GENERAL
I am a Kona Rookie. I have done 3 IMs, all on the less challenging IMFL course (I can’t call a 140.6 race “easy,” but Florida is a fast course and Kona is not). I qualified for Kona by having the absolute best race I possibly could have had at IMFL 2013 and then being as lucky as possible. I needed to pass a guy at mile 24 and then get 2 roll downs just to make it on a 9:23 in M35 – 39. I write that to point out that I was probably one of the slowest AG qualifiers in M35 – 39.
I had a tremendous training block for Kona, I put in an excess of 200 miles per month running for July, August, and September, and over 40 hours per month on the bike in each of them as well. I hit CTL records for running and riding and set an FTP record on a 40k TT in September, earlier in the year I PR’d the 5k and the 1 mile. I trained in the New Orleans heat and humidity all summer long. I reached Kona at the lowest weight that I have ever raced long course (136 pounds on race morning). I was as prepared as I could be. The only stone that I left unturned was hill running. I just couldn’t work much of that in given my location and other restrictions.
RACE WEEK
We arrived at Kona over a week in advance. I wanted to have some family time to acclimate to the Island with the Ironwife and the Ironbaby. We had some typical and some atypical travel tribulations, but after a few days, everything was settled and we were enjoying the atmosphere. I did the practice swim off the pier in a predictable 1:06 (which is right where I thought I would race) and I ran the energy lab in the heat of the day and rode the first and last 30 miles of the bike course several times during the week. I did the underwear run, the Path 10k and the pre-race banquet.
What strikes me about Kona (as a wide eyed rookie) is how you are treated as an athlete. Everyone is treated like a pro. Packet pickup is overstaffed and moves very efficiently, when you go to bike drop, you have a person dedicated to you that gets all your gear setup. When you are walking in with your drop bags and your bike, there are people asking you all sorts of questions about your gear and your training and giving you t-shirts and hats and other stuff. Everything is organized, everyone gets how important this is to you, nothing is left to chance. I loved every second of the experience.
RACE MORNING
Up at 3:00 am, usual breakfast of PBJs at around 3:50 and plenty of pre race fluids. I am dressed and ready and on my way down to transition for its opening at 4:45.
Again I am stricken by how professional this race is. We are directed to an athlete only entrance to transition, volunteers pull our number tattoos and triple check everything to make sure we get the right numbers, then they apply them just perfectly (mine last way longer this time than when I apply them myself).
Then we go through medical where they weigh and log each of us in case we need assistance later in the day and then we are finally into Transition. I go get my bike ready and I am back out of transition to meet with the family, take pictures, and say those final emotional good byes. This is always one of my favorite moments of Ironman. Kissing my wife, and walking to the start knowing that we got there together and that she is behind me the whole way (more on that later for sure).
SWIM
Before I got to the island, I thought I would swim between 1:05 and 1:07 based on my pool work and my past three wetsuit legal IM swims of 1:01, 1:02 and 1:04. I did the practice swim in 1:06 and I figured I would do about the same on this day. I can swim faster, but with training hours limited, I have chosen to give up some swim speed and also take it very easy during the race to be fresh for bike and run.
I lined up way left (the slow side) and was a couple of people back. The plan was to take the whole 1.2 miles of the swim to vector myself toward the turn and avoid as much contact as possible. In general, this swim is the easiest swim I have ever done. You can see everyone all the time, sure there is contact, but nothing that is a surprise. In other open water swims, I feel like I am cruising along and then suddenly get punched in the face, here you totally see the other bodies and can make adjustments to avoid it.
So the cannon fires and we are off. There are some swells, but I am comfortably cruising along (I am told later that the conditions were rough for Kona, but I was good). I just kept cruising and generally trending toward the buoys and following feet and bubbles. Eventually I decide to take a look up and sight and I am about 100 yards from the turn boat. Perfect first half hour of the race!
I make the turn, some contact picks up, I see a scuba diver from NBC videoing us from below (how cool is that) and we make the other turn and we are headed home. There is more contact on the way in and the second half seems to drag out some. If I had to guess I would say that it took longer than the first half, but soon I can hear Mike Reilly on the pier and we are at the steps and running towards our bags.
