Originally, I wanted to write as soon after the race as possible to get as much onto paper as I could. I didn’t. I used the excuse that I was waiting for my mental notes to dry out. But, it’s almost two weeks from the race and I’m still not done. Some of the euphoria of setting a PR and getting a Kona slot is wearing off. I’m just starting to get that post-Ironman bluesy feeling. I still haven’t caught up on all the things that didn’t get done in the past couple of weeks. And I’m starting to make a list of all the things that have to get done before Kona. And, I don’t like lists. Fortunately my wife Renate, the best Sherpa in the world, has taken care of the travel arrangements. And Lesley Cens-McDowell, a great friend and my first Ironman mentor, lives in Kona and has already offered her assistance. I guess all that’s left to do is open a bottle of beer and start pounding the keyboard. So, without further ado, let’s get going.
Ironman USA Lake Placid (Third Time’s A Charm)
LaKe Placid, New York
Sunday, July 27, 2003
Where to begin . . . where to begin? I suppose I could start with “raindrops keep falling on my head”. But there really weren’t any raindrops at the start. Maybe I could start off with “blowin’ in the wind”. It certainly didn’t look like it was “gonna be a bright, bright sunshiny day”. Little did I realize that “row, row, row your boat” might be the best way to describe the race. And that, looking back, it was kind of amazing that the swim leg, because of wearing the wetsuit, would be the driest I would be all day.
But, I guess I’ll kind of begin at the beginning.
I get up a couple of minutes before the 3 AM alarm. I slept well for the night before an Ironman. Vincent gets up. Stuart makes his way upstairs. The sherpas start milling around. Vincent puts on Frank Sinatra. This is my 11th Ironman race. I’ve been using the phrase “cautiously optimistic” when talking about how I’m feeling. I’ve trained harder for this race than any other. I’ve emphasized the positive thinking aspects. I’ve had Kona and Hawaii in my face for seven weeks (on purpose – I taped a card shaped like a Hawaiian shirt given to me by Fern on my mirror and I saw it at least twice a day). Heck, I even shaved my legs. Now, it was time to do it.
The Noone crew – my wife Renate, my brother Roger and his wife Mary Ivy and my brother Morgan – heads over to transition a couple of minutes after 5 AM. Renate had picked a great house and it was a quick walk to transition. And the drop off for the special needs was on the way. So we drop off the special needs bags. Roger, Mary Ivy and Morgan go to stake out some shoreline. Renate and I head over to body marking. Get magic marked and go over to check out Rita. And put some rocket fuel out for the long ride. Check the tires about a million times. Look around for Jon to see if I need any more air in them. Drop off a couple of gel flasks in my run bag. Then head over to the lake.
The whole crew is gathered around. Including Jon. We meet Jon’s brother and brother-in-law. Harry and Dick. Really. Along with Jon, we had every Jon, Dick and Harry in the area. And it’s still thirty minutes to race start.
Everybody patted Jon’s head for good luck. The women were all jealous of his soft, silky hair. “Oh, Jon, what shampoo do you use?” “Oh, Jon, what conditioner do you use?” That’s ok. I snuck back into transition and put more air in his tires. (I guess that probably needs some more explanation. Jon, Vincent and I were doing an easy ride of the run course on Thursday before the race. About 15 minutes in, Jon flatted. Vincent and I patiently waited and watched and didn’t kibitz too much while Jon changed his tire. He fills it with air from the CO2 cartridge and then asks me if I think he has enough air in the tire. I reach over and give it a quick squeeze. I tell Jon he might want to put a little more in. About a nanosecond after he starts, the tire blows. I tell Jon that I think he’s got enough air in now. Jon changes the tire again. I keep my mouth shut. The rest of the ride is uneventful, but the lack of air in my tires becomes a running joke. And the night before the race, Jon asks me if I’ve put fresh tubes in to replace the obviously old ones I have.)
The four of us suit up. Pose for pictures. Kisses, hand shakes and pats on the head. Stroll over to the swim start. Join the other nervous folks. Cross the timing mat. And that’s pretty much the last time all day that we were dry. I swim over to the far side and stand around for the speeches and national anthem.
