Ironman Arizona Race Report

IMAZ 2008 Race Report

Prologue - 2001

Six plus years ago, I couldn’t swim 40 yards. A long run was three miles and I didn’t own a bike. Mike (who is an athlete and a good friend) and I decided on a whim to do a modified sprint triathlon that had a 200 yard swim, a 12 mile bike and a three mile run.

The only reason I agreed to that race was because I couldn’t find one with a shorter swim. At the start of the race they had a line attached to a buoy 100 yards out into a lake. We had to swim out to the buoy, turn around and swim back. On the way back, I had to stop and grab the line for a few minutes to catch my breath and keep my heart from exploding.

I eventually finished the race and walked around for days thinking to myself…I’ll never do that again.

April 10, 2008

We checked into our rental house in Phoenix today. Ironman Arizona is three days away and the road closure signs are starting to go up. The suntanned and very fit looking triathletes are starting to appear on the roads in greater numbers and my apprehension level is rising. They’re all hyper-fit riding around on carbon-framed tri-bikes with the long aero helmets that sweep back over their necks.

The residents must think the town has been invaded by aliens.

April 11, 2008

Went over to the Gatorade practice swim in the morning. Too bad I am so nervous because the environment is great. The Ironman Village is up and sponsor tents are everywhere. Music blasts through the village as the sun comes up and begins to shine on the masses of athletes and volunteers.

We check our bags, put on our wetsuits and jump into Tempe Town Lake. The cold water hits me like a hammer. Damn! The air gets sucked from my lungs and I can feel panic start to rise out of my chest as the cold seeps into my suit. I swim about two hundred yards and can’t go further. The ice water seems to have frozen my muscles somehow. And the two hundred yard swim is from the entry over to the start line. I can’t even see the turn-around buoy that is over a mile away. I swim back to shore and call it a day. This could be bad. You can’t run and bike without finishing the swim chief.

After changing back into my street clothes I wait by the water while everyone comes in from their swim. When our friend Dwight climbs out of the water, the first words out of his mouth are “Houston…we’ve got a problem.” He’s gotten sick from the motion of the waves. But Dwight is tough and I know he’ll soldier on even if he does leave his breakfast in the lake. Scott does the entire distance and seems fine.

Kebby never worries about the swim. I’d suggest that she were part fish if it weren’t for her 60 something V02 max on the bike. I’m pretty sure you have to have lungs, not gills, to score that high. I am very concerned that my Ironman might end before it really even starts. After the swim (or lack thereof) we complete our registration and get our wrist bracelets that will grant us entry into the transition area.

Later that evening, I talk to my coach Jen from the Sport Factory and told her about my experience in the 65 degree water. She assures me that race day adrenalin does wonders for cold muscles.

April 12, 2008

Went back for another crack at the practice swim. Same shock when I hit the water but this time I kept swimming when my arms got numb. After about 15 minutes, I started feeling somewhat normal again. I might make it out of the swim after all.

Scott picks up his bike from Tri-Bike Transport and Kebby picks up her Zipp’s from Race Day Wheels and we set out to ride part of the course. Scott suggests that we skip the in-town part of the ride and start on the Bee Line Highway where the majority of the action will take place.

After a quick drive out of town we pull over and mount up. I’m thrilled with what I find! The road is relatively smooth, flat and fast. We do a quick up and back and average around 22 mph on the way out and 17 mph on the way back. Not bad at all. If the forecast holds and the winds are calm, we’re going to have a nice ride on the bike.

We anxiously check the weather for race day after we get back to the house. Looks like it’s going to be a hot one. A very hot one. Depending on who’s forecast you believe it will be between 94 and 97 degrees. Fortunately, they are calling for calm winds of around 8 mph.

April 13th Race Day!

I’m up before my alarm goes off at 4:00 a.m. I decide that I might as well give Kebby and Scott a more memorable wake up than the sound of a blaring horn on an alarm clock, so I crank up the volume on the stereo and turn on “Beautiful Day” by U2.

This song has become an anthem for Ironman events and it’s only fitting that we use it to get pumped up. After that we turn on “Lose Yourself” by Eminem. The lyrics seem to be custom-made for today… “Look, if you had one shot, or one opportunity to seize everything you ever wanted-One moment. Would you capture it or just let it slip?

We eat a light breakfast three hours prior to race and make the quick nervous drive to the race site. Well, this is it. Over five years in the making. Literally thousands of miles on the bike, hundreds on the trails running and countless laps in the pool before the sun comes up. Show time! One opportunity indeed. Please God don’t let me blow it.

