BOOM.
Even with earplugs in that tiny cannon packs quite a wollup. My plan was to ease into the swim, but that pretty quickly turned into a dumb idea, particularly due to my start location coupled with the decision to go wetsuitless. I pretty quickly got over run and spent a good deal of time swimming vertically as folks were all over my legs. While it certainly impeded my forward progress, the good thing is that I was actually pretty comfortable otherwise. I just continued to take it pretty easy and not fight the crowd. While not my intention, I pretty quickly got herded over to the cable line. About 500 yards into the swim, a little space opened up a bit, but then closed back down. This repeated itself over and over for the remainder of the first lap, but again, no worries. Really, really glad that I got my bilateral breathing to where it is my natural rhythm - it made it much easier to catch breaths easily whenever I could. At the first turn buoys, I all the sudden gained the new skill of being able to pee while swimming - who knew? I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks, no matter how weird the trick. I cruised back to the beach, still not able to get into a groove, but very relaxed none the less. Once on the beach for a short sprint to start the second lap, I downed the gel and flask of water that I had tucked in the back of my suit. I think the gel was a good idea, but pretty soon I realized I did not need the water - I peed again on the way out for the second go round the turn buoys, and AGAIN (yes a third time!) on the final return to the beach. The second lap was a good bit faster than the first - Like most, I stayed right on the cable and basically rode the train back in.

Swim Faster.
Had I really thought much about it, once I made the decision to not wear my wetsuit, I should have then re-thought my start location. Really wish I had brought my speed tube; would have been the perfect set-up for this race. I never figured this race would be non-wetsuit legal - better safe than sorry though.

I still think not wearing a wetsuit was a good decision, based on all the race reports and comments about dehydration and heat. I felt great when I got out of the water, even though I was 10 minutes slower than I expected.

Yikes! I planned to Cadillac the transitions, but holy-moly!
Ran really well to the transition tent, stayed off the carpet most of the way to get around folks that were jogging slow. Stripped out of my 78 degree top on the fly. Bee-lined to my row, grabbed my transition bag (marking it with red tape was a very good idea) and darted right into a tent jammed packed with a twisting, writhing mass of utter chaos (note to self: learn to swim faster). I made my way to the far end of the changing tent, found a seat (good idea? bad idea? next year I am actually going to have a strategy about this particular moment). Helmet on first, then shoes, arm warmers on the wrists, gloves on, up, pitstop in my jersey pocket, and a few extra gels in my other pocket, just in case. Up. Off to the bike while putting on my race belt. I made it to my bike rack, grabbed it myself, and moved on to the bike exit where I ran into a huge log jam of people, all queuing up at the mount line. I was a little bit of a jerk, but I squeezed up against the rail, picked up my bike over-head, and ran with it downhill about 25~30 yards past the mount line and rolled.

1) Swim faster.
2) No reason to sit - keep moving.
3) Now that I have done this once, it will be a lot easier to visualize and practice. I spent way too much time checking and rechecking stuff in transition - next year I gotta just go. WAY too much free time here.

Even though I had read about it a million times, the descent out of T1 was surprisingly hairy. Rough, steep, and a little feisty, the first mile out of town was littered with debris that had been ejected from the bikes of faster racers. I ran the. Gauntlet without mishap, but I did manage to lose the Pitstop out of my rear pocket without knowing it. I would only find that out later...

I took it super, super easy on the initial ascent out of town, which rolls up and up and up again before reaching the infamous descent into Keene. I zone oned it up to the top, and as expected got overtaken by a ton of racers. I was prepared for this to happen, but it is awfully tough to let folks go and do your own thing. This is probably the single most important skill I have learned over this past year. And hey, I figure everyone warms up differently for a 112 bike ride, right?