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| The four Dragons From Downingtown Stuart (Disease), Steve (War), Vincent (Pestilence), Jon (Famine) |
The Swim – “Just a walk in the park, Kazanski”
Everybody knows about the cable holding the buoys. It’s about however many feet deep. It can be seen very clearly, but is not something that is going to be run into while swimming. Basically, it’s a lane-line for the lake. The only one. (Well, except for the one holding the buoys for the way back in.) And everybody and their brother wants to swim on it. I tried that last year. And I got run over by everybody and their brother. This year I decided to swim far enough to the right that, although I wouldn’t be able to see the cable, I’d be able to see everybody and their brother. Next year I’m going even further right so I can avoid their sisters and assorted others. Not quite as far right as some of the people I saw who were doing their best to hug the shoreline. I’m not sure there was room for a rescue boat between them and the shore. Of course that close to shore and they wouldn’t need the boat.
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As it was, I had one of my better Ironman swims. There was the normal bubbling cauldron of rubber coated souls when the cannon thundered and it seemed to be take two looks for every stroke. But I was able to get some clean water fairly early and that helped me relax. And I was able to keep my head down and just swim. My plan of sighting on the swimmers to my left was working well. (I’m a right side breather. The buoys were on the left. As were most of the people. It was probably helpful for me since it forced me to rotate my shoulders and hips to see on the left.) |
The next time I looked up we were at the first green triangle, which meant we were halfway to the halfway point of the lap. More or less one eighth of the way done with the swim. No sense looking at my watch. I was in a good comfort zone and I wasn’t going to pick up the pace any this early. Soon enough the first turn buoy appears. I’m a little far right, not too bad though, and angle enough so that I make the turn, but don’t get caught up in the melee right at the corner. I see the cable for the first time all morning. Swim a little bit. I don’t know. Maybe twenty meters. There’s the cable for the buoys on the other side. Make another left turn and head back to the start.
Make it back to shore and cross the timing mat to end the first lap. Time of 36:57. Great for me. And it was very comfortably done. Back into the water and around the dock. Still quite a crowd so I don’t bother with the buoy cable. Plenty of people for me to sight on. And the second lap just like the first. A little wide around the turns and back to base. The water feels a little rougher after making that last turn. Not quite “Brazil rough”, though, so nothing to worry about. At this point, the final leg of the swim, I finally get on the cable. And pretty much get right off. I’m confused. I’m actually catching people. I never do that in the water. So I move a bit to the right to pass. I’m stoked. And I’m moving well. Reach, roll, relax. Or something along those lines. And then . . . whammo. My hand smacks hard into something hard. I stop just before head-butting a surfboard. I thought I was pretty much on course. Then a voice from above. “Sorry, Dude, making a rescue.” Alright. I guess that takes priority. Move around the board and continue on. In the past when something breaks my stroke like that I instantly cramp up. This time I didn’t.
A little literary side note. I recently read “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance” and the author talks about gumption. And it’s a good thing to have. He mentions things he calls “gumption traps” that can suck the gumption out of you and derail your efforts. They could be little things that got in your way, or big things that really caused problems. Mostly if you let them. I had vowed (and, in fact, taped to my bike) to watch out for the gumption traps. I viewed the surfboard as a gumption trap, albeit a small one, and I wasn’t going to fall for it.
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It’s not far to the beach. A little crowded right at the end. Up out of the water. Across the mat. Second lap was 37:31. Pretty consistent. Total time was 1:14:28. Missed my Ironman swim PR by one second. And feeling great. Run along through the initial strippers to get towards the end. Some guy lays down and, for some reason, throws his hands above his head. Nothing like the low hurdles while wearing a wet suit. I get stripped and head down to the gear bags and the change tent. The Lake Placid transition, although not quite as unique as Wisconsin, is a fair distance from the lake. The good thing is that it gets a little blood flowing into the legs. The bad thing is that it’s a hike. It is pretty much wall to wall spectators, though. Yelling and cheering. Good vibes. |
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Run down the row with my gear bag. Run past the gear bag. Go back to get it. Run past the women’s change tent. And into the men’s. Can’t find a seat so I move a little to the side and dump everything out of the bag. Socks on. Shoes on. Number belt on. Sunglasses on (a tad optimistic). Helmet on. No volunteers around so I cram all the swim stuff back into the bag. The wetsuit is taking on a mind of it’s own and doesn’t want to go into the bag. Finally I beat it senseless and it makes it into the bag. Now it’s off to find my bike.
