A Long Workout - Ironman Austria 2012

Finally! (see previous post...)

The day was upon us. July 1st, 2012.

We arrived in Klagenfurt on Thursday evening (June 28th). We checked in at registration and headed to dinner. Well, we tried anyway. As we had found a couple times before on the trip, very few places were open all day (i.e. lunch, close, dinner). Luckily we got to the host hotel restaurant just as it was opening. A nice fish dinner and we were much happier.

After dinner we went out to drive the bike course. It was getting dark, so we didn't get to take as much time as we would have liked. It did, however, give us a good feel for the hills and the beauty of the landscape!

 

We got a practice swim in on Friday. Good thing, too. The forecast was for it to be warm, so we decided to do the practice swim sans-wetsuit just in case. As soon as we took off I couldn't breathe and freaked out. Obviously I had done this before, but I guess the anxiety about the race and realizing how real it was becoming got to me. I settled myself down a little and was fine after that initial panic. The pre-race pasta feed was in a gigantic tent, which featured food, instructions, encouragement, and an "energy team" (which was amazing).

I slept surprisingly well the night before. Not a lot by any means, but I didn't expect to sleep much at all! I guess maybe it was the weary traveler in me. The race started at 7am local time, so we got up nice and early and were on our way!

It was a beautiful morning. Just a tad warm. They had announced the night before that the temperature of the water was too warm for wetsuits, so they would not be allowed. Having somewhat expected this, it wasn't a surprise, but I was still nervous about it. Not only would it slow me down (and I'm not any kind of fast in the water), and put me in danger of missing the first cutoff (which would have been crushing), but it was a huge comfort for me since with a wetsuit I could almost just float in the water without doing anything.

We shook things out, stripped to our swimsuits, and made our way to the start. The anticipation itself was incredible. The cannon fired, the music blared, and the crowds cheered. It was time.

My sister and I started towards the back so that we could avoid some of the crowds and not get mauled too much at the beginning. I made it through mostly unscathed. I stayed calm and collected most of the way. We went out in a square loop, eventually making our way back towards shore and into a canal that flowed into the city. That was kind of neat, to have everyone on the sidelines cheering so close by, but it was also rather plant-filled. At that point, however, that was the least of my worries. I got frustrated just before that trying to FIND the canal! We were swimming into the sun and there didn't seem to be any large markers to tell us where to go! I don't swim straight to begin with, so I expect that when it was all said and done I had certainly gone at least 2.5 miles instead of the 2.4 miles. That all exited my mind when I emerged from the water a happy and tired, but excited man in just over 2 hours, coming in about 15 minutes before the cutoff.

 

 Transition 1 (T1) went as I expected. I didn't really care about my time, but wanted to make it reasonable at least. It almost worked...ha! Everything went smoothly and I don't know how people get through those so quickly. Anyway, off to the next adventure - 112 miles on the bike!

It started out as a nice change of pace. The breeze from the ride felt nice and we started out along the lake. It was beautiful. The crowds at the aid stations and support places were great. HUP HUP HUP! ZUPA! OOH ESS AH! About a third of the way in, the heat and sweat started making the saddle a little uncomfortable and I soon wished it would go much more quickly. The second loop was much more lonely than the first. There were fewer people out cheering since I was towards the back, but just enough I'd say. I was still eating and drinking well, which was one of my major concerns for the day. The pretzels did get a bit dry though, and I don't think I'd quite say I was excited to eat...

I couldn't get myself to pee on the bike, so I made a pit stop. It felt so good to get off the bike for a minute! I got back on and trudged my way through the rest. There were a few very tough hills on the latter half of the loop that were even tougher the second time around (I know, surprise surprise). I passed my sister on one of them, though she doesn't remember ;) As soon as I was coasting down those and knew I only had a few more miles to go, I started feeling good again. I knew step two was just about done - and I was going to make the cutoff! T2 was shorter, but again, I knew that "all" I had to do now was run a marathon.

My sister caught me at the beginning of the run. Actually, I caught her. She must have passed me in T2! The temperatures at this point were well into the 90's. I'm very thankful to the race and the volunteers for the copious amounts of water, Gatorade, sponges, ice, and hoses that were provided along the way. I would have literally not made it if it weren't for all of that. The run was more of a shuffle anyway. I didn't think the run course was all that exciting at the time, though as I look back, I think it was better than I first thought. Thankfully, it was nearly pancake flat. My brother and brother-in-law had commandeered a spot at a cafe/bar in the city right along the course and cheered us on as we went by. On my final lap I jumped up to ring the bell they had along the way. Then I went back and actually rang it, since I missed it on the first attempt :)

I did a fair amount of walking. That didn't surprise me too much, since I had to sacrifice a little of my training while injured. I managed it without the knee brace though (which I put in my Special Needs bag)! It got dark before my last loop, so I did the last part in the dark - again, as expected. I was surprised at how much energy I had for the end of the race. It was obviously adrenaline. Things were flowing. I couldn't believe I was about to finish and I was super pumped. It was a party at the finish line and I was the star. For a few seconds, at least! My only regret from the whole thing is that instead of "sprinting" to the finish line, and proceeding to trip up the ramp (fitting for me), I would have liked to take it all in a little more - go a little slower. It was amazing nonetheless. I AM AN IRONMAN!