The descent into Keene was everything that folks say - I found it a blast - and even faster than the test ride from the couple of days before as you could actually get off the shoulder and out into the road. The downside was that there were way too many other folks doing the same thing, albeit a good bit slower. The ride down is not technical at all, it is just fairly straight and fast. There is one spot where the course really opens up and allows a little crosswind, but I was prepared for that from my test ride and had no worries. My front 808 ran straight and true. Once into Keene I really began to settle in and take stock and do a systems check. The air temperature and humidity were really nice, and my heart rate was surprisingly low, mainly in High zone 1/low zone 2. My power however was running about 190 watts, which was about 10 watts higher than planned, so despite how well I was feeling, I backed down just a bit. On the bit between Keene and Jay, I began to realize that I had to pee again, which was a bit of a surprise. I had read countless threads on BT about exactly this situation, but was still not quite sure what I would do (or be able to do) if/when faced with this situation. At least it gave me something fun to think about for a while...

turned out to be easy. Signal that I am slowing and easing over to the shoulder, stand, coast, go. Left shoe full of pee. Rinse, repeat as required, which eventually turned out to be 2 more times on the bike. Awesome. I am one step closer to being an Ironman.

I remember reading a lot of complaints about the AuSable Forks out and back, but I liked this part as it really let's you see how the race is developing both out in front as well as in back of you. I was a little surprised by the packs that had formed up, but I was also pretty sure that wouldn't last for long due to the hills that were coming. Weirdly somewhere along the way a black cat darted out of the bushes and crossed the the road right in front of a few cyclists up from me, successfully dodging those of us going out, and the fasties coming back in from AuSable Forks, which caused a lot of chuckles and comments from the handful of folks that saw it. Jinx #1.

Superstitions aside, my nutrition And fluids were all literally going like clockwork: I was basically taking a gel every 30 minutes and a Salt Stick tab every 45. I took fluid hand ups every 10 miles, and basically rolled with 1/2 bottle of Perform and 1/2 bottle of water. At every aid station I would finish one or the other and replace it, alternating at each hand up.

Hit the bottom of the climb into town and basically just motored up, getting in my small chain ring only twice in the12 or so miles. When we drove this part of the course I thought it looked much, much easier than I had been led to believe, which it was. It basically just stair steps up with plenty of false-flat areas where you can really roll, in the aerobars all the way up for the most top until the very end. While obviously tougher than a lot of rides, the variability of the climb really suits me - much, much easier than the diet of repeated hour + long climbs I did all summer. Admittedly this is also where the Garmin 800 really excelled - I had the LP course loaded and the elevation display set to look ahead about 2nd miles, so I always knew exactly what was coming - when to get on it a bit and when lay back some. Near the top the crowd was awesome, dancing bananas and all. All day the volunteers and spectators were unbelievably fantastic. Rolled through town, saw Jennifer, slowed down just a bit to shout that was feeling great and that I loved her - there simply is no over-estimating how important these encounters are no matter how brief.

Bike split lap 1: dead-on 3 hours, super easy, and feeling spectacularly great, which left me feeling a little anxious, quite frankly - just waiting for the wheels to fly off. Out of town, roll up, then back down into Keane - a lot more space to work with this time, so could really fly this time - near the bottom it got a little hairy, as a dude in front of me hit a pretty good bump which caused the proverbial "Yard Sale" of shit off the back of his bike - most of the stuff went off onto the shoulder, but a Perform bottle acted like a side-winding, heat-seeking torpedo and locked onto me, tucked into aero and rolling at 50 mph. "well, here we go," i thought, but just before impact it cartwheeled off the ground and rocketed over my head. I eased back a bit through the last curve into Keene and a guy rolled up next to me and said "Sweet Jesus, that was crazy - I thought you were dead!" I laughed it off, and said that at least I had something exciting happen during the race, but if that was it I would be happy. Jinx #2.

As an aside, I know the guy that ejected the bottle, etc. has done countless rides for years with his rear bottle setup and never lost a thing. I know he loves them and is as shocked as everyone that he ejected a bottle. I love mine too - I train with them all the time - there is nothing as great as being fully supported with 4 bottles on a long training ride. That said, TAKE THAT SHIT OFF YOUR BIKE ON RACE DAY. IT IS EFFING DANGEROUS. There are hand-ups every 10 miles, for christ sake.

Whew.

Low mile 70-something, I rolled through an aid station and grabbed a gel, then a water near the end. I rolled on out of the aid station, and began accelerating into the clear. just as I am dropping the water bottle into the cage on my frame, another racer crosses from left to right in front of me and plants his feet on the road, bike perpendicular to the direction of travel.