Swim time 1:06 as predicted.
T1
I grab my bag no problem, I dump my swim skin, throw on the De Soto Short Sleeve Riviera Jersey and I am gone. On the way to the bike, I roll on my De Soto arm coolers. I put my helmet on at the bike and I am off.
T1 was about a minute slower than I thought it would be (4 versus 3). That was a total guess though, so not a big deal.
BIKE
First part of the bike is a bit technical, plenty of turns and up hills and down hills for the first 10 miles. I get through all that safely and then settle in for the 100 plus miles out to Hawi and back. Until about mile 30 I was thinking “what’s that big deal, this is pretty cool, hitting my watts, averaging 21.6 mph and getting faster all the time, I might go around 5 hours.”
Then the head winds hit like a sledge hammer. Before long the average speed was down into the 18 range. That didn’t concern me, I was riding my watts (between 165 and 175 for NP and AP). I had done plenty of long rides and previous Ironmans in this range. It was conservative, I would be able to run strong off the bike in this range, winds and hills be damned.
We keep on riding into the winds, eventually we start into some climbs and then some crazy descents (heading downhill at 35 plus and cross winds trying to blow you off the road). We are all riding leaning heavily into the wind to the point that if the wind suddenly stopped, we would certainly fall over. I was riding a FLO90 rear and a FLO60 front. If I do this again, I will give some consideration to riding a FLO30 front. It might be a tad slower, but I surely would like to not worry about landing in the lava field or going over a guard rail.
I would later be told that the wind on this day was as bad as any of the veteran riders would remember. Somewhere around mile 70 or 75, I began to lose my nerve on the descents and I start riding the bull horns down. I figured I was lucky enough to make it safely this far, no need to risk it at this point.
My average speed is around 20.5 or so, so I have a good shot at going sub 5:30 still. We catch an amazing tail wind for about 5 minutes. This tail wind is so strong that I am on the flats and am spinning out 53 x 11. It was crazy. Then it stopped and it was back to the same.
Nutrition was spot on, I was well hydrated, had peed a few times, I was taking in my cals (350 to 400 per hour) and stomaching everything. I was on track to nail this thing.
Around mile 90 something happened, I did something wrong shifting chain rings and dropped my chain or maybe my FD came loose and out of alignment. I won’t ever know exactly what the cause/effect was, but for the next 8 miles, something is screwed up. The chain is skipping from cog to cog, I can’t reliably shift from big to small ring. I have a chain catcher, but the chain is still jumping off and under it at some times. At mile 98 it really goes to hell.
The chain drops and become so stuck there is nothing I can do about it. I am stopped standing on the pavement. I tell every official vehicle that I see that I need tech support. My mind is racing trying to figure out what to do next. The Ironman World Championship is passing me by.
I do all my own bike work, I have literally never had any kind of issue at a race when I have done detailed pre race checks ahead of time. I rode this bike with this exact configuration for hundreds of miles before I left, I rode for over 100 on the Island, I rode for nearly 100 today, everything was silky perfect. How the hell could this happen now!
I decide that no matter what tech support is doing, it will be better for them to find me closer to T2 than further away. I take off my bike shoes and I start walking. After a while, who knows how long, my feet are burnt to a crisp from the asphalt. I put the bike shoes on and keep walking. All this was uphill, I like to think that if I had made the crest, I would have been smart enough to free wheel down, but I am not sure I was that with it at the time.
I was not going to quit this race. I spent these long minutes thinking about my wife and all that she has endured to get me to this start line. I knew she would be worried, I knew she would be inside my head knowing the despair that I was experiencing. I knew that she was somewhere reading the athlete tracker and thinking something is wrong, probably thinking I crashed.
At this point, the scooter shows up and I beg the guy to get this thing fixed enough to get me back to T2, I would not quit this race. He starts working on it and he can’t get the chain unstuck. He actually has to pull the cranks. Once he frees the chain he discovers that it is somehow twisted. He untwists it. Then he says the rear derailleur hanger is bent. How the hell did that happen? This thing ran like silk for weeks before I left, all week in Hawaii, and for 100 miles today!
