The alarm buzzed at 3:00 a.m. The witching hour was here. Six months of desire, discipline and determination were on the line. It was show time. I jumped out of bed with a healthy mixture of excitement and race nerves.
It was time for Ironman Boulder – a 2.4 mile swim, a 112 mile bike and a 26.2 run. Touted as the largest Ironman event to-date, I was one of the 3,000 athletes who would soon be making my way to the starting line at the Boulder Reservoir.
It was my 4th time at the Ironman rodeo. I was ready. But I was fully aware that the challenge of any Ironman is that there are always unforeseen and unpredictable obstacles lurking in the shadows. So I knew that how I handled the obstacles du jour would be critical to my race day performance.
I spent the pre-dawn hours taking in proper nutrition to top off my glycogen stores and going through my final race logistics and mental preparations. While my body would be taxed to the max over 140.6 miles of racing, it was my mind that would make it all possible. Or be my biggest demon.
I made my way to the start line. It was a rolling start, a relatively new concept for Ironman events. It simply means that athletes line up in a streaming wave entering the water in their projected finish time instead of the mass start free-for-all that resembles a bar room brawl in open water.
I worked my way to the second group of athletes, those planning to finish the swim leg in the 1:15 to 1:30 time-frame. I was ready. Let the games begin. The race started well. I followed my race plan and immediately swam to the far right in an effort to avoid the most popular line closest to the marker buoys. This way, I would have a better chance of having what I call “blue space” or open water. I have been kicked, pummeled and swum over enough to know that the less I had to worry about other swimmers, the more calm, relaxed and focused I would be.
My strategy worked. That’s not to say, I didn’t have some brushes and tangles with other swimmers. But it was, for all intents and purposes, going as planned. As I closed in on the last 1,000 meters, I noticed extra pressure from my goggles. Part of me wanted to rip them off to relieve the discomfort, but the more practical side of me prevailed. And I simply kept my head down and made it to the shore. Climbing out of the water right on schedule at 1:17.
I made it to transition where my wetsuit was quickly stripped and I proceeded to change for the bike leg of the race. I was relieved that the swim was over, and fully aware that 112 miles on the bike is a long time in the saddle.
I had been on the course prior to the race and there were some things that I needed to focus on for a good race execution in the upcoming bike leg.
1) I was in altitude which meant that I had to be more aware of my pace, lactic acid build-up, efficient muscle engagement and hydration. Or simply put, I needed to make smart decisions throughout the day and pay special attention to my body.
2) The course is all hills – up and down, up and down (i.e. the only flat you might get is with your tire). While none of the climbs were too tough, there was about 4,500 feet of cumulative climbing (at elevation).
All of this meant that I had to race with the right strategy. The Ironman is all about steady, sustained effort. With the constant hills, maintaining a solid pace without pushing too hard was critical to not blowing up. It’s a fine line to balance; go as hard as you can for 112 miles, but not so hard that you don’t have anything left in your legs for the marathon that awaits you. It doesn’t matter how fast you are on the bike; it’s how fast you are in the entire race.
The bike course is roughly divided in a west side and an east side. The west side hugs the Flat Irons, the rising mountain range that are the foothills to the Rockies and goes out away from town. The east side brings you back. The course is more grueling at the end of the race, with the steepest climb, a 10% grade, coming at Mile 100. I think that was included just to humble us…or give the race director a sadistic chuckle.
Along the bike course, I made my usual pit stops; many athletes don’t. They become proud members of the “Yellow Sock Club” and prefer to take their potty breaks in motion. During the course of an Ironman when you should be consuming about 20 ounces of fluid per hour, that can be a real time savings, recognizing that every stop costs you 3 – 8 minutes. At least it does for me. My goal was to only stop three times, approximately every 30 miles. That, in itself, would be a huge win for me as my bladder tends to go a bit crazy because I have to over-hydrate compared to most athletes.
On the last 40 miles of the course, I was suddenly aware that very few riders were passing me. In fact, I was the one who was doing the passing. With each hill climb, I would pick off more and more competitors. I looked around and I saw the carnage around me and felt good in comparison. No doubt, I was getting tired and wanted nothing more than to get my sore cheeks off my saddle, but I felt relatively strong in the home stretch of the ride.
As I passed one unfortunate athlete heaving on the side of the road, it reinforced the fact that the elevation and heat were pairing up for some powerful knock-out punches and I needed to do my best to dodge the blows. No doubt, the heat was becoming more of a factor. It was now mid-day and the temperature was soaring just under 90 degrees.
I continued to hydrate and pushed through the last leg of my ride. My pace actually quickened and I finished with a personal best for my bike split. Welcomed news since that was where I had made the extra effort with my training. Gotta love it when your hard work pays off. I was actually ahead of my ideal pace given the conditions – elevation, climbing and heat.
Two legs down and one to go. So far I was having a perfect race; I was on track with my race plan and it felt great. Only 26.2 miles to go.
Within the first few miles of the run, I had my first glimpse of trouble. My perfect race was about to unravel. My ears started popping. I know my body extremely well and when that happens, I know what’s coming. And it’s not pretty.
It’s my first noticeable sign of dehydration. I am hypersensitive to my hydration needs, because it has long been my nemesis. In fact, I have ended up with more than one trip to the medical tent or hospital after much shorter races dating back for the past 30 years. I’ve learned the hard way that I have to take in extra fluids, as well as extra sodium and electrolytes. And I had been doing just that throughout the bike leg.
Of course, my dehydration dilemma is exacerbated by heat. And due to the sweltering Boulder sun, it dawned on me that I was on my way to a premature meltdown.
