While I initially wrote this for my friends and family, I figure I ought to share it with the slow-twitch community. Although I didn’t post much (or at all) it was in fact thanks to all of the great advice and information available here that I had such a great race. This report is coming from someone with no swimming or cycling background.
The race was a big success! I finished with a strong time of 12:12 feeling sore and exhausted, but not deathly ill. It was a fantastic weekend, and it has already engraved itself as one of the biggest highlights in my life.
First and foremost I must compliment the host of this Ironman, the city of Coeur d’Alene Idaho. The whole town was full of energy and excitement. The community really embraces this event and offers the most fantastic support I’ve ever seen. I was being cheered and pushed on the whole race by a fantastic crew of spectators and volunteers. For the 2200+ athletes there were 3500 volunteers to help them along, not including all the citizens of Coeur d’Alene who pulled out all the stops for us – from inspirational messages written in chalk on the roads & sidewalks, to the booming sound of a residence looping the Rocky theme for 6+ hours, and to the old man offering free beer on the course. Fantastic!
I woke up on Sunday morning at 4:00am feeling both nervous and excited. My stomach was anxious, but I figured it to be just nerves. (my mistake) It was the swim that concerned me the most. I had previously swam in the Coeur d’Alene lake to discover that it was rougher than any water I had ever swam in before. The chop made it really difficult to swim in a straight line or to get a proper breath of air. Within 45 seconds I was on my back choking. I had hoped the conditions would be better on race day. They weren’t.
I don’t know if there’s anything that can adequately describe the mass start of an Ironman swim. The term “washing machine” is often tossed around, and after experiencing it I can no longer consider it to be an exaggeration. Nothing could have prepared me for what I jumped into that morning. When 2200 athletes run from a narrow beach into a body of water that is swelling up from a torrent of 20mph winds you can expect a rough wake up call. As I stood on the beach waiting for the starting gun to blast off I chatted with a veteran triathlete who assured me that these were not your average swimming conditions. His watch was picking up the heart rate monitor signal from some nearby athlete. Somebody was very, very nervous, standing with a heart rate of 100bpm. I’m told that some 52 athletes backed out of the swim without entering the water, and another 60 had to be rescued. I had planned on steering away from the main pack; to swim a bit of extra distance to ensure my safety. But somehow or another when I got in that water I ended up right in the middle of it all. The waves prevented me from being able to see the boeys in the distance, and I was forced to swim with the main pack. There were legs under me kicking my face and chest, arms and heads behind me pushing me down into the water, and stray elbow joints grabbing me into a strangle hold as they attempted to stroke. I was kicked, kneed, elbowed, grabbed, and all the while I thought to myself that this was the most outrageously insane and dangerous event I had ever experienced. There were people in a clear panic, floating on their backs with their eyes closed. I cursed and I swore to a choir of other swimmers, ALL of whom were doing the same. The scuba divers gave me a bit of a fright at one point, as they swam underneath the mob on the alert for sinking bodies. Somehow or another I made it to the turn-around, and crawled my way back to shore. The way back was much easier than the way in. We were pretty much able to body surf on the waves. I came in at 40 minutes. But sadly, there were 2 laps to the swim course. I had to go back in the water. And something just wasn’t feeling quite right…
I had to crap. Sweet holy mother I had to crap so badly I thought I was going to burst. But in my wetsuit?? That would get everywhere! It would be stuck with me for the whole swim, and by the time I got back to shore it probably would’ve spread over my entire body. I never read anything about THIS problem ever arising on the internet… I seriously considered grabbing onto one of the rescue kayaks and attempting to pry off my wetsuit just so that I could relieve myself in the water. Now that I think on it though, that probably would’ve been impossible. Its hard enough to get those wetsuits off on dry land, much less while floating in a lake. I realized that I would have to either suck it up or quit right there. Luckily, I discovered that it wasn’t so bad so long as I didn’t kick, so I ceased doing so immediately and swam the last mile as if I was paralyzed from the waist down. Ever so tediously I made my way around the course, and breathed sweet freedom once I hit dry land. I came in at 1:28, 1300th or so out of the water. Not too bad considered my… condition. (and the fact that I couldn’t swim 6 months ago) I made my way into transition and asked the wetsuit strippers to help remove my suit… gently. I promptly ran to the porta-potty and felt sweet relief.
