come with insoluble fiber. Whole fruits and veggies and whole grains (oats, barley, wheat) and nuts had become my staple. But my prerace diet said I should eat things like white pancakes (yuck!). Because they lack substance they turn into a gel and pass easily. This translates to fewer items your gut is carrying and jostling around for 70.3 miles mixing enzymes with food particles while gravity works its magic turning luggage into poop. The runners out there understand; there is nothing worse than heat, fatigue and the need for a bowel movement.
Anyway, after my food, stretching and coffee, feeling confident and strong again, I no longer cared what my father thought about my legs. He helped gather my belongings and we hopped into my truck. I cranked the engine and turned on three queen songs that when placed in a certain order boost my adrenaline and fuel my competitive drive: We Will Rock You, We are the Champions and Another one Bites the Dust- in that order. They are followed by a classical tune that nearly no one reading this will know. It’s a beautiful song that restores my serenity after Freddy Mercury raises my blood pressure. It’s a composition by Riopy called, Le Reve D’une Note, and has magical effects on mood. By the time all the tunes had played we were pulling into a parking spot and 2,200 other competitors began closing in around us.
Focus is key to keeping calm in the hours before an Ironman Triathlon. The past two years in sobriety I had been practicing mediation for alleviation from anxiety. I have got to where I can focus on the sensation of blood circulating through one finger tip while the rest of my body enters a state of relaxation. I can focus on one breath at a time or think about a small dot on the ceiling without anything else entering my head. Therefore, it really wasn’t hard to keep my mind occupied with all there is to focus on before a race. Cycling socks, Cycling shoes, Running socks, running shoes, full-sleeve wetsuit, sleeveless wetsuit, goggles, swim cap, spandex, tri-top, garmin watch, Heart Rate Monitor, 3 gels for the bike, 4 gels for the run, cliff bar for the bike, electrolyte tabs for the bike, camelback, two extra water bottles to fill the 4 water bottles used in the race, bike pump, yoga pad, race bib, timing chip and the list actually goes on, but I think you get my point- there is plenty to focus on.
Transition- The set up. T1
Photo Courtesy of Hyoung Chang of The Know Denver Post
Transition, the area you switch from a wet suit to bike gear and bike gear to run gear is the main stage. All morning 2,200 Athletes circulated in and out of this area, perfecting their gear and visualizing the race. The space is about 100 yards long by 50 yards wide and lined from wall to wall with bikes hanging on a rack handle bar to handle bar. There are more than just bikes. There are bags of gear from wall to wall and thousands of arms and legs pacing back and forth. It can be quite stressful, and difficult to navigate. Luckily, my bike sat at #1786, which was easy for me to remember because it’s Davey Crockett’s Birthday. It was also conveniently positioned on a large crack in the pavement that extended from the entrance of the transition straight to my bike. That way, after emerging breathless from the water I didn’t have to pay attention to numbers or count bike racks, I could just follow a simple line. In a few hours I would be very thankful for this line in the pavement. But for now, it was all about focus. Focus on the positioning of the shoes, the placement of energy gel packets, ensuring socks were in the right shoes, filling up the water cages and ensuring both my bike tires had the perfect air pressure of 120 psi. From 4:30 to 5:30 I checked and double-checked these things.
Sunrise meditation/ 2nd breakfast time
5:30 was time to stomach second breakfast and begin my pre-race warm up routine. 2ndBreakfast is supposed to be your tried and true favorite pre-workout breakfast. For me that’s a banana slid in between a folded piece of bread smothered in almond butter. Yum! But with nerves high in the dry Colorado air, it’s actually quite hard to move such a sticky treat down the esophagus. Nonetheless, the nutrition went in and I began stretching as the sun began rising over the boulder reservoir. In the beauty I was ceased with appreciation and gratefulness. Today was the day. The celebration of months of hard work was finally commencing. An hour later I’d don the wet suit and I plunge into the water for my warm up swim and immediately after I’d be hearing the gun go off as 5 swimmers every 5 seconds would race into the water to test their endurance.