Everyone asks, but I have no idea what he was thinking or doing. I do not know if he missed the aid station, or was trying to get to a port-o-potty, or what. All I know is that I t-boned him with bottle in right hand and left hand unfortunately on front brake. I cartwheeled heels-over-head and was immediately run over by two more racers from behind.

It did not happen in slow motion.

I only remember saying three words: "God," just he cut in front of me.

"dam," as I was in the air.

and "mit!" as my head and elbow simultaneously hit the ground.

I remember a "pop" in my shoulder, but don't really know if it was a sound, feeling, or both.

Immediately up on my feet, spin each of my wheels, and back on my bike.

No-go. Front tire flat. Stop. Off. Breathe. Assess.

Right bullhorn is snapped where the brake lever attaches. Rear brake mysteriously sheered off, most likely from the rear collision. Hmmmm.

The next part I am reluctant to write, but for some reason I think it is the most important thing I want to remember from the day.

I was not angry. I was not upset. I was, embarrassingly,

Relieved.

Now I don't have to do this any more. I can quit. I put the work in, but had a bad day. Too bad for me, oh-well, so it goes. Oh well, nothing you can do about it, better luck next time, dude, next time you will crush it.

I trudged about 100 meters back to the aid station, where I talked to a characteristically very nice volunteer, told him my bike was toast, and that I was done. He said that it was a spectacular crash, and that it was too bad, but that his shift was over in about 10 minutes and he could give me ride back into town in his truck. "Awesome!" I think I said. So I sat there, watching racers go by one-by-one. Thankfully, I had 10 minutes to wait, because it gave me time to have a little conversation with myself. It went something like: "Wait a minute, you asshole, you are on pace to have well over 5 hours to spare before midnight, so you could monkey around out here for 5 hours with your bike and still finish." I went back to the first volunteer and asked him if he was familiar with the course and he said yes, that he rode it many, many times. I couldn't quite remember what was coming up, but he assured me that there was only one more significant descent (down into Wilmington). I thanked him, told him I un-quit - I was back in the race.

Immediately over-taken by a calm happiness: now I just had a series of problems to solve and tasks to perform one-by-one patiently and methodically. No more worrying about time. In my mind now just finishing becomes the single measure of whether this is an "A" race or not.

First order of business: disconnect the mess that is my rear brake. Done, no problem. Second do something with my rear brake lever, which was a little more problematic - I didn't want to lose it, and it had really, really sharp edges from where it basically split the bull horn. So I carefully unwound the electrical tape that was holding the bar tape on and used it to re-wrap the tape around the bull horn. Check - problem #2 solved. On to the flat front tire.

This is where I began to realize that I was actually injured. I knew that I was bleeding pretty good from my elbow and shoulder, and that my finger tips were pretty cut up (good call on the gloves, though) but as I was trying to roll my tubular off I began to realize that I really could not use my right hand or lift my arm much. I quickly gave up on prying the tire off (nice job on the gluing!) and just cut it off with my back-up razor blade. On goes the new tire n less than a minute. Tubies are sweet in that regard. On the bike, and rolling - still not too concerned about right arm. Right shoe clipped in, pedal, accelerate, left shoe will not clip in - try, try, try - must have gotten packed with dirt, stop, look. One of the two retention springs on the cleat (Speedplay) is twisted to hell. Just another thing on the list. Try to pry it out - no-go. Between my bum right hand/arm and limitations of my small multi-tool, I just cannot get it out. So, cross the road, ease BACK to the aid station and locate a pair of vice grips from another volunteer. I sort of mangle the cleat, but eventually make short work out of twisting and breaking off the offending retention spring and I am off yet again.

I have absolutely no idea what happened to the other three riders - I was (for better or worse) focused on my own predicament. We never even looked at or said a word to each other. Hopefully they got their shit together and were able to roll on faster and in better shape than I was.

So, just to recap: 40 miles to go, one good descent, one longish climb, no rear brake, one good cleat and a still-mysterious non-functioning right arm and hand. Rock on.