I borrow his phone (probably against a rule but who gives a damn at this point), I try to reach my wife to tell her I am standing on the side of the road and not laying on it. I can’t get her, but I leave her a message and I feel better knowing that at least she will know I am OK.
While he is working, I ask him what the hell went wrong. He tells me that 1 thing happened (he didn’t know what it was) and that all the other damage was a chain (no pun intended) reaction to the first issue and then to me trying to keep it going. My best guess, I dropped the chain and while trying to get it back on, I put too much force into something and screwed everything else up (twisted chain, FD out of alignment, RD screwed up, etc).
He bends the RD some and then tells me the FD is screwy and says the best bet is for him to give me 1 chain ring and for me to limp back that way. I figure I should take the small ring to save whatever my legs have left in them. He gives me the small chain ring and I am off again.
I am passing people left and right, average speed is down to 18.5 miles per hour but I am zipping past people on the uphills, on the downhills I am spinning out because I have no big ring. I do some quick math and realize that I will be in with around a 6 hour split! TERRIBLE for my level of fitness and preparation.
I coast into T2 angry as hell. My mental game is toast. All kind of things are rushing through my head. Chief among them is some version of: your race is shot, maybe you should coast on the run and enjoy this thing instead of killing yourself to a crappy finish anyway. I never thought of quitting, but I thought of coasting.
T2
I walk the circuit around the pier trying to drag my feet on the carpet to get whatever chunks of asphalt and such off of them. I get my bag and enter the changing tent and sit. I grab a towel and a bucket of Vaseline and I get to work on my feet. I get them cleaned off and put Vaseline all over the balls of my feet, all inside my socks, and then inside my shoes. I am hoping that this will allow me to run to my fitness and not have my feet be the limiter.
In my head, I know that I have supporters out on that course and at home and I know that they are experiencing this disappointment with me. I also know what my wife was thinking right now. She was thinking: “I know he won’t quit, but I sure hope he still crushes this run.”
I thought about her and how much she sacrificed to get me here, I walked toward the timing mat and made a decision. The sulking and moaning stops when I hit that mat and I will salvage this race the second I step across that mat. Too many people have given too much for me to be a baby over some stuff that I can’t change now.
T2 should have been a 3 minute affair, with all that happened, I take 8 minutes.
RUN
I didn’t know what to target for this run. It is hilly, I know nothing about hill running. It is hot, I run plenty in the heat, but never an Ironman. In moderate temps and flat terrain, I have run 7:50s for an IM Marathon, but today I decided to be conservative and target 8:20s until at least mile 18.
I get running and the legs feel great (why shouldn’t they, they had a heck of a rest) and I am keeping the pace below 8:20 without much trouble. As I exit transition, I see my sister briefly, I throw up my hands as if to apologize and she says something like just keep moving.
I come through mile one and the Ironwife and the Ironbaby are there near our condo. For the first time ever in a race, I stop for a few seconds, I hold the baby’s hand and kiss my wife’s cheek. I say “I am sorry” she says “we are proud of you” and I am back to moving.
I knew what she meant. She wasn’t proud that we were in Kona, or that I am an Ironman, or anything else. She was proud that I was still working hard to close this book despite having things not go my way. It was the perfect thing to say to me, it was exactly what I needed, things begin to turn around for me.
It feels like most of the first 5 miles is a net downhill because when I turn around, the pace starts to fall some even though the effort is about the same.
I see the family again between mile 9 and 10 and I am starting to feel like myself again. I come through mile 10 and I see two helicopters flying low overhead. Mile 10 is back near the finish line, so I have two thoughts. The first is that the male or female winner is about to finish, the second is: How cool is it that I am in a race where we have been followed around all day on course by multiple aircraft!
I actually wave to the helicopters, my spirits are coming back, my attitude is improving and I am starting to enjoy this race like I should.
I make the turn up Palani (steepest part of the course) and get ready to really work for the hardest part of this race: the last 16 miles on the Queen K and through the Natural Energy Lab.