It was right where I left it. Oddly enough, it was surrounded by a fair number of others. A little struggle getting Rita out of the rack and then sloshing through the mud. I have cleat covers on the bottoms of my shoes, so I’m not overly concerned. Make it across the timing mat. Toss the cleat covers to the side. (Probably a penalty for abandoning equipment. I’ll have to check into that.) Hop on the bike and start a long ride.
Transition time was 5:32. (I played with the numbers later, because I’m a numbers geek. Leaving the water, I was 163rd out of 277 in the M40-44 age group. Starting the bike I was 136th. I passed 27 people just in transition.)
The Bike – Time To Batten Down The Hatches
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The start of the bike course is fairly technical. An immediate hairpin turn to the left into a steep downhill with a 90 degree right turn followed by more steep downhill with some sweeping turns onto the main road and an immediate uphill. All in the first half mile. On wet roads. With a large number of bikers. I don’t recall if it was actually raining when I started, but I had sunglasses on in case the blinding sun came out. Everybody knows about the long downhill into Keene. There are some ups and downs on the way, but nothing too troubling. One of my problems (and there are many) is that I’m a poor swimmer, but a relatively strong biker. Though, for this race, I vowed to not pass everybody in the first five miles. I’d gradually pass people all day long. My bike mantra was “steady to Kona”. Keep things under control and the day would be a success. I was just hoping for things to get a little spread out before the big downhill. I’m the typical trigeek as far as bike handling skills go. And put a few of us together at 40+ mph on wet roads with lots of wind and things could get dicey. I stayed on the handlebar drops rather than the aerobars, sacrificing a little speed for some stability. I had a couple of wheel wobbles and a couple of occasions where riders I was overtaking strayed a little too close to the passing lane for my comfort, but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. I topped out at about 45 mph. And, even then, I was passed by several people doing some serious speed. |
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I was pleasantly surprised upon making the left turn at Keene onto 9N to find dry roads. And a tailwind. Now it was time to ride on the aerobars and enjoy the scenery. Concentrating on staying relaxed and staying fed and watered. Soon, much too soon, the left turn leaving Jay and heading to Wilmington. And the first real bit of climbing of the day. Still no rain, but that tail wind becomes a cross wind. And the speed goes way down. Ah, well, I knew this was coming. I just have to keep following my plan of “steady to Kona”. I still pass more people on the hills than pass me. But it’s not like in years past where I’ve been pushing hard to pass everybody. My goal time going in to the day was a 5:30 bike and I wanted to break the ride into four 28 mile quarters. Which meant I needed to do them in about an hour and 22 minutes. The time for the first quarter was one hour and 17 minutes. I knew the front half of the course was faster than the back half, but I really didn’t know by how much. And then how much would the abnormal weather conditions factor in? I really wasn’t concerned one way or the other. I was feeling relaxed and holding steady. |
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Soon enough it was time for the out and back section to Black Brook. It’s a narrow two lane road of mostly rolling terrain. It can get a little crowded with bikers going in both directions. Going out there was the tail wind to help us along. And it was an uneventful ride to the end of the section. I had crashed right after the turnaround back in 2001 on the second lap, and it’s always with a little trepidation that I ride it. And I avoid taking anything from the aid station right at that point. After making the turn, it’s back into the head wind. It’s a little sheltered back here, so the wind wasn’t as brutal as it could have been. But, for some reason, it seems to be more cluttered with bikers. There’s a line of about six that I start to pass. Part way through the group, some guy pulls out right in front of me forcing me to hit the brakes. It’s a curvy section and there are lots of people coming in the opposite direction, so I can’t go three-wide. The guy in front of me is not making the pass very quickly. Two guys have jumped on my wheel. It’s now a large pack. I’m stuck in the middle. I can’t get out. I’m hoping there are no officials around. Some guy going in the opposite direction yells “nice pack”. He’s right. I want out. Desperately. As soon as I can, I jump around the guy in front of me, making sure not to cross the center line, and hammer. I don’t care where my heart rate goes. I just want to get far away from that pack as quickly as possible. I’m sure I’ve been penalized.