In and out of the aerobars, I know my arm is hurting, but it mostly seems like it is just my banged up elbow coming in contact with the elbow pad. I finally start to really assess the situation when I roll through the next aid station and I cannot reach out and grab a bottle on the fly. No problem - still plenty of fluids on the bike. Next aid station (in Jay, I think?) I signal that I am slowing, ease in and manage to get a bottle, but it is a pretty ginger operation to get drink - by now I know it is really my shoulder that is giving me fits and I just cannot put too much pressure on it or move it quickly. I cannot use it to steer, but using my arm from the elbow down is manageable, so long as I keep the motions slow, easy, and controlled. Up, then down into Wilmington, feathering the brakes as I near the turn at the bottom. Short out and back then back up to town one more time, Still rolling pretty good, but this time not in the aerobars and doing a lot more spinning. This time up I could begin to see that the distance and climb was taking its toll on quite a number of folks; but my heart rate was still low, and legs felt great. Back at the top, crowd still there, as well as the dancing bananas. Into town, and this time I slowed way down to catch jennifer again, and told her really quickly that I had a crash, but that I was OK.

The excitement of rolling into transition for the last time is indescribable: Injuries aside, I actually felt great and still pretty fresh. The humidity was low and the temperature was inconsequential. The route in has a few turns, and in the excitement I forgot momentarily that I had no rear brakes and came into one corner s little hot, but was fine.

Hand off the bike, and into transition.

Don't crash.

Honestly, this is one of my best race rides I can remember. Except for the handful of seconds when I was actually in the air and then hitting the ground, this ride was a blast from the first pedal stroke. It seemed actually pretty easy, relaxed, and fun. All of the training this past winter, spring and summer paid off, and I felt as if I had an excellent (albeit conservative) pacing and nutrition plan and executed it perfectly.

At this point I was no longer paying attention to my time, but afterwards my Garmin showed that I was stopped on the side of the road for a total of 19 minutes and 45 seconds. Not too shabby, all things considered.

I thought I was there for at least 2 hours.

Grab my run bag, into the tent, thanking all the volunteers along the way, convinced a couple that I was fine when they showed some concern about the blood, sat down, off with the helmet, gloves, shoes, and socks. Running socks on, shoes on and tied (with some much needed volunteer help, I should add - I am not very good at tying my shoe with one hand), grabbed my glasses, visor, and zip lock bags full of electrolytes and gels, and back on my feet.

Grabbed my Garmin 310xt, and just barely remembered to turn it on before I was off and running.


Hard to say due to the "extenuating circumstances" I found my self in, but I obviously have some free time I can squeeze out of my transitions. I think on both I need to simply do more visualization on the end of the respective swim and bike - I am pretty good about this in other races, I think here I just soaked in the excitement but then had to slow down and check/recheck everything too much.

Basically, this course is awesome. I took it easy going out of transition as it is pretty steep - I have learned the hard way over the years that this is NOT the place for me to make up time - pounding down the steep descents always smokes my quads. I was prepared for this a bit as all of my runs off the bike in the mountains this summer featured at least 5 minutes of very steep downhill running immediately, then some rolling, and a god-awful climb back to the car. Lake Placid was again a piece of cake compared to training.

I don't know how to describe the course other than it has to be just about the most fair course I have ever raced - to run it well you have to be just a good all-around runner as the route throws everything at you, and twice: Quick, steep inclines and descents, long gradual pulls, and both long stretches of climbing and flat terrain. Also parts of the course are in full sun, and others are in deep shade.

Once out of town the spectators thin out and there is longish, steady descent to river road, where the course gently rolls out and back. I really began to settle in along this stretch, even though I had not seen any of the run course previously. Shoulder is really aching, but eventually I figure out that whenever it gets unbearable I can simply tuck my arm into the zipper of my jersey so that it acts as a make-shift sling. Problem solved. I executed my nutrition strategy as planned: 1 gel every 30 minutes, Salt Stick every 30 (offset from gel by 15 minutes) and water at every aid station. Never even thought about walking, just chugged along at my still surprisingly low zone 2 heart rate. I thought the temp was great - very comfortable (low 80's?) and no humidity to speak of. Started catching folks that were really suffering, but also talked to a several that were also having good days. This was a really interesting part of the race for me because of these brief encounters. I would catch someone (or be caught) one or the other would say a few words, make a joke, laugh and then we were both gone, back in our own tiny little world...