I am passing people left and right, my legs feel strong, I have some core pains, but nothing I can’t manage. My feet hurt, but it feels like things are going to hold together indefinitely. My average pace with all the hills has fallen to about 8:30 or so, but I am happy given all the undulating hills along the Queen K. It is hot and humid, but it is overcast so it could be worse. My nutrition is good, I have gotten in all my calories, and I started the run hydrated and have continued drinking.
Around mile 12, I catch up to the other New Orleanian in this race, Barry Edwards. Barry and I race together all the time back home, he usually crushes me at stuff shorter than 70.3 and I usually prevail at the longer stuff.
Barry does me the huge favor of sticking with me from roughly mile 12 through probably mile 23 or so. We talk, we strategize, he gets my head back in the game some, and we encourage each other to keep it moving after we pass through the aid stations.
Before you know it, we are through the turn around and heading back out of the Natural Energy Lab. At this point, I have the highlight of my race. The Ironwife had the Ironbaby made a video that was triggered by a loop detector at mile 18 (I think this was sponsored by Newton, great idea guys). I cross that mat and then on a huge video board is a feed of my one year old son waving to me. I was going to finish this race strong, they had sacrificed too much for me to waste a bit of this opportunity.
The next 5 miles are hard but Barry and I get through them and the pace is holding around 8:33 or so. At amount 22 I do some math and realize that I have blown 11 hours already. Not a huge deal, now I will work to finish in the day light.
Around mile 23 or so, Barry can’t hold it any longer and he tells me to press on. I take it from there. I crest the hill at the top of Palani at around Mile 25 and I suffer all the way down to the turn onto Kuakini. Those down hills after 140 miles are nasty.
I look for my sister at Kuakani and Hualalei, she has my finish line flag. I grab the flag from her and there is half mile to go. I have my finishing flag stretched proudly across my chest. It says THANK YOU to my wife and son for giving me this year to be ready for this race. I check in front of me and behind me. I am going to time this so I get a few seconds to myself on that finish line. I go slow enough to not catch the guy in front of me and fast enough to keep the two dudes behind me from catching up.
I cross the line, Mike Reilly reads the sign over the PA (couldn’t have planned it better than that) and he tells me that I am an Ironman and a volunteer catches me and brings me to the back. It is done.
IDEAL DAY GOAL: 10:00
BAD DAY GOAL: 10:45
ACTUAL TIME: 11:05
AFTERMATH
I had the usual 15 or 20 minutes post IM. I was wandering around in a haze, getting anything down my throat that I could, water, chocolate milk, pizza, whatever. I was not in great shape and was fearing passing out but medical didn’t think I was bad enough to enter their tent, so I had a goal to find my wife in case I fell over at least someone would keep an eye out for me.
We got reunited and the whole support crew took pictures and celebrated. I knew that eventually I would be unhappy about how things went, but for now, I had done Kona, my time was respectable, my effort was 100%, and I was healthy at the finish line. That was enough.
In the days that have followed, I have vacillated greatly on my feelings toward the race and on my future plans in general. One day I say that I never need to go back to Kona. I feel “I have done it, it wasn’t perfect but I proved to myself that I could handle the heat, humidity, hills, wind, etc.” Hours later I feel that twinge that says “you left so much time on that course. Even if you didn’t have the mechanical, you could do so much better just from knowing the course and the race on your next attempt.”
I may never again qualify for Kona, my wife and I have decided that doing Ironman is something that we can sustain for a while longer, but it will have to come at a greatly reduced training volume.
With less training time, I will be a better husband and father and I will probably race a little slower, but I will be very excited to remain in the race in some fashion.
If the stars line up ever again and I get another shot at Kona, I will take it. That race (the excitement, the support, the conditions, the level of talent present) has probably spoiled many other races for quite some time.
GRATITUDE
I want to thank the Slowtwitch community for getting me into Kona and for getting me through it. 5 years ago, I didn’t own a bike, 6 years ago, I had never run a 5k. Everything that I needed to learn to Qualify and Race at the World Championship of Ironman was gained through this site.
I became a runner (thanks BarryP), I became an aero weenie (thanks JackMott), I learned how to get into a super-fast sustainable position on the bike, I learned about nutrition, power, pacing, race weight and so much more.
