Ironman USA Lake Placid - TriathlonFull Ironman

In the moments before the cannon fired to start the race, I took a moment to look around, collect my thoughts, and try to "take it all in." I realized just how lucky I was to be able to compete in this event, the emotional support and love from my family, to have the physical health and strength, and the mental toughness and discipline to pull it all off. Boom! The cannon went off and the race began.

When the cannon sounded, the beautiful and once "placid" waters of Mirror Lake instantly transformed into what I can best describe as a vicious washing machine being churned and agitated by the anxious limbs of 2900+ triathletes trying to claw themselves over the 2.4 mile distance. While I have competed in many triathlons, this was by far my roughest swim to date -- tons of striking and pulling. As for me, I caught a couple of good shots but nothing too severe (no broken nose and I still have all my teeth!). As I pulled myself from the water after the first lap, I looked at my watch and saw that I was ahead of pace, at 38 minutes. I knew that I would have to pull back a little to keep on my race plan. The second loop was still congested, and I kept a steady pace to finish the swim in 1:21:21. While I had expected a 1:30 finish, I was happy and confident that I had not expended too much energy in the water. After having my wetsuit stripped, I ran through the chutes into transition. I took my time in transition and made sure I had everything I needed for the 112 mile bike course.

There was a bottleneck at the bike mount line, but again, I reminded myself that this was going to be a long day and that this minor delay would be ultimately inconsequential. Soon enough I was off and after a nagging six mile climb, I hit the infamous Keene descent. Wow, that was fast. The descent transcends approximately six miles and I crested speeds of 50 mph (don't tell my wife). Per my race plan, I was diligent about maintaining an aerobic Heartrate, nutrition and hydration throughout the ride. I made sure to keep at Heartrate Zone 3 or below (which was impossible on some of the climbs), and had set my watch to alarm every 10 minutes. Every ten minutes, I was reminded to hydrate, and I took in nutrition every thirty minutes, and Endurolyte salt tablets every hour.

Towards the end of the first loop of the bike course, my quads felt blasted after the seemingly never-ending Adirondack climb back into Lake Placid. This course proved the axiom that there is no such thing as a free downhill. However, one of the coolest experiences of the race was those hill climbs. Hills' fans, or those who lovingly enjoy watching the suffering of others, had descended on the course and formed climb chutes around the riders (think Tour-de-France). The chutes often shrunk to shoulder width with hundreds of people shouting encouragement at you, running alongside you, ringing cowbells, blaring music, blowing horns, dancing, and generally having a great time. I was chased up the hills by people in gorilla suits, superman and ironman costumes, girls (and guys) in bikinis, and who knows what else. It was awesome support and helped melt away what would have otherwise been insurmountable hill climbs!

As I pulled into Lake Placid to finish my first loop of the bike course I spotted my family along one of the barricades. I pulled over and dismounted to chat with them for a minute and give them an update on my race. It was very uplifting to see them, although I realize now that I may have scared my wife with my report of knee pains -- which ultimately subsided later on. Sadly, this would be the last time that I would see them prior to the end of my race--although they were able to follow me throughout.

Recharged, I headed back through the town for the second loop. As the temperature kept creeping higher, and the miles and hours began to hang on me, I began to resent that 10 minute alarm and dreaded the thought of having to consume another Gel packet, or another swig of Endurance formula, etc. The alarm became very annoying as the day wore on, but I knew that obeying it was essential to keep me on my race plan. Around mile 80 I hit a racer's low, feeling sorry for myself, exhausted, and consumed with various pains. While rooting around my jersey pockets, I discovered a Nature's Valley granola bar that seemed to be heaven sent. I carefully opened the package but could only eat one of the two bars (they are very dry). I then promised myself that I would save/eat the second bar as a treat after climbing the hills back into town. Yet, several miles later, I carelessly dropped my treasure from my bike while searching my Bento Box for salt tablets. It was gone and I couldn't go back for it... I figured that was how Tom Hanks felt when he lost Wilson in the movie Castaway. I was so bummed -- it seems silly now but I tell the story to relay my diminished state of mind in the later stages of the bike course. Those miles really take something out of you, I guess some of that is your sanity.

Nonetheless, I rallied up the hills and managed to peel myself off the bike in 7:48:59 -- 11 minutes ahead of the pace in my race plan. It will be a long time before I want to reconnect with that saddle. While dismounting, and probably a little delirious, I managed to spear myself with my bike gears. This opened up a two-prong gash full of blood and gear oil on my right ankle. Fearful that the injury would compel race officials to intervene and potentially end my race, I kept quiet and shuffled into transition. Believe it or not, I was actually looking forward to running the marathon. Again, I may have been a bit loopy at this point. I took my time in transition, changed my clothes and socks, put on my running shoes and headed out of the transition tent into a huge wall of noise radiating from the massive crowd on the run course. This was an incredible boost, and off I ran.