6:30- my wife comes racing out of the crowd as I am squeezing into the wet suit. She has our six month old, Emmitt, dangling from her chest, pumping his little chubby arms and legs with each stride she makes while holding onto the hand of my seven year old son, Owen, who walks briskly beside her, swinging a water bottle that’s banging at his knees. The Flatiron Mountains tower over them as they near my dad and I, their smiles growing with each pace forwards, and then she sees my legs. My son continues and she stops, her jaw drops like it wasn’t attached to her face and she puts her hands over her mouth. “Oh my gosh! You did it?!” My seven year old looks back and says, “he did what? He didn’t shave his face?” she exclaims, “his legs! He shaved his legs!” My dad looks down and chuckles and pats me on my back and says, “you’re going to do great.” The feeling reaffirms my confidence and masculinity at the same time. All of a sudden I’m a young boy on the baseball field who made the catch to save the game. My dad has just given me everything I needed for the day, for the year, for my life. My wife comes out of the shock and we all laugh together as I squeeze further into the seal like skin of the wetsuit.
Wet suit fun! (It’s easier with shaved legs Jess)
6:45- my last chance to dive into the water so I race from the warm embraces of my family towards the ominous crowd of wet suit people standing on the beach. The large group of people fluidly wave back and forth like one solid mass with the occasional soul leaving the pack for a minute to adjust, stretch or take a quick dip in the cool water. I laugh through the fear I’m experiencing by picturing us all as penguins waddling around waiting to launch into the water, who’s ever heard of penguins racing?
I have written before about swim anxiety. I no longer suffer from this miserable condition, but when something goes wrong. I plunge into the water and my ears fill with water, I launch my head out of the water and check my watch. A sudden panic hits me. It’s 15 minutes before the race and there is no way I can run to my truck, find my ear plugs and be back by the time my wave of swimmers begin. Early in my training I had to stop swimming until I found a solution to the ears. For a week I tried different plugs and finally found the large silicone ones that work. If I don’t have them my ears fill with water. At first it’s not too bad. But after a few strokes the pressure in my head builds and I start to get dizzy. If I keep swimming through the vertigo my head begins to ache like water is making it’s way into my brain. I panicked. I was going to have to find some peace and find it quickly. Then I thought to myself, “it wouldn’t be right if everything was perfect.” This thought isn’t much of a saving grace, but somehow it was enough to get me over my anxiety.
Photo Courtesy of Hyoung Chang of The Know Denver Post
The mass of black penguins was beginning to take a different shape. Signs separating waves of swimmers were now hoisted into the air- “Less than 25 min… 25-30 min…. 30 to 35 min…” so on and so forth until it reached “greater than an hour.” Based on my swim training I should be in the 25-30 minute group if I paced myself at all out. But, I was reminded that this isn’t a swim race, this is a triathlon. As a good friend told me the evening before the race, the swim is simply a gateway to the bike. With that thought at the front of my mind I decided to pace myself with the 30-35 minute crew. Take it easy, enjoy the swim and come out warmed up for the bike ride.
Photo Courtesy of Hyoung Chang of The Know Denver Post
I wedged myself into the mass between the signs saying 25-30 min and 30-35 minutes. The gun began firing every 5 seconds and each time it did I moved a few feet closer to the entrance of the water. A cattle corral is the easiest way to vision the movement, only it ended in water and we all looked more like penguins than cows. About 25 feet out from the water and the corral narrowed enough that only 5 people could be standing side by side. When this happened I developed a little bit of jitters so I decided to personalize the experience. I looked next to me and said, “Hey dude! Here we go. The time is finally here. Good luck!” and shook the hands of the strangers next to me. Somehow this loosened me up. Then we hit the metal aisles that separated us, the chute. 5 seconds later we dove in. The race was on!
Photo Courtesy of Hyoung Chang of The Know Denver Post
I have learned if you calm the nerves before the swim it truly changes the face of the entire race. My ears filled with water and I accepted my fate. Breathing calmly I concentrated on my coaches words, “Swim with yourself and enjoy it.” About 100 yards in I had gained some distance from the swimmers I launched in with and decided to take the course wide. This means that instead of swimming directly next to the buoys I would swim about 25 yards out from them. With two turns in the course that means you increase your distance by 50 yards, but it helps avoid elbows and kicks in the face that can quickly ruin a swim. As I was making my way out of the mainstream I received a big kick in the face and then a big yank on my leg. I had to catch my breath, take a few breaststrokes and re-sight. This was why I was moving towards the outside. I found my distance from the mainstream about 250 yards in and maintained a comfortable pace for the remainder of the swim.