Ironman Certified Coach
Currently accepting limited number of new athletes
I am a Kona Rookie. I have done 3 IMs, all on the less challenging IMFL course (I can’t call a 140.6 race “easy,” but Florida is a fast course and Kona is not). I qualified for Kona by having the absolute best race I possibly could have had at IMFL 2013 and then being as lucky as possible. I needed to pass a guy at mile 24 and then get 2 roll downs just to make it on a 9:23 in M35 – 39. I write that to point out that I was probably one of the slowest AG qualifiers in M35 – 39.
I had a tremendous training block for Kona, I put in an excess of 200 miles per month running for July, August, and September, and over 40 hours per month on the bike in each of them as well. I hit CTL records for running and riding and set an FTP record on a 40k TT in September, earlier in the year I PR’d the 5k and the 1 mile. I trained in the New Orleans heat and humidity all summer long. I reached Kona at the lowest weight that I have ever raced long course (136 pounds on race morning). I was as prepared as I could be. The only stone that I left unturned was hill running. I just couldn’t work much of that in given my location and other restrictions.
RACE WEEK
We arrived at Kona over a week in advance. I wanted to have some family time to acclimate to the Island with the Ironwife and the Ironbaby. We had some typical and some atypical travel tribulations, but after a few days, everything was settled and we were enjoying the atmosphere. I did the practice swim off the pier in a predictable 1:06 (which is right where I thought I would race) and I ran the energy lab in the heat of the day and rode the first and last 30 miles of the bike course several times during the week. I did the underwear run, the Path 10k and the pre-race banquet.
What strikes me about Kona (as a wide eyed rookie) is how you are treated as an athlete. Everyone is treated like a pro. Packet pickup is overstaffed and moves very efficiently, when you go to bike drop, you have a person dedicated to you that gets all your gear setup. When you are walking in with your drop bags and your bike, there are people asking you all sorts of questions about your gear and your training and giving you t-shirts and hats and other stuff. Everything is organized, everyone gets how important this is to you, nothing is left to chance. I loved every second of the experience.
RACE MORNING
Up at 3:00 am, usual breakfast of PBJs at around 3:50 and plenty of pre race fluids. I am dressed and ready and on my way down to transition for its opening at 4:45.
Again I am stricken by how professional this race is. We are directed to an athlete only entrance to transition, volunteers pull our number tattoos and triple check everything to make sure we get the right numbers, then they apply them just perfectly (mine last way longer this time than when I apply them myself).
Then we go through medical where they weigh and log each of us in case we need assistance later in the day and then we are finally into Transition. I go get my bike ready and I am back out of transition to meet with the family, take pictures, and say those final emotional good byes. This is always one of my favorite moments of Ironman. Kissing my wife, and walking to the start knowing that we got there together and that she is behind me the whole way (more on that later for sure).
SWIM
Before I got to the island, I thought I would swim between 1:05 and 1:07 based on my pool work and my past three wetsuit legal IM swims of 1:01, 1:02 and 1:04. I did the practice swim in 1:06 and I figured I would do about the same on this day. I can swim faster, but with training hours limited, I have chosen to give up some swim speed and also take it very easy during the race to be fresh for bike and run.
I lined up way left (the slow side) and was a couple of people back. The plan was to take the whole 1.2 miles of the swim to vector myself toward the turn and avoid as much contact as possible. In general, this swim is the easiest swim I have ever done. You can see everyone all the time, sure there is contact, but nothing that is a surprise. In other open water swims, I feel like I am cruising along and then suddenly get punched in the face, here you totally see the other bodies and can make adjustments to avoid it.
So the cannon fires and we are off. There are some swells, but I am comfortably cruising along (I am told later that the conditions were rough for Kona, but I was good). I just kept cruising and generally trending toward the buoys and following feet and bubbles. Eventually I decide to take a look up and sight and I am about 100 yards from the turn boat. Perfect first half hour of the race!
I make the turn, some contact picks up, I see a scuba diver from NBC videoing us from below (how cool is that) and we make the other turn and we are headed home. There is more contact on the way in and the second half seems to drag out some. If I had to guess I would say that it took longer than the first half, but soon I can hear Mike Reilly on the pier and we are at the steps and running towards our bags.