I make the right turn onto Route 86 and the head wind turns back into a cross wind. A fairly brutal one at this point. It’s not long before 86 makes a left turn towards Lake Placid. And the cross wind turns into a head wind. This is going to be tough. It’s raining again. Not super hard that I remember, just annoying. And windy. And uphill. And it’s only lap one. Nothing much to be gained by working too hard. The conditions are tough for everybody. Burning up too much energy at this point would be counterproductive. I stay on the aerobars when I can, on the drops when I can’t, and on the brake hoods as an absolute last resort. I feel pretty comfortable going up the smaller hills in an easy gear on the drops.
I know there are five “named” hills towards the end. Little Cherry. Big Cherry. Mama Bear. Baby Bear. Papa Bear. (Our house in 2001 was right on Papa Bear.) I keep waiting for the named hills to start appearing, knowing that would put me towards the end of the lap. Lots of unnamed hills. And wind and rain. And a speed in the single digits. This was going to take a bit of time.
Finally, the named hills show up. The Cherries aren’t too bad. Mama Bear is tolerable. Baby Bear is negligible. Papa Bear is a bear, so to speak. Lots of cheering spectators, though. And even the police doing traffic control are clapping and cheering. There’s a fairly large pack in front of me. I’m not going to get involved with them at this point. Then a marshal on a motorcycle motors past me. And starts writing down numbers on her pad. I don’t know if people were being called for drafting (kind of a tough call on that hill) or blocking (more likely), but it looked like a bunch of people were getting penalties. At this point I started singing a Toby Keith (with Willie Nelson) song. Bear with me, because I can’t sing:
Grandpappy told my pappy back in my day son
A man had to answer for the wicked that he done
Take all the rope in Texas, find a tall oak tree
Round up all them bad boys, hang ‘em high in the street
For all the people to see
That justice is the one thing you should always find
You got to saddle up your boys, you got to draw a hard line
When the gun smoke settles we’ll sing a victory tune
And we’ll all meet back at the local saloon
We’ll raise up our glasses against evil forces
Singing whiskey for my men, beer for my horses
Now, that may be a tad drastic, especially since I figured I’d already incurred a penalty, but the tune got me through the rest of the bike ride. “Singing whiskey for my men, beer for my horses.”
Once through Papa Bear, it’s a fairly quick spin through town. Past the special needs bags. Past the cheering crew. A few sharp turns on wet roads. Over the mat at the halfway point. An hour and 33 minutes for the second 28 mile quarter. It was a 2:50 split for one lap. I wasn’t on target for my 5:30 ride, but that was fine.
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| Stuart "Tank" Trager | Steve "Prez Naps" Noone | Vincent "Norton" Giardina |
| No picture of Jon Powell. Is he still riding? Did he have enough air in his tires? Renate said Jon was moving too fast. |
And then round two. Just like the first. So I guess I’ll just recap some highlights. Hit 47.5 mph on the downhill into Keene
. Fortunately not very crowded, but I decided that was about as fast as I cared to go. Gentled the brakes a bit and stayed relaxed. Another great ride on 9N on the way to Jay. Still dry roads. Not many spectators. The hills into Wilmington leaving Jay still there. Exactly the same split for the third 28 mile quarter as the first (one hour 17 minutes). Hot damn. Feeling good. No real problems on the out and back section. Make the turn back onto 86. Well, the wind is still there. Maybe a tad worse. “Steady to Kona.” Repeat. Make the left turn to head back to Lake Placid. Being told by an elderly male spectator, while seemingly hovering in place against the head wind, that I’m only 77 minutes behind the leader. Whoop-de-do. I’ll just drop the hammer and close that gap in no time. I wonder if he kept that up all day. Getting passed by a few pace lines. One made up of three guys in my age group. “Round up all them bad boys, hang ‘em high in the street. Singing whiskey for my men, beer for my horses.” Backing off the pace a few times rather than get involved with six to eight rider packs. Getting through the named hills. A couple of enthusiastic spectators on Big Cherry. Amazed, again, at the energy on Papa Bear. Really enjoyed the cheering and clapping police. Back into town. A mile to go. No sense doing anything stupid. Negotiating the wet corners. Hearing my name called when passing the Olympic Center. (That might have been the first lap. I don’t totally recall.) Over the timing mat and hand Rita off to a volunteer. Bend over to take off my bike shoes and trot to get my run gear bag.All in all, I was happy with the bike split. I did a 5:48:52 (19.26 mph). That moved me up from 1039th place overall to 270th place. The fourth 28 mile quarter was one hour and 41 minutes. Maybe a tad slow, but I think conditions were a bit worse and I know I eased up sometimes to let packs thin out. I averaged about 300 calories per hour during the ride, less than my goal of about 350, but I started having issues towards the end of the bike and knew I was in for a porta-potty visit during T2.
