Act 2....
In a semi-delusional state I mumble to Kari, "It's time." Unfortunately she hears me and begins to gather necessities and the room key and moves toward the door. I was hoping, somehow, for a response of, "hey, did you hear they postponed the start for 8 or 9 hours ?"
Kari and I head toward transition where I will leave her in hopes of returning as an Ironman. We say our goodbye's, I accept her wishes of luck and in a cloud of nerves and excitement mixed withhealthy dose of exhaustion, I turn and pass through the gates of no return.
Tires re-checked, morning clothes dropped, wetsuit donned...
The Swim
On the banks of the Lake Okanagan I take my place amongst the 2600+ athletes about to embark on 140.6 miles of pain, doubt, strength and self discovery. Moments after finding what I believe is the right place to start my journey, the Canadian anthem begins bouncing off the water and through the hills that surround Penticton, afterwards a stillness followed by the start of the Pro race. Now it's real.
Waist deep in 68 degree water, my eyes closed I take a deep breath and ask God to keep me moving forward. I thank him for my family, my friends, their health, safety and happiness. I say hello to Grandma in hopes she's settling in nicely in heaven and that her and Grandpa were able to get good seats for today's event. With my eyes still closed my attention turns toward the race, Coldplay's performance of "Lost" with Jay-Z at the Grammy's takes over as the sound track in my mind, my head now moving to music I begin to visualize the next 15 hours, the swim, the bike, the run and crossing that line.
"Just because I'm losing doesn't mean I'm lost."
my eyes slowly open and the gun (ok, air horn) sounds.
I quickly tredge forward amongst the masses as if I've been caught in the exiting crowd of major sporting event, after about 20 yards the crowd lowers and starts to swim. Because of the ease into the water and the lack of sleep, I don't seem to have the energy to get nervous or anxious as I usually do at the beginning of a race. There's no talking my self down, no panic to breathe or reagain ryhthm.
Every stroke seems to find my hand on another's foot, another grab from someone else to my leg and I've been smacked in the head enough already that now I'm expecting it.
After a quarter mile of desperately seeking space I finally find it and get into a groove. I'm out far left but I'm happy and it feels like I'm just out for a great morning swim. The first turn to the right comes quickly, with the congested start and quest for open water half of the swim is in the books and I'm close to making the turn for home. The next quarter mile or so is much of the same until I'm once again slammed into by a fellow competitor. This has me surging a bit so I can re-slot myself into an open lane, however, with this somewhat sudden movement my left calf cramps and completely throws me for a loop as I've had foot cramps in the pool, but never leg cramps and I'm not exactly sure what this means. How do I work out a cramp while swimming amongst thousands of other people during an Ironman? What does this mean for the rest of the Race? Am I now going to have to battle leg cramps throughout the race? Is it because I didn't sleep?. ...deep breath (as deep as possible given I have to re-insert my head into the lake), relax, ok....I manage to slow the cramping by focusing on kicking with only the right leg for a bit and then slowly work the left back into the mix.
I don't seem to have fallen off my original pace and now when I sight I can see the shoreline approaching and briefly hear the crowd welcoming folks back to the beach. This re-energizes me and gets my mind off my calf. Knowing the end to the swim is close I focus on quick and efficient strokes and head for shore. At this point the congestion returns but doesn't seem to be a factor, the bumping, hitting and scrambling for position are overshadowed by the fact that 112 miles on the bike await.
I'm just about home and can see folks ahead of me getting to their feet and stumbling through waist deep water. I swim until my hands begin to hit the lake bottom and I too get to my feet. In doing so I realize that the crowd has worked themselves into the water forming a finish chute into T1. This is awesome... This is Ironman Canada.
The Bike...
Out of the water and into transition, I reach the wetsuit strippers. I had been battling all week about whether or not I'll utilize these fine upstanding strippers of wetsuits, so when they seemed to all be taken I decided to move on and take my own suit off, but before I had the chance I was being asked to assume the position... so, um... I did and wow, these guys are good. I think we should have personal apparel strippers for all occasions...ahh, ok, moving on.
Sans wetsuit I jog hurriedly toward my swim to run bag and don my bike gear. Extra tube and air in my jersey pocket I head around the back side of the change tent to my bike. As I affix my helmet I hear the familiar and needed voice of Kari. Luckily she’s just beyond the transition area fence and I’m able to say hello and that I’ll see her again in about 7 hours.
On the bike I begin the journey out of town scanning the sides of the road for the rest of my family. Unfortunately I don’t see them, but I know they’re out there somewhere with words of, “sweet, now we can get breakfast.”
The first 40 miles of the bike course are flat or downhill except for a small hill at about mile 11 or 12. On this quick stint upwards I hear a shotgun blast in the distance; someone blurts outs, “they’re picking off the stragglers!” Great, I’m doomed, 12 miles in and I’m being shot at. Come to find out this is some measure to keep pesky creatures out of farmland and vineyards.
Once up the hill it’s smooth sailing to Richter Pass, the first real climb. As I approach Richter I can see the droves of wheels and spokes about a mile off to the right, all pointed towards the sky. The first real test is here. Once into Osoyos I make the sharp turn to the right, drop to my smaller gears and spin.