Swim time 1:06 as predicted.
T1
I grab my bag no problem, I dump my swim skin, throw on the De Soto Short Sleeve Riviera Jersey and I am gone. On the way to the bike, I roll on my De Soto arm coolers. I put my helmet on at the bike and I am off.
T1 was about a minute slower than I thought it would be (4 versus 3). That was a total guess though, so not a big deal.
BIKE
First part of the bike is a bit technical, plenty of turns and up hills and down hills for the first 10 miles. I get through all that safely and then settle in for the 100 plus miles out to Hawi and back. Until about mile 30 I was thinking “what’s that big deal, this is pretty cool, hitting my watts, averaging 21.6 mph and getting faster all the time, I might go around 5 hours.”
Then the head winds hit like a sledge hammer. Before long the average speed was down into the 18 range. That didn’t concern me, I was riding my watts (between 165 and 175 for NP and AP). I had done plenty of long rides and previous Ironmans in this range. It was conservative, I would be able to run strong off the bike in this range, winds and hills be damned.
We keep on riding into the winds, eventually we start into some climbs and then some crazy descents (heading downhill at 35 plus and cross winds trying to blow you off the road). We are all riding leaning heavily into the wind to the point that if the wind suddenly stopped, we would certainly fall over. I was riding a FLO90 rear and a FLO60 front. If I do this again, I will give some consideration to riding a FLO30 front. It might be a tad slower, but I surely would like to not worry about landing in the lava field or going over a guard rail.
I would later be told that the wind on this day was as bad as any of the veteran riders would remember. Somewhere around mile 70 or 75, I began to lose my nerve on the descents and I start riding the bull horns down. I figured I was lucky enough to make it safely this far, no need to risk it at this point.
My average speed is around 20.5 or so, so I have a good shot at going sub 5:30 still. We catch an amazing tail wind for about 5 minutes. This tail wind is so strong that I am on the flats and am spinning out 53 x 11. It was crazy. Then it stopped and it was back to the same.
Nutrition was spot on, I was well hydrated, had peed a few times, I was taking in my cals (350 to 400 per hour) and stomaching everything. I was on track to nail this thing.
Around mile 90 something happened, I did something wrong shifting chain rings and dropped my chain or maybe my FD came loose and out of alignment. I won’t ever know exactly what the cause/effect was, but for the next 8 miles, something is screwed up. The chain is skipping from cog to cog, I can’t reliably shift from big to small ring. I have a chain catcher, but the chain is still jumping off and under it at some times. At mile 98 it really goes to hell.
The chain drops and become so stuck there is nothing I can do about it. I am stopped standing on the pavement. I tell every official vehicle that I see that I need tech support. My mind is racing trying to figure out what to do next. The Ironman World Championship is passing me by.
I do all my own bike work, I have literally never had any kind of issue at a race when I have done detailed pre race checks ahead of time. I rode this bike with this exact configuration for hundreds of miles before I left, I rode for over 100 on the Island, I rode for nearly 100 today, everything was silky perfect. How the hell could this happen now!
I decide that no matter what tech support is doing, it will be better for them to find me closer to T2 than further away. I take off my bike shoes and I start walking. After a while, who knows how long, my feet are burnt to a crisp from the asphalt. I put the bike shoes on and keep walking. All this was uphill, I like to think that if I had made the crest, I would have been smart enough to free wheel down, but I am not sure I was that with it at the time.
I was not going to quit this race. I spent these long minutes thinking about my wife and all that she has endured to get me to this start line. I knew she would be worried, I knew she would be inside my head knowing the despair that I was experiencing. I knew that she was somewhere reading the athlete tracker and thinking something is wrong, probably thinking I crashed.
At this point, the scooter shows up and I beg the guy to get this thing fixed enough to get me back to T2, I would not quit this race. He starts working on it and he can’t get the chain unstuck. He actually has to pull the cranks. Once he frees the chain he discovers that it is somehow twisted. He untwists it. Then he says the rear derailleur hanger is bent. How the hell did that happen? This thing ran like silk for weeks before I left, all week in Hawaii, and for 100 miles today!