As I rounded the second turn buoy I could see the big Ironman finish line and the large crowd on the beach. But, this was also the point that the water in my ear was beginning to cause some serious vertigo. Instead of freaking out, I decided to play with it. I used to love being drunk and honestly the feeling isn’t much different. It’s nauseating, but so are some roller coasters. So I took the ride and enjoyed the brain spins. The vertigo caused me to slow down and sight more often to avoid swimming in the wrong direction, but that was okay, I was almost through the gateway to the bike. Acceptance is key in endurance racing. I’ve learned this is the only way to get through the grueling distances without mental strain. One, two, three- breathe. One, two, three- breathe. One, two three, breathe. Sight. Repeat. I became a metronome and the rhythm brought me closer to the shore.
Swim Exit. Headed to T1
Emerging from the water in an Ironman race is a thrill. Because it’s impossible to know who is who as we emerge from the water, the spectators cheer for everyone like any of us are their loved ones. You can literally hear them in the water from a few hundred yards out. This energy helped me resurface, shake off the vertigo and run towards my bike. I followed the line and found 1786, Davey Crockett’s number. Fewf, my bike was how I left it. No one deflated my tires or drained my water. My gels were still there and so were my bike shoes. I pulled off the wetsuit and began donning the bike gear as quick as possible. Shoes on, gels in the spandex and camelback shoved into my skin-tight tri-top. Yup, you heard me right- I shoved a camelback bladder into my shirt. I never heard of anyone doing it- but knowing Boulder can get hot as death valley I had contemplated hydration methods for months and experimented on training rides and found this to work best. It was the only way for me to stay hydrated enough to feel fresh enough to run after 56 miles.
The only hard part was running through transition with water sloshing on my back. It’s a strange feeling. It’s like that feeling you get when you drink too much water and jump up and down. You can feel it sloshing around in your gut like a swimming pool with fat kids doing cannon balls. But, this time the sloshing was on my spine. I loved it. Laughing as I hopped on my bike, this was my time to shine. I freakin love biking. Mountain biking, road biking, trainer riding, spin classes. Whatever it is, I love it. But, cycling in triathlon is like Sunday afternoons in elementary school, your doing something you enjoy while dreading what comes next. The technique here is to stay mindful and my training plan helps me do that.
Into the saddle rounding mile 50. Still feeling fresh.
According to the training plan, throughout the ride I was supposed to keep my heart rate around 155 bpm. I was allowed to jump to 172 on hills and 164 when passing on flats. On downhill, I was to hold back and find recovery- try to get the rate back around 142. Having fun with these numbers helps me to concentrate on the bike rather than dreading the run. I’m a rather strong cyclist so I have a tendency to push a little too hard, and I guess I did. I kept my heart rate at an average of 164, meaning I was passing a lot of people- but also wearing myself out a little too much. Acceptance is key with endurance and I had forgotten the key. I thought to myself, “there isn’t much difference between 164 and 155… but there is a big difference when you’re talking about 5 to 8 hours of racing. But, I was enjoying myself, things didn’t seem hard and before I knew it I was at 25 miles enjoying a pace of 23 mph and soaking in the landscape as the wind whipped by me. Then the shoulders began to ache. Hunched in an aero position for 2 hours is difficult, but when the pain came instead of fighting it I chose to lean into it. Feel it, enjoy it, use it. I pulled my aero position tighter. When I hit the 50-mile mark I looked at my heart rate and mph. I was going about 19 mph and my heart rate was 149. I needed to push a little harder but I couldn’t. hmm… This is why coach told me to keep the heart rate around 155 and not 164-170. Mistake learned. A half ironman is not an Olympic distance race, in fact it’s more than 2x longer than one. You just have to accept your hearts capacity to fuel your engine. For the last 6 miles I paid attention to refueling my engine. I drank up my electrolyte mix, ate a gel pack, drank some water and by the time I had refueled I was at the finish line.
Time to get the running shoes on!
I popped off the bike and ran towards Davey Crockett’s birthday, when I got there I hung my bike and sat down next to my running shoes. I yanked the empty camel back bladder out of my back and with my legs straight out in front of me I stretched my hamstrings while tying my running shoes. Bam! I was up and ready to run. It was a quick 2 minutes and 50 seconds transition. I thought to myself, “dang, I’m getting better at this.” Two weeks prior, during an Olympic tri, my transition was 5 minutes and 30 seconds and this week was a much larger race. Leaving the transition area I saw my family and was filled with gratefulness and love. This was the celebration of months of hard work.
Earlier I said I dreaded the run, but really once I get my running shoes on and pass the two-three mile mark, I love the run. I started out on top of my game at the pace I had trained at. The plan my body could handle was to warm up at an 8:30 min/mile for 2-3 miles and then pick it up to my 70.3 race pace. If my heart listened to my body that meant I could be cruising at about 7:40 min/mile or better. But, with the gravel, the hills and the heat, I was going to be happy at an 8:00 min/mile pace.