No problem finding the race site. Almost every car at 4:45 a.m. on this Sunday morning is going to the same place. We arrive and make the walk over to the transition area. I stand still for a minute and take it all in. The hum of generators fills the air as the industrial lighting turns the race site into an eerie moonscape of shapes and shadows. I can’t see the lake but I can sense it’s coldness a few feet away. A wave of anxiety races through my chest and causes me to shudder. Ok, scratch “taking it all in” for the moment.

Everyone has a “to do” list and the routine of body marking, pumping tires, filling water bottles and checking the nutrition plan settles me down a bit.

Ok, let’s see…three endurolytes and a bottle of water minimum per hour. Check. Five hours of nutrition (~ 300 calories per hour) on the bike with another two in special needs. Check. Advil and race caps in the bento box. Check. Sunscreen in the jersey pocket. Check. Keep heart-rate under 160. Extra water at aid stations to dump on my head. And so on and so on.

Throughout the morning I keep losing Scott and Kebby and then finding them again either at the bathroom or somewhere in the transition area. We’re all busy and we don’t set up a plan for meeting at the lake. The sun seems to come up quickly and early (around 6:00 a.m.) and a golden light begins to spread over the race site.

For some reason, my nerves began to settle as the last hint of darkness is chased away by the sun. At that moment, the Sun is a friend as it turns the artificially lit landscape into something recognizable. During the morning, I meet several other first timers. Everyone seems to have a similar mantra…’If I finish, I win”. “Just here to finish”. “No PR today…just want to come in under the deadline”. And no one suggests that it will be easy. Smart people. Let’s not disrespect this distance. Especially not today.

I hear a cheer as the Pro’s make their way to the water. They’re scheduled to go 15 minutes before us. Holy shit! It’s almost time.

The Swim

I manage to find Kebby again and we eventually head toward the lake. We get separated a bit but we see each other as we make the jump into the water. She heads toward the front and I stake my claim in the middle right part of the pack. I swim the 200 yards out to the start and begin treading water.

To my great pleasure and surprise, I’m right next to my friend Scott. I take this as a good omen since we couldn’t have done this intentionally with over 2,000 people in the water. While we’re waiting in the water, Scott tells me to turn around and look up. I do this and get a fantastic view of the spectator lined Mill Street Bridge.

It is just incredible! Hundreds of people are leaning over the railing holding signs and cheering. It makes me feel like I am really part of something special. I’d guess it is sort of like the first time a ball player walks out into a stadium and realizes that the cheers are for him or her.

As the clock ticks toward 7:00 a.m., I can hear Mike Reilly giving us encouragement over the loudspeaker. “Today You WILL be an Ironman!”. Thanks Mike. I hope you’re right. Then Bam! The cannon goes off and we’re underway.

They call it the “washing machine” and that’s about as good a description as one can give. The first ten minutes are filled with feet, arms and legs banging together. I try to protect my face with my hands as I make abbreviated swim strokes but the arms and legs seem to come from all angles.

I’ve done this before and as long as I don’t get kicked in the face, I’m ok. Then suddenly…it ends. Clear water and I can swim. I start stretching my stroke and begin to get into a rhythm.Stroke, stroke, breathe. Stroke, stroke, breathe. Stroke, stroke, sight and breathe.

Easy money. Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay “F’ing” calm! I’m breathing to the right most of the time and I can see the spectators on the wall cheering. I also notice something unusual. One swimmer has elected to do the backstroke and she’s right next to the wall. Not a big deal except for the fact that a cement landing juts out about ten feet from the wall. I’m about 15 feet left of the landing and can see it on my sighting stroke. It’s obvious that she’s looking straight up and has no idea of what lies ahead. As we get closer, I can see the spectators yelling at her but to no avail.

Then one of them climbs onto the landing and puts his hands into the water and catches her head as she strokes right into the cement! Wow!

Ok, enough of that back to the task at hand. Stroke, stroke...what the hell? I see swimmers ahead of me bunching up then standing up! There’s another submerged landing that juts into the water. I slow up and somewhat like a penguin, stand up, waddle across the landing and jump back into the water and begin swimming again.

Finally the course turns a bit and I’m in deep water for good. Before long, I’m at the turn around buoy and begin the trip home. Even though my arms are getting a bit tired, I’m sure I’m going to make it through the swim!

After 1 hr and 35 minutes, I exit the cold water and make my way to the changing tent. “One Done, now the Bike, then the Run”.