I borrow his phone (probably against a rule but who gives a damn at this point), I try to reach my wife to tell her I am standing on the side of the road and not laying on it. I can’t get her, but I leave her a message and I feel better knowing that at least she will know I am OK.
While he is working, I ask him what the hell went wrong. He tells me that 1 thing happened (he didn’t know what it was) and that all the other damage was a chain (no pun intended) reaction to the first issue and then to me trying to keep it going. My best guess, I dropped the chain and while trying to get it back on, I put too much force into something and screwed everything else up (twisted chain, FD out of alignment, RD screwed up, etc).
He bends the RD some and then tells me the FD is screwy and says the best bet is for him to give me 1 chain ring and for me to limp back that way. I figure I should take the small ring to save whatever my legs have left in them. He gives me the small chain ring and I am off again.
I am passing people left and right, average speed is down to 18.5 miles per hour but I am zipping past people on the uphills, on the downhills I am spinning out because I have no big ring. I do some quick math and realize that I will be in with around a 6 hour split! TERRIBLE for my level of fitness and preparation.
I coast into T2 angry as hell. My mental game is toast. All kind of things are rushing through my head. Chief among them is some version of: your race is shot, maybe you should coast on the run and enjoy this thing instead of killing yourself to a crappy finish anyway. I never thought of quitting, but I thought of coasting.
T2
I walk the circuit around the pier trying to drag my feet on the carpet to get whatever chunks of asphalt and such off of them. I get my bag and enter the changing tent and sit. I grab a towel and a bucket of Vaseline and I get to work on my feet. I get them cleaned off and put Vaseline all over the balls of my feet, all inside my socks, and then inside my shoes. I am hoping that this will allow me to run to my fitness and not have my feet be the limiter.
In my head, I know that I have supporters out on that course and at home and I know that they are experiencing this disappointment with me. I also know what my wife was thinking right now. She was thinking: “I know he won’t quit, but I sure hope he still crushes this run.”
I thought about her and how much she sacrificed to get me here, I walked toward the timing mat and made a decision. The sulking and moaning stops when I hit that mat and I will salvage this race the second I step across that mat. Too many people have given too much for me to be a baby over some stuff that I can’t change now.
T2 should have been a 3 minute affair, with all that happened, I take 8 minutes.
RUN
I didn’t know what to target for this run. It is hilly, I know nothing about hill running. It is hot, I run plenty in the heat, but never an Ironman. In moderate temps and flat terrain, I have run 7:50s for an IM Marathon, but today I decided to be conservative and target 8:20s until at least mile 18.
I get running and the legs feel great (why shouldn’t they, they had a heck of a rest) and I am keeping the pace below 8:20 without much trouble. As I exit transition, I see my sister briefly, I throw up my hands as if to apologize and she says something like just keep moving.
I come through mile one and the Ironwife and the Ironbaby are there near our condo. For the first time ever in a race, I stop for a few seconds, I hold the baby’s hand and kiss my wife’s cheek. I say “I am sorry” she says “we are proud of you” and I am back to moving.
I knew what she meant. She wasn’t proud that we were in Kona, or that I am an Ironman, or anything else. She was proud that I was still working hard to close this book despite having things not go my way. It was the perfect thing to say to me, it was exactly what I needed, things begin to turn around for me.
It feels like most of the first 5 miles is a net downhill because when I turn around, the pace starts to fall some even though the effort is about the same.
I see the family again between mile 9 and 10 and I am starting to feel like myself again. I come through mile 10 and I see two helicopters flying low overhead. Mile 10 is back near the finish line, so I have two thoughts. The first is that the male or female winner is about to finish, the second is: How cool is it that I am in a race where we have been followed around all day on course by multiple aircraft!
I actually wave to the helicopters, my spirits are coming back, my attitude is improving and I am starting to enjoy this race like I should.
I make the turn up Palani (steepest part of the course) and get ready to really work for the hardest part of this race: the last 16 miles on the Queen K and through the Natural Energy Lab.