All I wanted to do was lay down, drink something, and eat real food. I still remember the song playing at the end and the walk to the food tent - and the salty goodness that awaited me there... I felt terrible and I felt amazing.

Thank you to everyone who made this possible through support and encouragement - and put up with me for 6 months and beyond! It was the longest - and shortest - day of my life.

Ironman Austria 2012: Precursor

This entry is a long time coming (who doesn't wait until a year and a half later to post about a race...right?) and here it goes:

The Beginning
I always knew I was a little crazy. I didn't know what it was until high school. In college, I thought there was no way I would ever be able to do one. Then, for some strange reason, I had to know if it was possible. Like any good distance runner or thrill-seeker, I wanted to challenge myself and find my limits. I think I found my limit. It was hiding somewhere in the city of Klagenfurt, Austria.

I have lots of people to blame...I mean thank...for putting this idea in my head, or perhaps feeding it. It was 2010 when I first considered the possibility. I started meeting people who had done one and people I already knew started doing them. A group of running friends put together a challenge to do the Ironman Florida (IMFL), and before I knew it, I was part of it. Then my sister threw a new card in the mix. Her friends were training for Ironman Austria (IMAT). Done. The decision was made. I had a year and a half.

Step One: Learn to Swim
This is the part that scared me the most. Considering my idea of swimming was sitting in a hot tub or playing frisbee at the beach, I had a long way to go. I took swim lessons as a toddler, but that's almost like saying I loved my tricycle as a kid, and then entering the Tour de France. My favorite line was that "I knew how not to drown." I shopped around for a gym specifically for the pool. I found one I liked (and my wallet begrudgingly agreed) and I jumped in.

Step Two: Buy a Bike
The bike I had certainly wasn't getting me anywhere. It had a lopsided tire from lack of use (2+ years) and broken gears thanks to drunken Bucknellians. I knew that to be serious about this (and make it easier), I had to get a decent road bike (or hybrid). After some shopping around, I narrowed it down to a Cannondale or Trek. The hardest part was finding one my size! I went with the Trek 2.3 - now all I had to do was not fall over ;)

Step Three: Run, Run, Run
This was the easy part. Right? I've been running since 7th grade and I certainly am built for running. I had run 16 marathons. I had it down. Oh right, this will be AFTER a 2.4-mile swim and a little 112-mile bike ride. Still, I can't drown on the streets.

Training
I thought that I would at least have the cardio down from all the running. Wrong again. Completely different. After a couple of April jaunts in the pool loaded with flailing and gasping, I decided to sign up for eight one-hour individual sessions with a swim coach. I could get across the pool once. It was the next 179 lengths that presented a problem. I figured not only would I get feedback and taught the right techniques, but also some training tips and drills. Best move ever. I struggled early on, and backstroke seemed to be easier (because I could breathe more normally), but as I spent more and more time in the pool, things improved. All you have to do is get in the water and do it.

Meanwhile my bike had come in around the end of May and I was learning to use clip pedals and maneuver a significantly lighter bike. Finding shoes was as difficult as I expected (for having very wide feet due to my extra toes). I'm still not sure if they're big enough. I went for some short rides on the BWI bike trail and practiced clipping and unclipping. Mounting and dismounting. Eventually I felt caged in on the trail and decided it was time to be a big boy and hit the streets.

Start small. I wasn't about to jump straight to an Ironman distance triathlon, so I found a sprint in nearby Virginia. The (first) big day was July 31, 2011. I was excited and nervous. I was about to embark on a new adventure. Read about it HERE.

I had so much fun that I didn't stop training right then and there! I signed up for a Half (70.3) in PA. To help ease my mind, and add some buoyancy, I purchased a wetsuit. I didn't have much of a chance to practice in open water, so going straight was not a strength of mine. September rolled around soon enough - read about my half HERE.

I was halfway there and there were nine months until the big (big) day. It was time to devise a plan. I looked up training plans, read articles, and asked for advice. Pre-made training plans are great, except that unlike a pro triathlete, most people have to work and all that crazy stuff. Don't get me wrong, there's still time to do other things, but you have to arrange and re-arrange things to make it work. My six-month plan began in January 2012.

It started out great. I was running really well, with cardio boosted by the swimming and legs boosted by the cycling. I had purchased an indoor bike trainer to do some riding in the winter and even went to a few spin classes at the gym. Then, in the first week of February, I came down from a jump shot at basketball (why was I playing basketball this year???) and felt something above my left knee. Pushing off the wall in my next swim led to some knee pain. Fearing the worst (ACL or meniscus tear), I shut down and got an MRI. The results were good - no tears, just some chondromalacia, which basically is saying I have a sore knee... I did have a slight tear in my quad, which is probably what I felt. Luckily I could still bike some and swim with arms only and the pull buoy.