Still feeling strong in my freshly shaved legs
3 miles in and I felt great. My pace was steady around 7:49 min/mile and my body was responding. My heart rate was around 160-162 and the rhythm was enjoyable. No aches. No pains. No complaints. I carried on in this manner, enjoying the run until I hit the 6-mile mark. At 6.5 miles you loop back around and do the same run course. That means the last half-mile before the turn around is surrounded by spectators and this helps fuel you for the last lap. Well good thing, because I needed it. The muscles just above my knees felt like pulsating baseballs were in lodged under my skin and those baseballs pulled my quads making them contract like a sling shot with each step. Cramps. Bad cramps. Crap. For the rest of the race the goal would be to keep moving enough to prevent my legs from tightening up so much I couldn’t move while going slow enough to prevent my legs from tightening up so much I fell. If you have ever been in this situation you know what I mean.
Uhhh Cramps… Ouch. Concentrate. Feel the pain. Make it to the next aide station. Keep moving
On this particular course there are “aide stations” set up every mile. These aide stations would be my saving grace. As the temperature rose into the 90s salt from my sweat began to build up on my glasses and around my nostrils and on my eyeball. The salt stung my pupil like a bee for the next 6 miles. But this wasn’t my concern; my legs were my concern. Instead of running towards the finish line, I ran to the next aide station. Once I got there I downed Gatorade, then water, then maybe a little red bull, then some more Gatorade and would leave the aide area with a small cup of water and a small cup of ice. I took the ice and poured it into my tri-top and down my spandex. It felt so good. The aide station seemed to give me enough electrolytes to satisfy my muscles for another half mile of running slowly and then the cramps would be back full throttle.
I had to walk occasionally, but I couldn’t stop and stretch, if I did my race would be over. I decided not to try and stretch my cramp out because at one point my shoe started to squeak. I think I had a gel pack stuck to the bottom of it or something. I attempted to reach down to quickly scrape the bottom of my shoe when a thundering shock rolled from my legs up my spine. When this happened my back and shoulders began cramping, I knew now things were getting dangerous. It was time to be very careful or I wasn’t going to cross any finish line and may be compromising my health. The final two miles were survival until I reached the last aide station, conveniently .5 miles from the finish line. I took off from there with a war cry on my face.
War cry
I had not only dreamed about this finish line, I had people watching who depended on me to finish. I had worked as hard as I did because I promised the donors to my tri-4-youthsobriety foundation. I had worked so hard to get here because I saw the teens faces who’s drug and alcohol program my donors helped to fund. I saw the teenage kid who had stumbled into my house and fell asleep on my kitchen floor with blood on his face. I saw his eyes filled with fear as I reached down to help him to his feet. I saw my heart break for him and the youth around the world without the resources to learn that there is a better way to living. I saw my own youthful eyes, filled with fear, laying naked in a creek bed miles away from any help, praying to God that if he helped me survive the amount of cocaine, LSD, opiates, benzo’s and alcohol that was coursing through my body that I would not use drugs again. I raced because the only place I could run was a church. I raced so that youth around the nation may have more opportunities and more places to find the help they needed when they too reached out for God’s saving grace.
Raised hands thanking God for my mothers love
When I saw the finish line, the red carpet extending my way, I felt the miracles overcome me and burst from within my soul. No tears fell from my dried body but cries resonated outwards in thanksgiving. By love I was saved from my addictions… I took another step… Through support I rose through the ashes of prescription drugs and psychiatrists visits alive… I took another laborious step as I passed my family who had carried me on their back as I relapsed time and time again… I took another step and raised my hands from my heart towards the sky and thanked God for my mother who nourished and my strengths and sharpened my weaknesses. I thanked God for the woman who always told me, “mark, you can do anything you put your mind to…” and then I crossed the threshold and fell into the arms of a volunteer who held me up. He put my arm around his shoulder, handed me a medal and put a bottle of water into my hands. The words he said I’ll hold forever, “You did it, but keep on walking son, there are more finish lines left to cross!”
Just before the volunteer took my arms
Took 30 minutes to finally lay down. Salt was crusted to my pupil for another 45 preventing me from seeing
Dad and I day before the Race
Salt build up in the nostril- can’t see the one in my pupil. This is moments after crossing the finish line
Moments before the race