Arizona Tri Guy From Fat To Fabulous, Apathetic to Athletic

An Epic Event: Part II, The Marathon

My first pass up the Curry hill.

The swim was about time, the bike was about nutrition, but the run...the run was about survival.

There was one training ride that Brandon, Steve, and I completed about 5 weeks out from race day.  We parked at a friend's house in Chandler and rode to Coolidge, through Casa Grande, then back home for a total of about 109 miles.  By the time I hit mile 80, I was trashed and was out of hydration.  There are no aid stations on a training ride, only convenient stores, and convenient stores chew up time.  After our ride, it was part of the training schedule to complete a 30 minute run.  It was the first brick I had done.  I'll be honest about my training.  I didn't do all of it, all the time.  But this day, I ran after riding, and it didn't feel good.

After riding 109 miles, when you start running at your normal pace, it feels as though you're already into the run by about 10 miles.  Thinking forward to race day, there were only two things that I couldn't stop wondering about.  1)  How would it feel the 3rd time out on the bike course, and 2) how would I possibly be able to run after cycling so far?  It seemed impossible.

With my body well-lathered with sun-screen, I was ready to head out.  It would be the final leg of the race, and the first where the spectator support would be the most prominent.  In the water, you can only see people on the bridge, you cannot hear them.  On the bike, you pass people so quickly it's hard to make out who's cheering you on, but on the run, there's plenty of time for anyone to support you, which is something I forgot about.

On the front of my bib, alongside my number 814, was my name.  I had forgotten this, much like someone who has a name-tag on forgets, only to be surprised to be called by name by a complete stranger.  The spectators at a race of this magnitude are extremely gracious, and very supportive.  Right away, as I merged onto the course among 2nd loops, and finishing laps, people called out my name and encouraged me.  At first, I wondered who they were, because I didn't recognize them.

The run course was a little over 8 miles and it was a mixture of concrete, black-top, and dirt, and we had to complete it 3 times.  I really had no concept of how far a marathon really was at this point, as my training had never taken me over 18 miles.  The first 4 miles of the course took you away from transition and away from people.  Brandon mentioned that this first segment was his darkest segment during his first IM back in April of '08.  I can see why.  It was a long, lonely 4 miles.  But, the good news was that in only a few short miles, I would pass through the main spectator area and see who had come out to cheer me on.  That kept me going.

As you cross southward over the Mill Avenue bridge, you experience a false sense of nearing the finish line, as it takes you right through the race expo and back out onto the course.  Throughout the entire run the echo of Mike Reilly chanting, "You are an Ironman," resonated from this area, and the closer you got to it, and the more you heard him holler, the more you wanted to be at the end.

Along the course are signs that denote the mileage, no matter how far you are.  There's a mile 11 sign near the 3 mile-mark, and when you see the 11, and it doesn't yet apply to you, it makes you think about how much further you have to go.

I passed through transition the first time and the first person I saw was my mother.  She had parked herself right before the aid station.  What an awesome experience!  I'm so glad she was the first person I saw.

My pace is quite slow on a normal day, roughly 10:30 per mile, but after such a long ride, there was no way I would sustain that.  I could barely hold that speed on the 18 mile training run.  At about every mile, there was an aid station complete with water, coke, chicken broth, pretzels, oranges, cookies, and cold sponges.  Advice from almost everyone was to walk the aid station to give yourself some time to consume fuel and rest your feet.  It was great advice.  By now I had seen 2 aid stations and was about to go through the largest of them all, and I did, walking.  Knowing I would be met with a crowd of supporters motivated me to get moving, and that's when I saw and heard everyone from New Valley shouting and cheering me on.  Exhilarating!

But, only 4 miles had passed.  I made a point to not run up any hills.  If there was a hill, I would walk it, and conserve as much energy as I could.  After all, I would be on my feet for about 5 hours or so.  It turned out to be 6+ hours.  I approached and then cross the Rural bridge heading north, and that's when I saw Brandon.  He asked me how I felt, and I asked him "loop 2, or 3?"  He was on 2, but I had no idea of the ordeal that he had gone through during his bike ride.  We passed, and I never saw him again until the finish.  I was wondering where Steve was at this point, because he had finished his bike leg quite a bit before me.  It wouldn't be until the very end of the race that I would finally catch him.

My best friend in high school, Chad Taylor, had called me earlier in the month to ask me about coming out to the race and wanted to know if I thought it would be a problem if he were to park himself somewhere along the run course to play his banjo for the competitors.  "That would be awesome!" I said.  When I crossed the 14 mile mark, which only applied to second-loopers, I could only think of the fact that 14 miles was only a little bit more than half-way, and that it didn't yet apply to me.  It was over by College and Curry, right near a park.  I hadn't seen Chad to this point, and I couldn't imagine where else on the course he would have been, until I turned the corner to head up the hardest part of the run, the hill on Curry.  Off to my left he sat, plucking away on his banjo, enjoying the race in his own way.  I really had no idea that he would stick around for the entire run, but he did, and I saw him on all 3 passes.  He also came back to the finish line.  I'm grateful for him.