I am passing people left and right, my legs feel strong, I have some core pains, but nothing I can’t manage. My feet hurt, but it feels like things are going to hold together indefinitely. My average pace with all the hills has fallen to about 8:30 or so, but I am happy given all the undulating hills along the Queen K. It is hot and humid, but it is overcast so it could be worse. My nutrition is good, I have gotten in all my calories, and I started the run hydrated and have continued drinking.
Around mile 12, I catch up to the other New Orleanian in this race, Barry Edwards. Barry and I race together all the time back home, he usually crushes me at stuff shorter than 70.3 and I usually prevail at the longer stuff.
Barry does me the huge favor of sticking with me from roughly mile 12 through probably mile 23 or so. We talk, we strategize, he gets my head back in the game some, and we encourage each other to keep it moving after we pass through the aid stations.
Before you know it, we are through the turn around and heading back out of the Natural Energy Lab. At this point, I have the highlight of my race. The Ironwife had the Ironbaby made a video that was triggered by a loop detector at mile 18 (I think this was sponsored by Newton, great idea guys). I cross that mat and then on a huge video board is a feed of my one year old son waving to me. I was going to finish this race strong, they had sacrificed too much for me to waste a bit of this opportunity.
The next 5 miles are hard but Barry and I get through them and the pace is holding around 8:33 or so. At amount 22 I do some math and realize that I have blown 11 hours already. Not a huge deal, now I will work to finish in the day light.
Around mile 23 or so, Barry can’t hold it any longer and he tells me to press on. I take it from there. I crest the hill at the top of Palani at around Mile 25 and I suffer all the way down to the turn onto Kuakini. Those down hills after 140 miles are nasty.
I look for my sister at Kuakani and Hualalei, she has my finish line flag. I grab the flag from her and there is half mile to go. I have my finishing flag stretched proudly across my chest. It says THANK YOU to my wife and son for giving me this year to be ready for this race. I check in front of me and behind me. I am going to time this so I get a few seconds to myself on that finish line. I go slow enough to not catch the guy in front of me and fast enough to keep the two dudes behind me from catching up.
I cross the line, Mike Reilly reads the sign over the PA (couldn’t have planned it better than that) and he tells me that I am an Ironman and a volunteer catches me and brings me to the back. It is done.
IDEAL DAY GOAL: 10:00
BAD DAY GOAL: 10:45
ACTUAL TIME: 11:05
AFTERMATH
I had the usual 15 or 20 minutes post IM. I was wandering around in a haze, getting anything down my throat that I could, water, chocolate milk, pizza, whatever. I was not in great shape and was fearing passing out but medical didn’t think I was bad enough to enter their tent, so I had a goal to find my wife in case I fell over at least someone would keep an eye out for me.
We got reunited and the whole support crew took pictures and celebrated. I knew that eventually I would be unhappy about how things went, but for now, I had done Kona, my time was respectable, my effort was 100%, and I was healthy at the finish line. That was enough.
In the days that have followed, I have vacillated greatly on my feelings toward the race and on my future plans in general. One day I say that I never need to go back to Kona. I feel “I have done it, it wasn’t perfect but I proved to myself that I could handle the heat, humidity, hills, wind, etc.” Hours later I feel that twinge that says “you left so much time on that course. Even if you didn’t have the mechanical, you could do so much better just from knowing the course and the race on your next attempt.”
I may never again qualify for Kona, my wife and I have decided that doing Ironman is something that we can sustain for a while longer, but it will have to come at a greatly reduced training volume.
With less training time, I will be a better husband and father and I will probably race a little slower, but I will be very excited to remain in the race in some fashion.
If the stars line up ever again and I get another shot at Kona, I will take it. That race (the excitement, the support, the conditions, the level of talent present) has probably spoiled many other races for quite some time.
GRATITUDE
I want to thank the Slowtwitch community for getting me into Kona and for getting me through it. 5 years ago, I didn’t own a bike, 6 years ago, I had never run a 5k. Everything that I needed to learn to Qualify and Race at the World Championship of Ironman was gained through this site.
I became a runner (thanks BarryP), I became an aero weenie (thanks JackMott), I learned how to get into a super-fast sustainable position on the bike, I learned about nutrition, power, pacing, race weight and so much more.
Ironman Certified Coach
Currently accepting limited number of new athletes