Ironman Wisconsin : Official Thread (Page 28)

I have yet to run into or see any pot holes but it will be like any other 112 mile ride, some great roads, some ok roads and a couple of short stretches that make you question your decision to not add shocks to your bike.  The only two sections I really don't like are Stagecoach Rd (approx 1 mile) and Whalen Rd from Fish Hatchery to the S. Seminole (approx 1-2 miles).  Other than that it's pretty good.

So I found this on a BT post a few years ago and copied it to save and have shared it with friends who are entering their IM tapers.  I have read this a bunch of times over the past few months for a little motivation and read it again today as I enter my first IM taper. Not sure who the author is but it is a great little read (sorry its so long).  Thought it would be fitting to share with everyone as we all get ready to taper. Enjoy!

Right now you are about to enter the taper. Perhaps you've been at this a few months, perhaps you've been at this a few years. For some of you this is your first IM, for others, a long-overdue welcome back to a race that few can match.

You've been following your schedule to the letter. You've been piling on the mileage, piling up the laundry, and getting a set of tan lines that will take until next year to erase. Long rides were followed by long runs, which both were preceded by long swims, all of which were followed by recovery naps that were longer than you slept for any given night during college.

You ran in the snow.

You rode in the rain.

You ran in the heat.

You ran in the cold.

You went out when others stayed home.

You rode the trainer when others pulled the covers over their heads.

You have survived the Darwinian progression that is an Ironman summer, and now the hardest days are behind you. Like a climber in the Tour de France coming over the summit of the penultimate climb on an alpine stage, you've already covered so much ground...there's just one more climb to go. You shift up, you take a drink, you zip up the jersey; the descent lies before you...and it will be a fast one.

Time that used to be filled with never-ending work will now be filling with silent muscles, taking their final, well-earned rest. While this taper is something your body desperately needs, your mind cast off to the background for so very long, will start to speak to you.

It won't be pretty.

It will bring up thoughts of doubt, pain, hunger, thirst, failure, and loss. It will give you reasons why you aren't ready. It will try and make one last stand to stop you, because your brain doesn't know what the body already does. Your body knows the truth:

You are ready.

Your brain won't believe it. It will use the taper to convince you that this is foolish - that there is too much that can go wrong.

You are ready.

Finishing an Ironman is never an accident. It's the result of dedication, focus, hard work, and belief that all the long runs in January, long rides in April, and long swims every damn weekend will be worth it. It comes from getting on the bike, day in, day out. It comes from long, solo runs. From that first long run where you wondered, "How will I ever be ready?" to the last long run where you smiled to yourself with one mile to go...knowing that you'd found the answer.

It is worth it. Now that you're at the taper, you know it will be worth it. The workload becomes less. The body winds up and prepares, and you just need to quiet your worried mind. Not easy, but you can do it.

You are ready.

You will walk into the water with 2000 other wide-open sets of eyes. You will look upon the sea of humanity, and know that you belong. You'll feel the chill of the water crawl into your wetsuit, and shiver like everyone else, but smile because the day you have waited for so VERY long is finally here.

You will tear up in your goggles. Everyone does.

The helicopters will roar overhead.

The splashing will surround you.

You'll stop thinking about Ironman, because you're now racing one.

The swim will be long - it's long for everyone, but you'll make it. You'll watch as the shoreline grows and grows, and soon you'll hear the end. You'll come up the beach and head for the wetsuit strippers. Three people will get that sucker off before you know what happening, then you’ll head for the bike.

The voices, the cowbells, and the curb-to-curb chalk giving you a hero's sendoff can't wipe the smile off your face.

You'll settle down to your race. The crowds will spread out on the road. You'll soon be on your bike, eating your food on your schedule, controlling your Ironman.

You'll start to feel that morning sun turn to afternoon sun. It's warmer now. Maybe it's hot. Maybe you're not feeling so good now. You'll keep riding. You'll keep drinking. You'll keep moving. After all, this is just a long training day with valet parking and catering, right?