T-1

I climb the steps out of the water and the volunteers quickly and efficiently strip off my wet-suit. After that, I jog to the changing tent to get the legs working. I can hear the volunteers yelling my race number – 1355!, 1355! And magically, my swim to bike bag appears in my hand. Once in the tent, I dump the bag on the ground and get to work. Bike shorts and shirt on. Apply sunscreen. A bite of a powerbar. Grab the helmet and glasses. Put on the Desoto Cooling sleeves and oops..dropped my glasses. I pick them up and the right lens pops out. I smear it with my sunscreened fingers when I put it back in.

Not a great start to the bike but 13 minutes later, I’m heading out to the desert.

Bike

The first couple mile of the ride are great. Lots of spectators and several turns make for a bit of fun. Maybe too much fun as my heart rate won’t drop below 160. I’m not pushing that hard but the number just won’t drop. I start drinking my Infinit and take three electrolytes. After the turn out of town, I feel the heat rising off the road and then something else.

What the hell is this? A fierce wind coming from my right. Is this just a gust? No..it’s continuous…and hard. And if I remember correctly, I’ll eventually turn right into it. On the uphill portion of the Beeline Highway no less. Holy Shit, that’s the longest leg of the bike! I make the turn and can’t believe what happens. I rode this section days ago and averaged between 17 and 22 mph, now my speed drops to 9 mph and I see a dust tornado rising up ahead of me.

This is bad. Real bad. Hot and Windy. I begin my negotiations with God. Listen…I know I haven’t checked in with you in a while but I promise…if you get me through this today, I’ll give to the homeless. I’ll go to Church on Sunday. You name it.

Just then, I come up next to a rider who asks me if this is my first Ironman. “Yes it is”, I reply. His name is James and he says..”Well, by tonight, You’re going to be an Ironman!” I can’t tell you how motivational that was. Coincidence, Divine Intervention, who knows. All I know is that I carried that with me the rest of the day.

Man is it hot. The sun is no longer a friend! It is relentless and the fact that it is a dry heat doesn’t seem to be helping one bit. The salt starts caking up on my shorts and on my face.

Ok, let’s just stick to the plan and see what happens. Three Endurolytes per hour, drink the Infinit, stay hydrated and repeat. Early in the ride, I hear Kebby yell at me as she streaks by the other way. Based on my calculations, she is about 30 miles ahead of me on the course. And she is flying.

Turns out that she did the swim under an hour and averaged about 20 mph on the bike. She’s got IT Band issues so the run was never a consideration. It’s a shame though because she was having a great day. I also catch sight of Scott and our friend Mary as they come flying down the Beeline with the wind at their backs. Scott waves and Mary yells something encouraging. She looks like she’s having a great day.

I eventually finish the first loop, make my turn in town and start the second trip up the Beeline into the wind. Ok, done this before. 18 miles of hell then make the turn and it’s a free ride home. I slog up the highway at around 11 mph and finally get to the top. On the way down, I start feeling my right quad cramp. Not good. I’ve never been good in the heat and usually it’s a downward spiral once the cramps start.


This puts my finish in serious doubt. I remember Scott mentioning that if I cramp, I might want to break open an Endurolyte and pour the powder on my tongue. I give this a shot and miraculously the symptoms seemed to abate. Eventually, I make the final turn for home and know that I’ll at least finish the bike. Along the way, I see several riders sitting on the side with the Race Support folks and ominously, I also see the last rider on the course with two police cars behind her. Everyone else has been pulled from the course. I silently wish her good luck as she makes the turn for the climb into the wind.

T-2

I pull into transition 7 hours and 17 minutes after I got on the bike and am thrilled to see Kebby. As planned, she’s not doing the run and she tells me Scott has just started and that he doesn’t look great. Apparently, he lost his Endurolytes and had to get by on the bike on guts. I change out of my bike clothes and put on my run shoes and shorts.

The inside of the transition tent looked like a MASH unit. Some guys are lying on the ground, others are just sitting on the chairs with their head in their hands. One of the volunteers tells me that the air temperature above the pavement on the bike hit 103 degrees. He also said that the defending male champion collapsed in the tent and didn’t start the run.

If it’s ok for Rutger Beke to not do the run, then maybe I should consider staying here and… Alright, shut up. Get your ass moving! I stand up and head out for the run.

At this point, it has been over 9hrs since the cannon went off at the start in the water.

The Run

The first two miles of the run feel good and I’m holding a 10 minute per mile pace. I silently thank Dr. Keating in Atlanta for doing such a great job repairing my knee four months earlier. It feels great and I know that it will hold up for the duration. I may stop for a myriad of other reasons but knee issues won’t be one of them.