I stick to my plan of being very conservative on climbs just because I have no idea how my legs will react to this bike course and running a marathon afterwards. Richter is somewhat lengthy but very manageable and not as steep as it could be. It was actually a great deal of fun with the incredible support we had lining the street all the way to the top. There were times where it felt like I was peddling through a tunnel of personal cheerleaders, all cheering for forward progress.
Richter is a set of 4 back to back climbs, it’s one hill, but you get 3 breaks. During the steepest portion the sweat builds and my legs are now well aware of the task at hand. With the top of the hill in sight a calming satisfaction hugs my inner being as the largest hill on the course is in the books and has my sweat all over it.
After Richter it doesn’t necessarily get easier as now we tackle the rollers, this is where much of the damage can be done to your legs. The pros power through these with ease, but I must be as efficient as possible, both on the downhill and up.
I manage to escape the rollers with gas in the tank and take on the generally flat section that lies between me and Yellow Lake. This stretch seems to be the longest, and now some lovely headwinds have joined the party. Trying to break the course up in my mind a bit my goal now is to get to special needs in the middle of the out and back loop, grab my sandwich, stretch and gear up for the home stretch.
I reach special needs and notice that the bikes behind me are thinning out. It now hits me that I’ve probably let the headwinds beat me up some and I’m dragging. Sandwich down I continue to peddle towards Yellow Lake and home. Funny enough I am now looking forward to my next climb as once it’s here and once I tackle it I’m home free, almost all downhill to the transition area.
Wish granted….. we’re climbing. 20 minutes pass…. we’re still climbing. Wow, I have nothing but slow in me now. I’m not hurting by any means but all added effort seems wasted. Out of the saddle, in the saddle, focus on efficiency, focus on power… nothing. Slow and not so steady I make it up to the lake. Wheeew! All good. A fan yells out, “you’re up! no more hills. All down from here.”
Liar, she is a Liar. I find myself encountering yet another hill. I’m sure if I go back to take a look at this beast it will seem like nothingness, but right now flat seems like up and this up feels nothing short of rude.
I manage to peddle past the next two short uphills and now we’re truly headed in the right direction, down. Catching my breath, resting legs and consuming calories I cruise back into Penticton, happy. Now it feels like I could go another 112, but I opt not to and I’m all grins heading into the transition area and to that lovely dismount line. I am greeted by the beautiful sound of my family cheering my return. I can sense in my Mother’s exuberance that I was supposed to be here an hour ago.
The Run
Changing into my run gear I take my time, re-apply sunscreen, stretch yet again, breathe and head out. Having no idea what my legs have in store for me I jog cautiously out of T2, wave to the Fam and begin the last portion of this little adventure. Funny enough, with 26.2 miles ahead of me, I feel good, I feel like somehow I’m almost done.
Thrilled to no end, my legs are moving and although I’m no where near my normal 7:30 min pace, I’m ru…jogging. Miles 1 through 5 down and I’m almost out of Penticton. Approaching the aid station at mile 6 reality hits and it brought leg cramps with it. Almost limping into the aid station I have to stretch out 2 separate cramps, right quad and left calf. I walk through the aid station, grabbing some Gatorade and water, and slowly work back into a run.
This is the pattern all the way to the turnaround in Okanagan Falls, run mile to mile, stretch when needed, walk the aid stations and repeat. Sun setting and without reason, I feel a little nervous that I have 13.1 miles left and 4, 4 and a half hours until cutoff, just because of a slight fear that my legs will lock up and I may have to power walk all the way home.
Outside of 2 hills early in my 13 mile return to Penticton I am able to run, I continue the practice of walking through the aid stations until about mile 18. As I start to reach city limits I am engulfed in childlike giddiness. I’m gonna do this, I can almost see the lights of the finish line, I’m gonna do this. I reach 23 or so and I am greeted by a fantastic surprise. Dan had jogged out from the finish line and found me on the course just before I make the turn into the city. Jogging along side me we chat about the day of being super endurance spectators, here is where I learned that through a meeting of the minds a decision has been made to check out of the Lakeside Resort and Casino and head for Kelowna tonight, away from club Sleepless. Without breaking stride Dan jumps on the phone to announce he’s found me and I’m on my way home.
Dan continues with me to the next aid station and then breaks off as I tap the tanks and kick it into final stretch gear. The next 2 and a half miles seem to be the easiest. About a mile out I’m at the finish line and need to make one last little out and back before I’m into the finish chute. Reaching that turnabout I’m greeted by fast approaching lights and loud roars as finishers are announced and the grin returns to my face, I’m home, I’m here, I’ve finished.
Into the Chute…
I hit the lights, the stands are jammed, the speakers and PA system are shaking. Although I am most likely at the same pace I feel like I’m sprinting to the line, as I get to the screaming masses I’m greeted by Journey (singing)…”Just a small town boy….” High fiving fans lining the finish chute I want to turn around and do this again, perhaps I can spend the next 2 hours just repeating this experience over and over and over again. The clock reads 14:57….nope, I am crossing that line under 15 hours. Refocused and half way down the chute, palms to the sky, I motion both hands upward in a sweeping motion in attempt to get the crowd even louder. They do, holy #@%& they DO! Incredible. Fans screaming, I cross the line..
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