The Run – “Cry Me A River”
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And, I was right. I studied the inside of a porta-potty for about five minutes. But, I stayed very calm mentally. I didn’t fall into the gumption trap. Just took care of business then went out for a run. A speedy 8:19 transition. (When I was putting things on in the tent, the volunteer helping me asked if I wanted my sunglasses for the run. I told him that I didn’t think the sun was coming out and to just put them back in the bag.) Crunching numbers after the race I found that I was in 50th place in M40-44 when I crossed the mat to start the run. I just knew my watch said seven hours and 17 minutes. I was figuring that 10:45 would be good enough for a Kona slot, so I needed a 3:28 run, a little faster than eight minute per mile pace. My previous Ironman best was 3:34, so it was going to take some work. I had read in Gordo Byrn’s book, Going Long, during the week a quote, that I’m probably mangling, that said the marathon was 20 miles of hope and 6 miles of reality. My thought process was to run “aid station to aid station”. And no walking through the aid stations. Take a cup of water and just keep moving. Take a hit of gel from the flask I was carrying and just keep moving. |
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Renate told me that Stuart was about ten minutes ahead. Let’s see where he is at the first out and back on Riverside drive. In the meantime, just keep moving. I looked at my watch at every mile marker to get a feel for how I was doing and I took actual splits every five miles. I knew I had to be a little under 40 minutes for each five mile stretch. The first part of the course is steeply downhill followed by a short, steep uphill (about where Jon flatted during our Thursday morning bike). Quite a few spectators. It’s not actually raining, but there’s been lots of rain already. It’s nice to see all the people out cheering.
I don’t remember a whole lot of details about the run. I was very focused and I was turning in good miles. I felt very comfortable and relaxed. Running easily down the hill on 73 before turning onto Riverside Drive. Touching the gold medal. Won by some guy in rowing in some year. For as many times as I’ve done this race (three) and the pre-race bike rides of the run course, you’d think I’d be able to tell you the number of miles in the out and back on Riverside Drive. I’m going to say it’s less than six total. I’m guessing at the turnaround it’s somewhere about six miles into the run. And this section is not flat. There are a fair number of ups and downs. I remember asking one volunteer to try and flatten out the hill for the next time I came through. He chuckled and said he’d try. The volunteers were great. Not a whole lot of spectators out, but there were lots of aid stations and a fair number of runners. I saw Stuart coming towards me. He was trying to race incognito (or maybe Hollywood) since he had sunglasses on. I forgot to check my watch to try and get my deficit. I’d get one at about the halfway point of the run.
I don’t know exactly where I was when the skies opened up and it started pouring. Absolutely pouring. Tropical storm like pouring. The “whiskey for my men, beer for my horses” was getting severely watered down. One foot (splish) in front of the other (splosh). Trying to stay out of the really fast moving water on the streets.
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I’m heading towards the turnaround on Lake Placid Drive. I see the first place male heading in the opposite direction. My watch says about 8:45. I guess it’s been a slow day for everybody. But I haven’t been able to put a dent into that 77 minute gap I had when I was way back on the bike. At least on the leader. I hadn’t carved any out of the deficit I had with Stuart, either. In fact, I seemed to be losing ground based on the original ten minute yell from the crew. When I got to the turnaround on Lake Placid Drive I was about 12 minutes behind Dr. Trager. Well, let’s keep up the pace and see how things stack up down the road. |
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There’s a fork in the road. Like Yogi Berra, I take it. Arrow pointing to the right for Finishers. Arrow pointing to the left for Lap 2. Unfortunately, at this point, I’m taking the left tine and not the right one. At least I’m not one of the poor souls starting Lap 1. I had noticed on my watch that I was just under nine hours at the halfway mat. If I could maintain eight minute pace I would be near my goal of a 10:45 Ironman. Down the steep hill at the start of the lap. Lots of running water. If I slipped and fell I’m sure I would have been washed into the sewers of Lake Placid. Or wherever the massive amounts of water were flowing. Up the short steep hill. I knew I didn’t want to fall here. I didn’t want to get washed down this hill and have to go up it again. Lots of people walking. The Ironman Death March was underway for some people. I knew what it was like. I walked about 16 miles last year while suffering with some kind of sickness. At least it was decent weather during last year’s marathon. I wasn’t going to walk. Short steps. Relaxed steps. All the way to the top.
