Ironman Florida - TriathlonFull Ironman

Given that I only had 36,014yds in the pool since the bike/car thing last at St. Anthony's last April (which is what took me out of IM Coeur d'Alene), I waited to be one of the last dozen or so people in the water as I did not want to be in folks way (nor did I want folks to have to swim over me).

That was a mistake.

I spent the entire swim passing people and found very few feet to draft off of. Instead of being swum over, it was me that was looking for a way to swim in between folks to get to the orange turn buoys.

Within 30 yds I felt the wetsuit chafing the back of my neck despite the copious amount of body glibe applied. Rats.


Yes, it was a floating bar fight ... but in a polite way. For the most part, people moved over to make room (and so they could draft off of your feet).

I tried to dial it back throughout the swim to ensure that I did not blow up ... but found that I felt like I was literally gliding through the water. The shoulder did not click or grind as it had done previously and range of motion was perfect. Elbows were bent, roll on rails were good ... all of this was unexpected - but welcomed.



Seed myself to the middle of the pack. The back of the pack was just as crowded and probably had just as much jostling, shoving and elbowing for space.

Also might try Tagaderm (it's like cloth medical tape) for the back of my neck to prevent the wetsuit chafing ... still have a sheet left over from the second surgery.

Long run across the timing mat and into the transition area. Some folks looked like they were searching for soap or something given the time in the fresh water showers ...

The changing tent was a zoo. I grabbed my T1 bag and dumped out it's contents onto the floor outside of the tent.

I have not had much luck with wearing my HR monitor during the swim and then having it work on the bike, so I put that on and starting the Garmin so that it could avquire satellites while everything else was going on.

A little handmaiden girl came to help me just as I was about to put on chamois butter ... I did the whole pointing while saying "Look ...a puppy!" to distract her while I applied the cream to the right area.

She laughed and then helped me change shirts. (I wore my Team Gu shirt during the swim in order to get the swim exit picture and therefore the swag, but changed b/c it chafes the everliving stuffing out of me.)

Move it, move it.

I spent the first 30 minutes on the bike making sure that I reeled myself back in. Despite feeling absolutely awesome, I knew that the first hour on the bike would dictate a lot as to how my first marathon would go.

I focused on getting some hydration in and solids in my stomach. Nutrition plan was to alternative bottles of plain H2O w/CarboPro + 1 gel with another bottle loaded with CarboPro + Gu20. During each bottle I would also eat 1/3 tp 1/2 of a Cliff Bar that was kept in my Bento box.

This nutrition plan worked great in training, but not on race day. Somewhere between the 35-40 mile mark I felt myself fading and the power in my legs draining. I recognized it as dehydration and knew that I had to get some water in me stat.

I dumped my aerodrink at the next stop and filled it full of water + grabbed another bottle to put in my jersey pocket ... and then drank, drank, drank clean and refreshing plain water.

Within 20-30 minutes I felt the strength coming back, so I continued the plain water regiment for another 1:00 to 1:15 and my speed picked up.

Meanwhile, my heartrate after the swim would not settle down into Zone 2 but instead planted itself in Zone 4. When I stopped to urinate at the 1 hour mark, my HR immediately dropped to >Z1 ... but then jumped back to Zone 4 when pedaling.

I decided to 'let it ride' and proceeded to do the rest of the course in Zone 4 - but being careful not to hit my AeT/LT. This did not worry me too much as my RPE did not coincide with my HR and at the point I was more comfortable listening to my body instead of my HR monitor. (Also, my legs did not have that lactic acid burning feeling ...).

As calm as the seas were that morning, the wind was brutal during the day. Flags flapped in the wind and cross winds would blow bikers across the bike lane.

I never really felt a tailwind (isn't that always the case?) but was surprised to see that no matter which way the bike course turned, the wind always seemed to meet you head-on.

I did not let it bother me, but made sure that I did not fry my legs trying to muscle through it.

There was some drafting going on but it did not bother me. My thoughts were, "Let them race their race and I'll race mine."

Loved the (relatively) new bike + the Zipps throughout the course. The bike fit was dead-on and comfortable. The Zipps were smooth like buttah. The new saddle was comfortable and forgiving for 100 of the 112 miles (the last 12 always sets my arse on freaking FIRE!). All-in-all, an awesome set-up that I could not be happier with.