You'll put on your game face, fighting the urge to feel down as you ride for what seems like hours. You reach special needs, fuel up, and head out.

By now it'll be hot. You'll be tired. Doubts will fight for your focus. Everyone struggles here. You've been on that bike for a few hours, and stopping would be nice, but you won't - not here. Not today.

You'll grind the false flats to the climb. You'll know you're almost there. You'll fight for every inch of road. The crowd will come back to you here. Let their energy push you. Let them see your eyes. Smile when they cheer for you - your body will get just that little bit lighter.

Grind.

Fight.

Suffer.

Persevere.

You'll plunge down the road, swooping from corner to corner, chaining together the turns, tucking on the straights, letting your legs recover for the run to come - soon! You'll roll back - you'll see people running out. You'll think to yourself, "Wasn't I just here?" The noise will grow. The chalk dust will hang in the air - you're back, with only 26.2 miles to go. You'll relax a little bit, knowing that even if you get a flat tire or something breaks here, you can run the damn bike into T2.

You'll roll into transition. 100 volunteers will fight for your bike. You'll give it up and not look back. You'll have your bag handed to you, and into the tent you'll go. You'll change. You'll load up your pockets, and open the door to the last long run of your Ironman summer - the one that counts.

You'll take that first step of a thousand...and you'll smile. You'll know that the bike won't let you down now - the race is down to your own two feet. The same crowd that cheered for you in the shadows of the morning will cheer for you in the brilliant sunshine of a summer Sunday. High-five people on the way out. Smile. Enjoy it. This is what you've worked for all year long.

That first mile will feel great. So will the second. By mile 3, you probably won't feel so good.

That's okay. You knew it couldn't all be that easy. You'll settle down just like you did on the bike, and get down to your pace. You'll see the leaders coming back the other way. Some will look great - some won't. You might feel great, you might not. No matter how you feel, don't panic - this is the part of the day where whatever you're feeling, you can be sure it won't last.

You'll keep moving. You'll keep drinking. You'll keep eating. Maybe you'll be right on plan - maybe you won't. If you're ahead of schedule, don't worry - believe. If you're behind, don't panic - roll with it. Everyone comes up with a brilliant race plan for Ironman, and then everyone has to deal with the reality that planning for something like Ironman is like trying to land a man on the moon; by remote control; Blindfolded.

How you react to the changes in your plan will dictate your day. Don't waste energy worrying about things - just do what you have to when you have to, and keep moving. Keep eating. Keep drinking. Just don't sit down - don't EVER sit down.

You'll make it to the halfway point. You'll load up on special needs. Some of what you packed will look good, some won't. Eat what looks good, toss the rest. Keep moving. Start looking for people you know. Cheer for people you don't. You're headed in - they're not. They want to be where you are, just like you wanted to be when you saw all those fast people headed into town. Share some energy - you'll get it right back.

Run if you can.

Walk if you have to.

Just keep moving.

The miles will drag on. The brilliant sunshine will yawn. You'll be coming up to those aid stations fully alive with people, music, and chicken soup. TAKE THE SOUP. Keep moving.

You'll soon only have a few miles to go. You'll start to believe that you're going to make it. You'll start to imagine how good it's going to feel when you get there. Let those feelings drive you on. When your legs just don't want to move anymore, think about what it's going to be like when someone catches you…and puts a medal over your head... all you have to do is get there.

You'll start to hear the people in town. People you can't see in the twilight will cheer for you. They'll call out your name. Smile and thank them. They were there when you left on the bike, and when you came back, and when you left on the run, and now when you've come back.

You'll enter town. You'll start to realize that the day is almost over. You'll be exhausted, wiped out, barely able to run a 10-minute mile (if you're lucky), but you'll ask yourself, "Where did the whole day go?" You'll be standing on the edge of two feelings - the desire to finally stop, and the desire to take these last moments and make them last as long as possible.