I had picked up a bit of extra gas somewhere at the start of Lap 2. I tried to be discrete. But invariably I’d pass someone then add to their misery by fouling the air. After cresting that hill in the first mile of the lap, I went tooting by a few spectators. I heard one turn to another and say “that’s not a good sign”. I was my own little percussion section. Splish . . . Toot . . . Splosh . . . Toot. “Singing whiskey for my men, beer for my horses.” Ah, well. The faster I ran the sooner I could stop running. Ffft, ffft, ffft went my feet. Ffft, ffft, ffft went my butt.
Make the turn onto Riverside Drive. Touch the gold medal. At some point it stopped raining because they’re handing out wet sponges at the aid stations. (I’ll admit that it could have been the first lap and not the second. That part of my brain is still wet.) Get up and down the hills. That volunteer hadn’t been able to flatten out the one he was standing on. Start looking for Stuart just for grins. There he goes. Looking strong. He has, I’ll say, six miles to go. Check my watch. I make it to the turnaround. Holy rusted metal, Batman. Tank was only about seven minutes in front. I had picked up five minutes. Still, seven down with six to go was going to be tough.
I passed the mile marker for 20.1 miles. The twenty miles of hope were over. The six miles of reality were beginning. And I was fading. I guess it was the last aid station on Riverside Drive before turning back onto 73. The demons that I had successfully kept at bay during the entire miserable day were knocking at the door. The door opened a crack. I walked a few steps at the aid station. The demons had a foot in the door. And pretty much right then and there I slammed it shut. I used something a friend told me (thanks, Rodz). I reminded myself about all the hours of training I put in to get to this point and I told myself that surely I could run for another forty minutes. Kona slots weren’t easy. I couldn’t walk to Kona. And I started running.
I turned onto Route 73. I ran up the steep hill right there. I fed off the people I was passing. I ran the long flat section back towards town. I fed off the cheering spectators. Aid station to aid station. Mile marker to mile marker. Just keep running. I ran down the hill near the IGA. A couple more miles or so. Twenty more minutes. One more hill. Three quarters of the way up, my left quad decided that it didn’t want to play anymore. Ok, let’s walk the rest of the hill then finish strong. Top of the hill. The quad still isn’t happy, but it better start working or I’m going to beat the s**t out of it. It starts working.
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Lots of spectators. Lots of energy. Passing the Lake Placid Brew Pub. I had told everyone that I wanted to be happy enough with my race to want to go there afterwards and have a beer. Or six. I was going to be happy with my race. I saw Stuart heading in. I hadn’t cut into the gap since the last time. A couple of walking sessions didn’t help. I got to the mark for one mile to go. I looked at my watch. 10:32:45. You know, if I hammer this last mile I can break 10:40. I remember someone saying it’s all downhill. Well, let’s give it a go. I pick up the pace. I’m feeling good. All body parts are cooperating. Splish...Toot...Splosh...Toot. A little bit faster now. SplishTootSploshToot. Lunch threatens to show up. That might be too fast. Settle into the best rhythm I can. Feed off the cheers. See the sign at the fork in the road. That’s where the picture taker ought to be. I get a big s**teating grin on my face. I turn right. I’m in the oval. Around the bend. Where’s the clock. There it is. 10:39 and change. Lots of change. Use it or lose it, Steve. I use it. I finish in 10:39:54. The announcer mispronounces my name. That’s ok. I know who I am. I am an IRONMAN. |
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If I was a real writer, or this was a real story, I’d have stopped with that last sentence. But, I’m not, and it’s not, so I’ll continue. First some numbers. I ended up with a 3:22:44 marathon (7:44 per mile pace). That was more than 12 minutes faster than my previous best Ironman marathon (3:34:55 in Wisconsin). It was the 35th fastest marathon overall, and 6th in my age group. I moved up from 270th overall after the bike to 117th. And I moved from 50th to 17th in M40-44. The overall time of 10:39:54 was a PR by close to eight minutes (10:47:49 in New Zealand). The mispronouncing announcer had said I was a ten-time Ironman. That’s partially correct. I’ve done 10 M-Dot races. I consider myself an eleven-time Ironman, though, since I include 1998’s Great Floridian.