During the bike ride I thought about the long journey it took to get to this point, the cold winter mornings when our aerobottles would freeze or that you could literally chew your Gu, the runs at Columns Drive along the river wondering if my HR would ever level out, the eating + laughing after each long workout ... and smiled.

I probably smiled most if not all of the bike.

I need to nail this nutrition/hydration thing ... I think that was the major limiter in my performance.

I would also skip special needs and instead carry my powdered nutrition either in my Bento box or back pocket. It was a time sponge.

I jumped off the bike and ran to my T2 bag, grabbed it and ran to the changing tent. I dumped out the bag and then puzzled that nothing looked familar ... largely because it was not my bag.

Being careful to get everything back in the bag, I ran back out of the changing tent and switched bags.

Upon re-entering the tent, I saw Jonathan22 who then proceeded to take awesome care of me as I put on clean, dry socks, switched HR monitors (the Garmin only lasts so long and I lucked out by still having my 301 that I upgraded from) and then got out the door after slathering me with sunscreen.



Bring a brain in order to grab the right T-bag.

After leaving the change tent, I quickly found my run legs and was surprised by how quickly I did. My strategy was to started out slow and tapered off from there. That said, my @!#%^ HR would not come down to Zone 2. I did not fret as it frequently takes a mile or two for my HR to stabilize, so I just made sure that I stayed below AeT/LT and found a rhythym.

I also knew that I was behind in calories and started to graze at the rest stops. It did not take long for the stomach to rebel. First it got bloated while the bananas, oranges, water and gatorade sloshed around in my stomach. Then came the gas pain.

It was like a sharp knife stabbing outward from my stomach. I felt the need to burp, but was worried that it would turn into something projectile. I felt the need to poot, but as a friend once opined: "Never trust a fart ..." and I was super worried that there was something behind and quickly following the gas :o.

My HR shot up to and hovered at threshold. It got to the point where I wanted projectile vomit - just to get it over with so that I could move on. All I got were a couple dozen mini-throw-ups. These didn't slow me down; I just kept running, threw up a little, spit it out and then rinsed at the next aid station ... then repeat for 6-7 miles.

Meanwhile, back in the spandex department. I felt the pressure building and knew that it was going to blow. I tried portapotties for three aid stations, but each one was full. At the third, I waited for 3-4 minutes and there was no movement ... I knocked on the door and heard from the voice inside that they were not coming out anytime too soon. (C'mon folks ... the "rest" in 'restroom' is not literal!)

Finally, I decided that I had no choice ... and right past the aid station I let 'er rip. And rip she did - for what seemed like a continuous 30 second spree. It was impressive. At any given trailer park, I would have been given a prize.

But not by the runner behing me - he gagged. The runners across the street died laughing and one later told me he almost pee'd on himselves.

Meanwhile, back in the spandex department, I was taking stock of things and ... nothing. Whew.

I proceeded to "expel gas" with pride (and more than just a little bit of worry) for the next 20 some-odd miles. [If I did this on the bike, I am certain those bastards would not have drafted off of my from mile 80-100]

In heartrate land, my average bpm was actually dropping while my pace remained steady. The farting was working.

My leg muscles, however, started to fatigue. This is due to the lack of running I was able to do due to the clavically truncated season. (It took a while after the surgery to heal up enough to withstand the jarrying of footstrikes.) At this point, I was running to rest stops and walking each from stem to stern. My HR would immediately drop to Zone 1 at each rest stop and then shoot back up to threshold 1/4 mile after.

This went on until mile 20. I looked at my watch and saw that I had 1:23 to finish sub 13 hours ... and a 10k never seemed so far. It was at this point that I made up my mind that I was going to Forrest Gump the rest of the race.

I did not look at my HR nor watch for the ensuing miles and just plain picked up the pace, focusing on footfall, lengthening my kick and developing a steady rhythym.

I fought the urge for the ensuing miles to look at my watch, although the tempatation was almost unbearable. I knew that I was giving it my all and pushing myself to my limit. I fought the urge to walk - even for "...just a little" as my mind tried to trick me into thinking - and pushed it through the darkness.