You'll hit mile 25. Your Ironman will have 1.2 miles - just 2KM left in it.

You'll run. You'll find your legs. You'll fly. You won't know how, but you will run. The lights will grow brighter, brighter, and brighter. Soon you'll be able to hear the music again. This time, it'll be for keeps.

Soon they'll see you. Soon, everyone will see you. You'll run towards the lights, between the fences, and into the night sun made just for you.

They'll say your name.

You'll keep running.

Nothing will hurt.

The moment will be yours - for one moment, the entire world will be looking at you and only you.

You'll break the tape at the finish line, 140.6 miles after starting your journey. The flash will go off.

You'll stop. You'll finally stop. Your legs will wobble their last, and suddenly...be capable of nothing more.

Someone will catch you.

You'll lean into them.

It will suddenly hit you.

YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!

You are ready.

You are ready.

bigpaps posted back on page 28 a link to the full bike course video.  I watched it and it was almost like being there with commentary.

http://www.wisconsinbrickadventure.com/videos.html

Jo63 - 2012-08-20 8:24 PM Tim thanks for the post.........as I was reading everyone long final weekend I began to have huge doubts, i did my long bike yesterday and made it 70 miles feeling pretty good then ran into a thunderstorm I came home and finished on my trainer but I still have not completed one 100 miler outside I still am freaking out a bit but this has certainly helped calm the nerves a bit

For my last IM, I did florida and trained in the fall in Ontario.  My longest ride was mid October - I did the first 2.5 hours on the trainer waiting for it to warm up outside.  I only did 5 hours of that ride outside.  you'll be fine

tommyalberto left a handy-dandy spreadsheet at the top of page 33 in this thread. 

I have a spreadsheet, but only for the people that specifically sent me their number either by e-mail or pm.  I will post the people that I have on my list this evening from home.  pm me or e-mail me lj3jones at gmail dot com and I will add you to the list. 

Name

Handle

Race Number

# of IM finishes

Goal

I am already having a hard time focusing at work.  I am spending half my day reading past race reports to glean as much as possible about the race.

Few questions - where should a strong swimmer start?  I think if I get a good draft I should be able to finish in 1:05.  Don't mind being in the scrum a bit.  I can take it.  Also - in the no passing zone at the start of the bike - how long is it and how fast are people usually riding?  I'm terrified that everyone around me will want to be going faster and that I will slow them down and ruin their race day.  I'll be coming out of the water with most of the eventual KQer's but my bike speed is pretty slow - hoping to maintain around 16.5 mph on the bike.

I've been trying to figure out where to start as well.  I am a moderate swimmer and will likely finish around 1:15 (barring any round house head kicks).

I most certainly don't want to be anywhere near the front and have had moderate swim panic in major swim scrums.  So, I'm thinking somewhere in the middle off to the side, because I don't want to be swimming over (aka getting kicked in the face) by slower swimmers, but I also want to minimize the potential panic if I get swallowed up in the washer.

For those more experienced IM'ers what do you advise?

I can only speak to my one experience in '09, but I started in the middle-middle and had a reasonably comfortable path for a 1:12 swim.  What I mean by middle-middle is not right on the buoy line but not "to the outside" and neither in the front nor the back of those in that middle section.  The corners (or at least the first 2) are always going to be tight unless you take them super wide.

As far as the no passing zone--don't worry about it.  Just fall in line wherever you are when you get there and ride your race.  Honestly as a cyclist this was the most entertaining part of my race, watching the horrendous bike handling around the 90 degree corners on the sidewalk/bike path.  So just smile and enjoy, there's a long day ahead of you with plenty of other opportunities to get stressed.

those that have PM'd or e-mailed me that are on the spreadsheet for tracking race day:

HUSKRJ didn't message me personally, but he posted all that I had requested - if you want your name taken off, please let me know!

Thanks for doing this!  Maybe when we get our GPS tracker link you can add that?  If not, I can put it on my blog!