Now, back to our original program. I’ve crossed the line. I can stop moving. Well, sort of. I get my assigned two volunteers, one on each side. The obligatory “how are you feeling?” “Like I’ve been ridden hard and put up wet”, I say. “Great”, they reply. “Here’s your medal. Here’s a Mylar blanket. Stop, let’s get your picture taken. What size T-shirt do you want? Here you go, size large. How do you feel? Where do you want to go? Food? Medical? Massage?” I say food, not because I want anything to eat, but because I really want to stop the twenty question routine. I’m escorted to the food area at what feels like six minute per mile pace. They drop me off at the soda coolers and I’m finally on my own and I stop for a minute. (I really appreciate the volunteers and all they do. And I know they need to get people out of the actual finish area. And maybe if it wasn’t so wet out things would have been a little more spread out and relaxed.) I can’t find a coke so I grab something and move on.
 Post-Race - God, Do I Look Old |
I have no idea where to find the crew. I see Stuart and we walk through the gear bags towards the men’s change tent. Not really sure why, but maybe that’s where family and friends are hanging out. When we get near the change tent, I tell Stuart I’m going to go in and sit for a couple of minutes. He gets all doctor-like and follows me in. I’m fine. I just need to sit for a minute. I let out this gaseous explosion. It’s toxic. Stuart hears it and says, “I think you shat yourself.” And then he smells it and, for some reason, decided I needed to go to the medical tent. And he won’t get near me. He has one of the volunteers in the change tent escort me to the medical tent. On the way over I see Renate and the rest of the crew. I should have just stopped there and sat down with them, but I went into the medical tent. They weighed me (I lost eight pounds). The had me lay down on a chaise lounge and then covered me with a blanket (wow, it’s nice and warm and dry here). The took my blood pressure (normal) and pulse (71). And started again with a twenty question routine. They said I was probably just dehydrated and started asking when I last peed. Right before starting the run, I tell them. They give me a Gatorade. That stuff doesn’t really agree with me under the best of conditions. They give me a coke. Finally, what I originally wanted. They take my pulse again (it’s down to 61). I ask when I can leave. They say whenever I want, but that they’d really like to see me pee. Well, that wasn’t going to happen, but if I didn’t get to a porta-potty, they might see something else. They let me go. They told me I should drink plenty of fluids. Sounds like a prescription for the Lake Placid Brew Pub to fill. Yeah, I was feeling fine. |
 On My Way To The Medical Tent |
I escape from the medical tent and go over to my fans. I get my dry clothes from them. After hearing
stories from others about how their dry clothes were soaked because their bags were hanging in the rain, I’m even
more grateful to my favorite Sherpa and her minions. I walk over to the change tent, carefully avoiding Dr.
Trager. Ah, to be able to sit. Even though it’s damp and muddy and murky in the tent, I’m sitting.
And resting. And sipping on my coke. And I’m alone which is how I want to be at this point. I
slowly change into dry clothes. I find a porta-potty. Looks like the same one I was in a few hours
earlier.
I hook up with Stuart again. We tell the crew that we’re going to see if the penalty list is posted anywhere. We find the results and see Stuart in 13th place in the age group and me in 17th. No penalties listed yet and the timing guy doesn’t know when they’ll show up. We walk around a little more trying to find the guys with the striped shirts. I decide it’s not worth a great expedition and head back to the crew. I’m not sure when we gave them the transition gear bags, but we decide to get our bikes, head back to the house, get cleaned up and come back to, hopefully, see Jon and then Vincent finish. Stuart and I get the bikes and check out. On the way back to the crew we run into Jason. He’s a bit disappointed with his race. I’m heading back to the crew. Stuart can talk for ever, so he stays with Jason. |
The Noone crew and Jody (I think) start heading back to the house. It starts pouring again. So much for dry clothes. I stop and get my run special needs bag from the volunteers. The bike special needs bags are all in a box. Normally I don’t have one. I was ordered to pack a spare tube and a bottle of rocket fuel this time. Roger and I go over to the box and start pulling bags out. Of course mine is at the absolute bottom of the box. We put everything else back in. What a production.