At the 3 mile out aid station, I decided that nutrition was no longer of value. I was done with rest stops and would run the rest of it in. At this point, it hurt and I was feeling the pain. I heard my coach, Carole Sharpless, in my head say, "Suck it up, princess - it's only a 5k." Strangely enough, I smiled through the pain and just put one foot dtrike in front of the other.

After the last run along the beach and at the turn to the final stretch leading to Alvin's Island shop, I picked it up a notch and continued to pass people left and right. I had a 100 yd stare and the only thing I was thinking about was finishing ... and going to the med tent for an IV. (Then a voice in my head reminded me of how ludicrious a sport is where you think it is (a) normal and (b) acceptable to do something to the point where you have to recover with intervenous fluids.)

Right after Alvin's Island and in front of the Boardwalk, I started looking for my family to run in with. The kids were going to love it!

But I didn't see them ... despite from what I was told running no less than 5' pass them as I neared the finishing chute. I was in prime brain oxygen deficit (okay, more than usual) and had tunnel vision.

Truth be told, I don't really remember the last 200 some-odd yards nor the finish line. I do remember Edwardo, the catcher, who grabbed me and dragged my happy rear to medical ... where they took my blood pressure and it was 120 over 80 with a pulse rate of 106 bpm. Rats! No IV ...

Saw my family just outside of the medical tent corral and snuck out of medical ... afterall my training buddy and good friend Brent had what I needed: a cold 40 oz of Colt 45 wrapped in a plain brown bag.

The recovery drink of champions and the beginning of a great night cheering on other people's finishes.

Well, first things first, I would have prefered to have avoided that car while riding the St. Anthony's run course altogether ;) ... that said, nothing.

I played the cards dealt to me during the day and am completely satisfied that I gave the race my all - both physically and mentally. I am satisfied that I pushed myself to and then a little past my limits ... and that by doing so, it made all the difference in my experience.

One of the cooler things I saw on the ride was a uber-fit girl with just one leg that was cheering while standing next to her bike on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. Gave me goose bumps. I also spoke with a local guy doing the race who lost 60+ lbs. over the course of training for that one day.

It made me realize that each person has their own story and reason to race ... and that while you may be struggling to meet certain goals others would be happy to acheive your lowest expectations. The bottom line is that while I exceeded my expectations by a long shot, I now know that you are more than your finishing time.

They say that Ironman is not a day racing but the journey to get there. I look back over the months since signing up for the race last November and think about getting up at o'dark:30 to climb out of a warm bed with a beautiful wife, to creep past sleeping children's rooms in order to quitely load my bike on the roof of the car + make it a dawn ride or pre-dawn Master's class.

I think back to the day of the bike/car incident, of those finaly seconds leading up to the impact,of my head hitting the pavement and feeling my shoulder break. Of my buddy Brent pulling me from the intersection and taking me to the St. Anthony's ER.

I think of the struggle it took - and the encouragement from my friends - to fight back and to train again, beginning with the Peachtree Road Race and then the trepidation felt the first time I was to get back on the bike at Columns Drive ... which then built itself into riding from The Depot to the Alabama state line and back on the Silver Comet trail + the 20 miler logged at the Suwanee Creek Greenway.

It is this experience that I will remember ... as an Ironman.


Upon reflection, my heart rate zones are off ... meaning that I trained with zones that were too low. I suspect that they may have been right when I had them tested last January, but that the prolonged training period + mid-season "break" may have altered them.

My nutrition was also off. While I rolled with it, it played a huge part in the run performance. I am not sure how I could have tested my nutrition differently, but know that is something that I need to nail down



Special thanks goes to my buddy Brent Johnston for all the help given race week, race day and all of the times we rode together over the past 12 months; to Dr. Gillogly from Atlanta Sports Medicine for understanding endurance athletes, the successful surgeries and the consults afterwards geared towards enabling me to train; to Mary Doyle, the best damn Physical Therapist in Atlanta - bar none. As a multiple iron-finisher, she knew what it would take give me back the range of motion needed to train for the race.

To my coach Carole Sharpless, who made all of this possible by painstakenly tailoring a training program geared to my inability to swim and, during the beginning part, even run.

Lastly, to Stephanie - my loving wife - who did double duty with our three kids so that I could have the time to train. I thought about her - and the sacrifices she made over the months - all throughout the day. The ability to finish was bourne as much from her efforts as it was from mine.