Slowly but surely, after a month off, I worked my way back into training. Things were starting to get better. I was able to run. I was biking well. I was making progress in the pool. I met a cute girl on St. Patrick's Day (who recently said "yes!"). I started playing kickball and softball. As should have been expected, I had some tweaks and aches from those too. Nothing major, though, luckily. I completed my second half in May (Lake Anna, VA). I had a pretty annoying flare up of my ITB at the tail end of the run, but I was able to work that out. Before I knew it, it was June. Only a few weeks to go.

Most of our trip plans had been devised, and I finally decided how to transport my bike. The logistics were a little more difficult than I first expected, since I was on business travel in Utah the week before we left for Europe. Then I went straight from there to New Hampshire for a family wedding, and we flew out of Boston from there. I had my local bike shop pack it for a small fee and I shipped the bike to my uncle in NH, and then we carried them as checked luggage (I bought a soft travel case). It was under the 50-lb limit, but if the person checking it knew it was a bike, they charged about $200 (which we found out on the way back - got away with it on the way!). I did one last run in New Hampshire before heading to Munich. Go time.

Heartbreak Hell

[This obviously is a tragedy for all of humanity. I offer thoughts from a runner's perspective. Thoughts that were hard to put to words until tonight, and even now, are a struggle.]

I walked out of work yesterday wearing my Boston Marathon jacket, carrying my drawstring bag from the race. I hadn't brought those things because it was Marathon Monday. I usually have them these days and I am very proud to wear the jacket. But it wasn't a usual day anymore. I left work an hour early, fighting back tears. I couldn't concentrate. I couldn't comprehend it all. Explosions at the end of the Boston Marathon just didn't make sense.

Boston is our Mecca. When you tell someone you run marathons, they inevitably ask if you've run Boston. It's a finish thousands upon thousands of runners aspire to one day achieve. One for which people put in countless hours, days, weeks, months, even years, of hard work. Of pain and agony. Of highs and lows. Of hope and dreams.

I was lucky enough to run two years ago. My Boston story was not unlike any other. Several attempts to "BQ" (achieve a Boston Qualifying time) came up short. One race I missed the time by just a few seconds. In Fall of 2010, I collapsed at the finish line in New Hampshire, having qualified by a mere 3 seconds. And in April 2011, I was blessed enough to celebrate all the way from Hopkinton to Copley Square, and raise my arms in exultation crossing the finish line.

Then yesterday I heard the news, saw the pictures, watched the videos, and read the accounts. I recognized the places immediately, as if it was yesterday. While I wasn't there this year, this hit very close to home. I could have been running. My family could have been there watching. If my dad had qualified, it would have been about where he would finish. It could have been my sister. I knew people that were running this year. As runners, we are part of a community. A big family. And, by extension, so are the volunteers and spectators who support us every step of the way. They selflessly take time out of their schedules to support us, put up with our running talk and overall nuttiness, and at races, encourage complete strangers. It was all too real. It was my running family. Emotionally, it shook me hard.

When I got home I was compelled to go for a run. Courtney came over for some company and brought her running shoes, apparently knowing I might want to run. I ran 8+ miles (longest in a few months) on Sunday, so my legs were tired, and on top of that still recovering from various injuries. It didn't make sense to run. But then, it was the only thing that made sense to do. It was all I could do at that point. I wore my Boston shirt, of course. The run helped. Having Courtney's company helped. I called my dad and my sister, and that helped.

Still, today I was in sort of a daze. I worked (until the power went out in my area) and was semi-efficient. I wore my Marine Corps Marathon shirt (now that Boston's was dirtied). The questions are all still fluttering around upstairs, but the biggest is always "Why?" Patriot's Day, Marathon Monday. A day celebrating the fight and perseverance in Americans. 25,000 people that stop at nothing to get there. Hundreds of thousands more supporting them and enjoying all the festivities on a beautiful day. A celebration of the human spirit.

Instead, an 8-year old boy, waiting for his father, now waits for him in Heaven. Two others lost their lives. Nearly 200 with injuries, many serious. I can only imagine the pain and suffering that those directly affected by this can be experiencing, and my heart goes out to all of them, their families, and their friends.

Through all the horror and devastation, we have to find a way to see that human spirit. That it cannot be broken. We have to see the hundreds of first responders, EMTs, volunteers, and civilians who rushed to the aid of those injured in the blasts. We have to see the runners who continued running straight to the hospitals to give blood. We have to see the people who opened their business and homes to those in need of food, water, heat, or somewhere to stay. We have to see the outpouring of support from the community, Americans, and those around the world.

Does this mean that I will never run again in Boston if I am fortunate enough to qualify again? Does it mean that I don't plan to run New York? Or Chicago. Not a bit; it ensures I will run them. We will not be beaten. We must continue to see the spirit that marathons embody. The spirit of the people of Boston, the people of America, and the human race. And that spirit cannot be broken.