Finally we make it back to the house. A nice hot shower. Dry clothes. We decide that we’re going to watch the rest of the race on TV. From the comfort of our warm, dry house. Jody understands and says Vincent will too. Time to start re-hydrating. Hey! Beer man! Morgan obliges. We check the Internet for results. Nothing new. Still no penalties. I’m still sure I have one. I’m sitting in 17th place. There are 12 slots for Kona. Things are out of my control. Hey! Beer man! Renate and Mary Ivy go out for pizza. Jody has gone back to the race. Stuart and Leslie have come and gone, as well. We hear chatter on the walkie-talkies. They’re looking for each other. “Marco.” “Polo.”
Pizza and beer. Feeling good. Rehashing the day. Numerous clothing changes. Mary Ivy tells of being in the stands at the finish line. Watching the clock get ever closer to 10:40. Yelling and carrying on and scaring all the people near her. We watch TV and see the clock get screwed up every time it gets to a new hour. We watch the timer people drag out their ladder and fix the clock. We commiserate with all the people whose finish pictures won’t have a good time. We miss Jon on TV. We miss Vincent on TV. Vincent and Jody make it back to the house. Stuart and Leslie, as well. More beer and pizza. We watch till midnight and call it a day.
The Day After – Let’s Go Get Lei’d
|
Early the next morning, after a fitful sleep I fire up the computer and jump on the Internet to check out the final results. Click . . . Click . . . Click. Ok, here we are. Hot damn. Penalties are posted and I don’t have one. And I’ve moved up several spots overall from 117th to 113th. Better still, I’ve moved up one spot in my age group. To 16th. I already knew of three guys who had qualified for Kona. That meant I only need one more to pass. I was pretty optimistic. Stuart moved up from 13th to 12th, so he didn’t have to wait for the roll-down meeting. That also meant that he had to get to registration between 10 AM and 12 noon. So, he and Leslie wandered over. Renate and I went over soon afterwards. I checked the results posted on the wall at Hawaii registration to make sure I was 16th. I was. I picked up my pictures (they didn’t get me on the run for some reason) and all four of the Downingtown Dragon finisher certificates. Stuart had finished filling out his paperwork by this time, so the four of us (Stuart, Leslie, Renate and me) went out for some coffee. Just to kill a little time. The roll-down meeting was scheduled for 1 PM. |
 Stuart - After Finding OUt He Qualified For Hawaii |
We get back to the high school auditorium where the roll-down is going to take place. Stuart found out that only seven of the twelve slots for M40-44 were taken. That was unofficial, as he was told, but from my point of view, I was in. Renate and I would be going back to Kona. Still, let’s not get too excited. The meeting starts. First the pros. Ken Glah gets a slot. Good job, Ken. Now the age groups. Youngest first. Before calling names, they say how many slots are available. M18-24…dee...dee...dee... M25-29...dum...dum...dum...M30-34... Well, you get the picture. Finally, M40-44. There are five slots available. Hot damn. I’m going in the cage. And I’ll get to stay there. (That’s a reference to my Brazilian adventure.) Renate and I exchange a quick kiss. Then wait. The 13th place guy is called. Yep, he’ll take it. 14th and 15th both take slots. Then my name is called. I sit patiently and wait for them to call it again. Yeah, right. I’m out of my seat so fast, basically when the guy starts with the “Ste” of my first name. I grab the application and hug the girl giving them out. I sprint across the hall and sit in the back of the room filling it out. Stuart pokes his head in and offers congratulations. I give them $400 in traveler’s checks that I had taken with me to Brazil. I get my certificate saying I’m in.
Renate has gone outside to start calling people. Vincent and Jody are there. Big hugs. Huge smiles. All around. It’s about everything I pictured it to be. I was far enough down the list that I wasn’t a sure thing. I was far enough up it that I felt good. When it actually happened I couldn’t stop smiling. Renate, who cries at Hallmark commercials, was teary-eyed. Life is good. We’re going to Kona.