I was shivering when I entered the transition tent. It was only around 12/55 degrees at that time of the day, and several people were frozen, sitting in a hot tub trying to warm up before jumping on the bicycle for a long 112 mile ride. I guess they thought the water was cold. Ha! They should try training in a Canadian lake. I knew I was going to be slower on the swim, but I was confident in my biking ability. I waved at my buddies looking on from the other side of the transition fence and jumped on my steed in a somewhat miserable state. It took me a good 50 miles to recover from the drama of that swim. Never had I ever… The swim also came at the price of my wrist watch. I guess the lockness monster must’ve eaten it somewhere along all of the hustle. I went the rest of the day without having any more information regarding my pace than what I could receive from my fellow athletes. Only naturally my bike computer had also broken the day before the race. But in a way it was refreshing not to have to be bothered with such technical nonsense, and just to be able to enjoy the day for itself.
I spent the first 2 hours of the bike ride in the passing lane, making up for lost time. At first I was only drinking water so as to let my stomach settle, but at the first aid station I picked up a bottle of gaterade. I cant understand why people bring so much stuff with them on their bikes. Some of them had as many as 4 bottles and a couple bagels attached to their bikes. Its best to live off the aid stations I think, rather than carry around so much extra weight. They were situated around every 10 miles, where volunteers handed you what you needed as your rode by. My stomach finally began to feel better after a second trip to the porta-potty at mile 50. Unfortunately I did fall behind on my nutrition due to these problems, (something I paid for on the run) but nonetheless I still feel that I did the best I could considering my condition. I am very proud of my bike ride, and had an awesome time doing it. I grinned every time I passed a cyclist wearing one of those alien “aero dynamic” space helmets riding a $6000 bike. My loyal steed is probably worth only about 800, and I bought my helmet from Walmart. At the end of the day the biggest determinative factor in a performance comes from the rider, not the machine. While those expensive bikes were much faster going downhill than mine, I was easily able to conquer them going up and on the flats. I was well suited to the hilly terrain of the bike course, and passed a good 800 athletes performing it. It took me 5 hours and 49 minutes to finish the 112 mile course, at an average of 19.2 mph. (including 2 bathroom stops) The bike portion might’ve been the highlight of my day. I had the 318th fastest bike split, and I thoroughly enjoyed my first experience racing with other cyclists. True fun.
My friends Dan & Emily were watching me on the internet going through my transition from the bike into the run. They tell me I looked deathly pale, but I think that was just the sun screen. I still felt strong at that point, and settled into a purposefully slow pace. I don’t know precisely what that pace was, (since I didn’t have a watch) but I kept it steadily and finished the first 13 miles in 2 hours. The toughest part of the day was passing by the finish shoot, knowing that I had another 15 miles to run. Its a 2 lap course, so while you head out for your second lap you can hear the cheers of those who have already finished.
Unfortunately things went downhill rapidly after mile 16. I became dizzy, my arms tingled, and I was having trouble walking in a straight line. I had completely run out of gas. The chicken soup broth at the aid stations really saved my life – I ought to have drank some earlier in the run. The rest of the journey became a battle of making it from aid station to aid station, which were situated a mile apart from each other. I slowly rejuvenated to being able to jog in spurts, and finally recovered to running full-time for the last 2 miles. Since I was walking I was able to receive a lot of feedback from the slogan I had printed on the back of my shirt. Everyone thought it was hilarious.
At around mile 18 I overheard a spectator talking to his son, asking, “What were they doing before the run?” to which the boy replied, “umm… biking!”. Then the man said, “Very good! And what were they doing before they were biking?” Upon which I cried out “Nearly drowning!”
The whole day couldn’t have gone better. I had to overcome a lot of internal and external obstacles during the day, each of which made crossing the finish line ever so sweeter. 3 times during the swim I considered dropping out, and once during the bike when I thought my stomach problems were going to carry on throughout the day. But something deeper inside me did not even consider that to be an option. I had sacrificed too much over the course of the year to opt out of it at the end of the journey. Every day for the past 6 months I trained hard. I ran hard, I biked hard, I swam hard, and I even shaved my friggin legs. Nothing was going to prevent me from crossing that finish line and hearing the words, “Andrew Suderman, you are an Ironman!” Well, the announcer may have mis-pronounced my last name, but it was amazing all the same! I conquered the world, finishing at a time of 12 hours, 12 minutes and 13 seconds. My marathon had taken me a grueling 4 hours and 45 minutes to complete, but in many ways it was the easiest marathon I had ever run. By the time I hit the run course, I knew that I was a mere 26 miles from the greatest personal victory of my life and that nothing was going to stop me along the way.
My buddy Shawn lived up to his end of the bargain and had a beautiful cigar waiting for me in the finish area. It was hard to smoke, and as I choked on it I received a few sniggers from the people around me, but it was still the most delicious thing I ever tasted.
Thanks to all you who made this possible.
Official Ironman - Andrew Suderman #230
Other race day photos can be viewed at http://sudermania.com/andrew/ironman/
My thanks to all you slowtwitch peeps!