My mind raced. I cursed, “Aahh shit!” But as quickly as my mind started to nose-dive, my mental preparation kicked in for a counter surge. This was no time to panic. It was time for a quick assessment and some rational thinking. It was time to handle the curve ball that was just thrown at me.
I thought to myself, “I’m okay now, but how long can I continue at this pace before my body starts to shut down?” I knew (from experience) that I probably had 5-7 miles before implosion. And when I say implosion, I mean stumbling like an incoherent drunk sailor and collapsing in a pathetic heap on the course. I was clearly too far from the finish line to continue at my current pace and expect anything less than utter disaster.
I quickly decided on my best course of action. Slow down to a brisk walk and take in as much fluid, sodium and electrolytes as possible. I needed to get ahead with my hydration and not be losing as much as I was putting in. That meant that I couldn’t keep running and expect to make any headway with my impending threat.
Despite it being a rational decision, it was one that I fought. Mentally, it was tough to accept that my perfect race was unraveling in front of me. As I started to walk, I did my best to pick up the pace. If you’re not running, at least “Walk fast!” I demanded of myself. As I increased my tempo, both of my calves started cramping in a dueling banjo sort of way – first one side then the other in an apparent fight to see who could be the strongest. Could I actually be playing with the devil? Perhaps just my own demons…but the cramping was further confirmation that my dehydration diagnosis was right-on and I was in for a long afternoon.
With each step, I questioned whether I would have to walk the rest of the race. More cursing and muttering. This is NOT how it was supposed to go. I am a stickler for doing the necessary prep work before a race. I don’t take shortcuts.
Physical preparation, check.
Mental conditioning, check.
Nutrition, check.
Adjustments for elevation, check.
Race course reconnaissance and strategy, check.
For heaven’s sake, I even shaved my freaking legs (for the first time!) because a recent study showed up to 15 watts of energy saved per hour when you don’t look like Chewbacca.
As I continued walking briskly, the cramps in my calves did not subside. In fact, they spread to the occasional scream from my quads. Why have dueling banjos when you can have the whole band? At one point, both calves knotted up simultaneously forcing me into a weird hobble dance. I miraculously avoided a face-plant as those around me looked on with morbid fascination. I was a train wreck waiting to happen.
I thought of all my mental training, about digging deeper and pushing through the pain. And I thought about a conversation I had with one of my Ironman coaching clients the day before the race.
Dave Gallagher had called me to wish me well. As his coach, it meant the world to me to get Dave’s encouragement, but this conversation was particularly poignant. Dave and his wife Grace lost their 16-year old daughter, Cameron, in March. Cameron collapsed at the finish line of the Shamrock Half-Marathon in Virginia Beach. It was a tragedy that is hard to fathom and move on from, especially as a parent. But Dave and Grace are doing a remarkable job given the enormous pain they face on a daily basis.
The short story is that before her untimely death, Cameron had mapped out plans for a 5K race to raise funds for teens who faced depression. Now, her proud parents are honoring Cameron’s wishes and have started a foundation and are organizing the first Speak Up 5K in September.
They are also paying tribute to Cameron’s legacy with their own journey. Dave is preparing for his first Ironman in November and Grace, along with her sister Clair and good friend Kim, are doing their first half-Ironman race the week prior. As their coach, I’ve been touched and moved by each of them beyond measure.
In the conversation with Dave, he choked back his emotions and told me that Cameron would be out there with me on race day. And I responded that I would be using her words of “Let’s finish this” as my mantra for the day. Little did I know at the time how prophetic those words would be.
While I never had the honor of meeting Cameron, her life has inspired me and countless others. A young girl with such a promising future who wanted to help others who struggled. Cameron was surely with me on race day. I was doing this Ironman in her memory and for others like her who were not fortunate enough to toe the start line. Her words echoed in my head, over and over.
I could “finish this” by staggering along with my cramping (but silky smooth) legs, but that’s not why I came to Boulder. I came here to push through whatever was thrown my way. With 18.2 miles left on the course, I took a deep breath and started to run again.
There was more cramping. More pain. And more hobble dancing. But it was time to resume my race plan and give a mighty middle finger to my old nemesis. So I did.
Like the best laid plans of mice and men, my perfect race had gone awry. But that is what makes Ironman so special. If it was easy, we wouldn’t be drawn to it. It challenges us. It pushes our limits. And it causes us to come face-to-face with our demons.
It’s hard to explain the lure of Ironman to someone who doesn’t get it; but to those who do, there is a realization that when you are at your weakest, you can be your strongest. It’s a powerful elixir that simultaneously infuses you with a realization that “anything is possible” and humility. It changes you. And makes you want to be better.
As I hit the last mile, my thoughts were all about pushing through with one last surge. It’s a tenuous but exciting last few minutes of a very long day. You want more than anything to hold onto your quickened pace without collapsing prematurely. Unsure until the very end if you’ll be successful in your mission. I passed my fellow warriors one by one as the finish line inched closer. No doubt, the concrete running path with its constant undulations and turns had taken its toll on all of us. Most of my fellow competitors were doing a final death march to the finish line. But they were moving forward…right, left, right, left.
Soon, the crowd thickened and their cheers washed over me as I entered the final shoot. With one last burst of energy, I raised my hands in triumph and in appreciation to all who were supporting me on my journey. At that moment, I heard Mike Riley’s voice boom through the speakers, “Will Turner, you are an Ironman!”
Note: In the last 18.2 miles, I passed over a dozen of my fellow age-group competitors finishing in the top 20% of the 55-59 year-old males. That placed me in the top one-third of all competitors in the race. Maybe, my next Ironman will go according to plan. Nah…won’t happen!