After about 20 minutes, a huge wave of fatigue hits like a brick. It’s like someone just covers me with a blanket of exhaustion. Not the, I can’t catch my breath tired but more like the I have to lie down and sleep right now tired. This ends the running and I start to walk.

For the second time in the race, I have serious doubts about finishing. I’m not ready to quit now but the thought of doing another 24 miles just seems stupid. Ok, let’s make an adjustment here. I was going to use Infinit on the run but I think a change in plans may be in order. As I pull into the next aid station, I dump the bottle of Infinit and ask for Water, Coke and Chicken Broth. I take a little of each, swallow an Endurolyte and walk for about ten minutes. Then I jog the quarter mile or so to the next aid station and repeat.As I start the second lap, I begin to feel numb. The legs are ok, more or less, but my soul is empty.

Now the “I don’t care syndrome” begins to kick in. This could be dangerous. Look how encouraging these volunteers are…”I don’t care”. You’ve trained for a year for this race…”I don’t care”. You’re finally doing an Ironman…”I don’t care”. I know that “I don’t care can easily evolve into the…”I quit and I don’t care syndrome”.

Eventually, I pull up next to another participant in the death march. How are you feeling? Not good. Bike ride killed me. Yeah. Me too. No “run” left in the legs. By the way, what kind of pace do you think we’re on? He looks at his watch and says, “about 16 hours and 45 minutes”.What the hell? The cutoff is 17 hours! With no warning or words, I begin to run! I don’t give my companion an apology or an explanation. I just run.

This was perhaps the most incredible moment of the entire day. A minute before, I would have sworn that there was no way I could run. When the thought of missing the cutoff time entered my head, it was as if someone shot me in the ass with a bolt of electricity. There was no way that I was going to miss that finish line. No way. Not today!

I continued my run/walk routine throughout the rest of the race and eventually the sun begins to lose its cruel bite as it sinks into the horizon. The miles begin to tick away and the desert air cools as a grey blanket of darkness settles over us.

Now the race takes on a different personality as the glow sticks begin to appear. Gone are the Pros and the Elites and the course belongs only to the brave souls who know that "Finishing equals Victory".

But the finish line is still miles away and it disappears at midnight, so onward we trudge. It has been said that “pain without purpose is suffering” and I’m surrounded by brothers and sisters who are desperately looking deep within themselves for purpose. Eventually, I began the turn for home and see mile marker number 22.

Then, in front of me I see my friend Mary. Hours before, she had been encouraging everyone on the bike. I stopped running and pulled up next to her. I ask how she is doing but as soon as she turns to face me, I know the answer. Terrible! Her face tells the whole story. Something has gone very wrong. She has the look of extreme sadness and extreme pain at the same time. I ask her if she needs anything but all she can do is wave me forward. I ask again and get the same pained look and the wave forward. I tell her to “get your ass to the finish line” and start to run again. She does finally make it in at just under 16 hours but spends the next day in the hospital.

Twenty Five minutes later, I see the best sign on the course. “Finish to the left”! I turn the corner and the volunteers are all saying “congratulations”. Up to that point, they had all been saying things like, “stay strong” or “don’t quit”. Now it was just “congratulations…you’ve done it!”

Then the turn into the finishing stretch by the bleachers. I cross a timing mat and hear Mike Reilly say my name!It has finally happened. I run to the finish and hear the wonderful, fabulous, incredible cheers from the fans on each side.

Reginald Holden…”You ARE an Ironman!”.

Beyond description!

I cross the line and they hang a Finisher’s medal on my neck while Kebby hands me the phone to speak to my sisters and my friend Scott gives me a high-five.

It’s magic! Pure magic!

Epilogue

It’s going to take a while for me to really figure out what my Arizona experience and being an Ironman means. I’ve got that feeling that something very special has happened to me but the meaning is not immediately obvious. Perhaps it comes from setting a goal and working hard to accomplish that goal. Or perhaps it has something to do with shared suffering (17% of the participants didn’t finish Ironman Arizona) or shared reward (but 83% did). Who knows?

In the end though, it was a powerful experience that will be with me in some form or fashion for a long time. Writing a race report and sending it to friends feels pretty vain and I debated as to whether or not I should send it out. Since you’re reading it, you can see which way I leaned.

I hope this write-up doesn’t come across as egotistical because nothing can strip away ego like a 15 hour + Ironman. Rather, I hope it motivates someone in some way to set an ambitious goal and reach for it. Doesn’t matter how long it takes to get there because in the end, all you have to do to Win…is Finish!

All the best.

Reg