Made the turn, and headed back - coming out of the woods the ski jumps provide a great landmark to judge your progress. Up the long pull into town, a short but steeeeeeep climb past the transition, then out again along Mirror Lake on the sorter out and back. I had no needs, special or otherwise, so I just kept on going without stopping. Just past the turn around, I saw Jennifer again for the third time, gave her a brief run-down, told her my shoulder was banged up, but not to worry, I was fine - then off, back in that tiny world again. Back out of town Steve (CornerOfDivision) caught me and gave me some great words of encouragement, then he was off to break 12 hours, which I thought was really cool. Down the long hill, and back out on River Road, where there was some real meltdowns going on - I still felt great, but world did feel just a tad bit tinier. Made the turn, and for the first time started to think about finishing. At mile 19 and according to plan, I picked it up a bit to see how I felt, and surprisingly the 'ol legs responded without a complaint. Sweet. Between mile 20 an 21, there is a short but steep little hill just before you come around the corner and can see the ski jumps in the distance. I floated up it pretty easily, then moved the throttle forward one more tick. Up to this point I had not even thought to look at my watch - I had no idea how long I was on the course and did not have an over-all time on my Garmin, as I was only using it to record the time. I didn't even have a good sense of what time it was. So I looked at my watch.

6:14pm. Cool, I should be in around 7pm.

Started at 7 am, can't believe I will be out here for 12 hours.

12 hours? SAY WHAT???? I CAN STILL MAKE 12 HOURS???

Pick up the pace a bit, more math - look at watch again - now at 4.2 miles to go, 6:24pm. still struggling with the numbers - what is this, differential equations or something???? Come on brain...)
According to plan, with 5k to go, and (provided I have anything left let it all fly, caution to the wind. For the first time all day, I deviate from the plan, and I go a mile early. I am on fire - up the long pull and across the flats on the outskirts of town, then charging the steep hill. If you asked me then, I would swear to you I was running 5:50 miles. The crowd was crazy - it was packed on the rails - and then I saw Jennifer and Cathy, yelling at the top of their lungs:

GOOOOOOOOOOOO -------- RUUUUUSTTTTYYYYYY -------- GOOOOOOOOO! GOOOOOOO! GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

I found the front rivet, and commenced to get on it.
I was eyes-rolled-back-in-my-head-turned-inside-out-on-the-stops-wide-open.

I don't even remember turning down the Mirror Lake out-and-back, but as Steve had suggested during our brief chat, everything snapped back into sharp focus at the turn - people were yelling like crazy, but all it sounded like was,

"GO GO GO GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! SOMETHING SOMETHING 12 HOURS GOOOOOOOOOO!"

Floating.

Into the Olympic Oval, and sweep around the curve.

Look up: 11:59:05.

Alone on the stretch, yellow numbers, seconds, advancing.

Dig.

Mike Reilly: "Rusty Smith, Decatur, Georgia. You did it. Come on home, Rusty. You are an Ironman."

11:59:19.







Zip up for my photo.
How in the world do the pros remember to do it???

In the chute, medal. water. Then, medical tent. Great Doc, told me it was my call as to whether to go to the emergency room or keep it immobilized until I got home to visit with my own physician, which I elected to do. Back out, and immediately found Jennifer and Cathy, or rather, they found me. They were graciously allowed to help me retrieve my bike and other belongings, and then they both helped me wrestle out of my race kit and into warm ups.

System began to rapidly shut down. Back to the hotel, where Jennifer forced me into an ice bath. I was not happy about it but did not have the strength to argue. Thankfully.

Hip rotator was aching and shoulder was killing.

A hot shower, then Pizza, and a beer.

Lights out.

Woke the next morning, with my single regret from the previous day was not being able to be at the finishing line at midnight. My hip rotator was in full-on rebellion, I literally had to pick my leg up with my hands to get in the car, but the problem with this is that I only had one good hand and arm. If I tried to pick up anything with my right hand it felt like I was being stabbed with a hot poker in the shoulder.

Fast forward two days, and back in Atlanta to the Doc - turns out I suffered a grade two shoulder separation and had flare up of tendinosis in my hip. looks like about 8 weeks of rehab for me.




1) Crashing.
2) Poor transitions.

I still stick by the decision not to wear a wetsuit, even though it cost me 10 minutes on the swim. I am convinced that it was too hot, and I would have suffered over the long-term otherwise.