Start of First Loop

When you're standing at the top of the hill on Curry, you can look over towards transition, and it really puts it into perspective how far you've just managed to run, yet when you look at the total miles ahead of you, which remained at about 20, it was easy to become discouraged.  This was probably the lowest point on the course for me and I hadn't even finished my first loop.

I'm actually wearing myself out thinking about it.  Fast forward to the starting point of the race and you find me at mile 9.  Mile 9 of 26.2.  I believe I made it to mile 11 before I had to walk the remainder of the second loop.  There were moments where I could run, but at this point, my legs were hurting enough that it felt as though I would injure myself if I tried running.  For those of you who have never run long enough to hurt from fatigue, when you stop running, your muscles cool down, and they stiffen, which makes starting up again very difficult.  Most of the second loop was the hardest mentally for me.  I had been through 2.4 miles of white-water, 112 miles of desert, and now I was trudging begrudgingly through the longest distance I had ever traveled on foot in one continuous effort.

When I reached the spectator area for the third time, heading east on my second loop, Loren called out that Steve was just ahead of me.  No matter, I couldn't catch him.  I couldn't run anymore.  So, I walked off the remainder of the loop.  When I approached transition again, I picked up my pace because of the cheering, and it renewed me enough that I continued to run, at this point chanting to myself in the rhythm of my stride, "I will do this, I will do this."  I began swearing at the forces of nature that were attempting to thwart my success and declared that nothing could stop me.  My third loop had begun.

You may recall that I had previously explained that during the bike leg, the song by Britney Spears entitled "3" was stuck in my head for most of the 112 miles.  It's funny how these things work out, but on my second loop, as I spiraled up the boat launch area on the north side of the lake by the Mill Avenue Bridge, this very song was being blasted on the PA system.  It infuriated me.  I had spent at least 10 miles counter-acting the effects of Britney by forcefully humming "It's a small world."  As I look back on it, I had more to think about on that loop than the music I had just heard.  For instance, I was being perpetually annoyed by another racer who ran a bit, then slowed down and walked in front of me as I passed him.  This repeated over and over again, and I was getting tired of passing the same person over and over again.  STOP STOPPING!  Honestly!

I think it was at about mile 21 that I passed through the spectator area one last time.  My mother held up her hands and cheered and told me "only 5 more miles."  It was also at this point that I had become accustomed to the pain that had taken over on the second loop, so I tried running again.  It didn't hurt any more to run than it did to walk, so I kept running.  I even picked up the pace.  It was as though I had been given fresh legs.  It was strange.  I thought, "there's no way Steve is feeling this way, maybe I can catch him."  I was never able to get him within my sights.

A Respectable First Finisher Time

I don't know what it was that motivated me, or where I was able to gather the energy to move as quickly as I did, but I dropped my time per mile significantly in the last 4 miles and pushed through as fast as I could, which was faster than any other pace I had held the entire 22 miles prior.  As I approached the spectator area one last time, it was desolate, except for one lookout, Mike Whalen.  As I approached, and was feeling no more pain than I had the entire second loop, he told me that Steve was only 100 yards ahead of me.  Therein began my sprint to the finish.  I was imagining at what point I would actually start the "strong finish" and I had no idea how much further I actually had to go, but I went for it.

At the lap point on the run, there's a split in the path with an arrow that says, "lap 3, finish."  Hallelujah!  I was actually there, and so was Steve, but he was walking.  I smacked him on the ass to which he replied, "Oh you're killin' me," and went on towards the last left turn.  Along the last 2 tenths, as I was sprinting as fast as I could (which isn't fast mind you) but I felt like I was flying, everyone was cheering me on in astonishment at how much effort I was putting into the final stretch.  There are so many people who don't finish strong, but at every race, that has not been me, because it's in my primary interest to end this torture as quickly as possible, so why the heck would I want it to last longer?

There was a strange pause in my mind, even though the people were racing by me as I approached, that made time seem to stand still.  Here I was, experiencing something I had never experienced before.  I was about to finish my first Ironman.  I was about to earn what most will never consider possible.  The barriers on either side were only a few feet away, and that's when I knew that I was in the home stretch.  It happened so fast!  Everyone cheered, reached out for high fives, and I whizzed through with all of my might to the finish line.  I had imagined my emotional breakdown a

Finishing Photo

thousand times during the last 4 hours, but it didn't happen.  Unlike my first Olympic distance, which was my second triathlon ever, where I broke down after the race because of how difficult it seemed, this was a true triumph, and I actually felt great!  Well, at least for a few minutes.  After I sucked down a piece of pizza, I got a big nauseated and had to sit down, then I got cold and found myself wishing I was in a hot tub.  It was a bit miserable, but with all of the commotion, and the celebration of friends and fellow triathletes, Steve, and Brandon, I was truly feeling blessed to be a part of it all.

One year prior, I had signed up for an event that I said I would never do because of the level of commitment required.  I persevered, and I conquered, and because of that, I now believe that I can do anything, and nothing can take that away.

I am an Ironman now.