Surprisingly, the run was my favorite part of the day. In past races, this is where "my wheels would fall off" -- but not today. I had paced myself properly on the swim and bike and now it was paying off. And best of all, that annoying 10 minute alarm which had pestered me during the bike course immediately transformed into a welcomed friend. Pursuant to my race plan and training strategy, I would run for 10 minutes and then walk for one minute (after hearing the alarm). With this strategy, I had plenty of time to attend to my hydration and nutrition needs from my Fuel Belt and was able to keep my Heartrate out of an anaerobic zone until approximately mile 23 or so. I was never forced to stop running from exhaustion, pain, or my body shutting down and I was able to run a strong marathon pace for all 26.2 miles. I passed so many racers that had gone out too hard on the swim and/or bike that were now self-destructing on the run course. I witnessed a ton of carnage, misery, and broken people in the depths of the run course. I was happy not to be one of them. I was feeling proud of myself for sticking to my training, race plan, and strategy. I even remember smiling to myself several times when the alarm would go off signaling my walk-break and thinking "man, you are too good to yourself." I'm not sure if many other competitors were thinking that way at the 125 mile mark of the "Beast of the East", one of the most grueling endurance races ever. So much of the success in this sport hinges on mental toughness, and I was in great shape late into the run.

Without belaboring the point, the run course was alive with energy and packed with supporters and course volunteers offering the racers water, Gatorade, bananas, fruit, gels, pretzels, and warm chicken broth (which miraculously refueled my love for food since losing Wilson... er my granola bar). Also, the fans and crowds along the course were really starting to get rowdy by this point in the day. In addition to lots of yelling and noise, they would break the barricades and hop on the course to run alongside the racers offering everything from candy bars, popcorn, barbeque, beers, etc.. The thought of those things churned my stomach at the time, but it was really the support itself that helped the most far beyond the proffered goods. It seems like it would have been a great time to be there, if not for the pain of racing.

I was getting tired, mentally and physically, and I was ready to be done with the race. At mile 23 of the run, and pursuant to my race plan, I abandoned all my previous caution and "opened it up" with all I had left in the tank. I knew I would finish, and that was a great relief. Heck, I was even way ahead of schedule and without any debilitating physical breakdowns or injuries. I ran those last few miles through town totally enjoying and living the moment. I gave high fives to the crowd, smiled, waved, and finally spotted my family right before entering the finisher's chute. I yelled to my wife that I couldn't stop running at that point because I didn't think my body would allow me to start again (like a car running on fumes).

I slowed down my pace as I entered the Olympic arena and worked my way around the oval. Suddenly, the racer who was about to finish approximately 20 yards in front of me cramped up and contorted in pain as he crossed underneath the Ford Archway just feet from the finish. Yet, he managed to keep moving forward, so I held back respectively -- no need to sprint past him at that point, he had earned his finish.

The end was everything you would expect an Ironman finish line to be, bright, deafening, and electric. After travelling 140.6 miles in 14 hours, 35 minutes, and 42 seconds, Mike Reilly announced, in his signature style, "Rich Pingel, You. Are. An. Ironman!" That was too cool!

Upon crossing the finish line, a team of volunteers and medical staff either catch or collect you (think like they do with a boxer after he gets knocked down). After checking me over, they declared me in good condition and I was released to go find my family. After stumbling around a bit, I finally found them and gave them some pretty gnarly hugs, and my daughter Katie quickly claimed my medal. After a couple of slices of pizza, I returned to the finish area for my post-race message and stopped by the medical tent to finally have my ankle cleaned-up and attended to. I'm convinced that the doctor thought I was crazy, but, she let me go anyway.

Back at the hotel and after a long shower, burger and beer, I was able to reflect on the race and the years of racing that I had to do to ultimately cross that epic finish line. I lay awake for most of that night as my wife and kids slept from the exhaustion that was their day of chasing and supporting me around Lake Placid and the Adirondack mountains. I thought about the sacrifices that my family and I have had to make to fit in the demands of this sport and how appreciative I am for them. Having finally achieved the goal that I set five years ago, when I was a lot younger, lighter, and spry, I am both proud of the accomplishment and excited to step away from it -- at least for a while. So with that, and in closing, I want to express my thanks to all who have supported and helped me in my journey, and to the fans and volunteers who made this day so special.