To The Finish Line

The Journey Continues, This Time "Across the Sky"

2012-01-04T16:40:00.002-06:00

(Image borrowed from iRunFar.com)

In what has become a regular pattern for me over the years, I again have targeted one major endurance event for 2012. And, this year the path leads to the sky. On August 18, 2012, I'll be joining a few hundred others as we take on the "Race Across the Sky", the Leadville Trail 100 Mile Run.

I can't say Leadville was my first choice. Ever since the race was prominently featured in Christopher McDougall's best-seller, Born to Run, the field size has increased substantially, and the event has taken on a level of hype that doesn't exactly appeal to me. I've heard reports of parts of the course getting very congested with runners, pacers and crew, all kicking up choking clouds of dust. A couple years ago Lifetime Fitness bought the race and brought with it a much larger marketing machine than is typical on the ultra scene. I really enjoyed the decidedly low-key atmosphere of a race like Cascade Crest 100 this past year, and had been searching for a new race more like that.

But, regardless of all of that, Leadville still holds great appeal to me as well. Rugged trails, mountains, beauty, and it's an out-and-back course, not a multi-loop. And, in this case, they're not just any mountains. Beyond the challenge of thousands of feet of climbing and descending, this course brings the added challenge of altitude with elevations ranging from 9,200 to 12,600 feet. That's pretty daunting to this guy who lives at a mere 900 feet above sea level.

I like daunting.

So, when my friends Dominic Guinta and Vishal Sahni posted on Facebook that they'd signed up for Leadville, I was pretty much in, Leadville hype and all. Vishal tipped it in with these words: "...you know you plan to run it at some time in your life, might as well do it with us!" I clicked "submit" on my entry within an hour of reading those words.

Life is short. Do cool stuff.

Onward...and UPWARD!

2011 Cascade Crest 100 "Video Race Report"

2011-08-31T10:32:00.003-05:00

Here's the video I compiled wile running Cascade Crest 100. The rewards for the numerous challenging climbs were the fabulous views of the Cascades. This was my kind of course, and I feel blessed to have had the opportunity to experience it.

If Cascade Crest is a race that intrigues you, then you may find this enlightening.

Enjoy!

2011 Cascade Crest 100 Mile Endurance Run from Steve Emmert on Vimeo.

Mind Games and Life Lessons - 2011 Kettle Moraine 100K

2011-06-06T23:01:00.001-05:00

I knew something was not right before the race even started. I didn't really want to be there, or at least I didn't really want to run. Not 63 miles. I knew what was out there. I knew it was going to be hot and humid. I knew I had to run through that seemingly interminable section of open grassy meadows, exposed to the sun, bottling up the heat, intensifying the suffering. And I'd have to go through it twice, out and back. I knew it would be even more sweltering on the way back.

"Eh. Just another long training day." That's what I said to myself. I was trying to think of anything to take the pressure off myself. And, that was the problem. Just a training day. No pressure. This is the mindset that makes quiting too easy once things get really hard. I knew all this before I took the first step. But 6AM came, and I did what I do. I started running. Well, my body started running anyway. My mind was someplace else. No, not someplace else. Rather, my mind was no place else. I wasn't focused. I had no goal that mattered to me. I had never been less mentally committed to an endurance event.

This is not a good way to start a 63 mile trail race. I knew it. But I was off and running with the rest of the pack before I managed to set my head straight.

I ran like I'd forgotten just about everything I've learned about long sufferfests over the past decade. Fresh off a surprisingly good 50 mile performance three weeks earlier, I dismissed the fact that today was 30 degrees warmer, and I pushed hard. I knew I was going too hard, and I did it anyway.

I fell in behind a guy who was setting a solid pace for a good part of the first 15 to 20 miles, brain turned off, body slowly spiraling downward toward distress. I was drinking, but not enough. I was eating, but not enough, and running too hard in the hot weather for my body to properly process the food anyway.

And then, the meadows. Around mile 16 or so, the trail opens from the forest trees and spits you out into 6 to 8 miles of rolling meadows of tall grasses, with intermittent short sections of trees. It was warm and humid, but didn't seem crazy hot yet. But, I was hot. And, yet, I hadn't been taking ice from the well stocked aid stations. Brain still disengaged. Not surprisingly, I started dragging.

I didn't exactly feel sick, but I certainly didn't feel good. I wasn't throwing up, but it felt like my nutrition wasn't flowing through. I hadn't peed for hours, and had no urge. Not good. And, despite all that, at the last aid station before the half-way turn around, with 5 miles to go to the Scuppernong aid station at the 50K point, I failed to take enough fluid. I filled my handheld bottle, but didn't bother to restock my hydration pack. Sure enough, two to three miles before reaching the turnaround, I was out of fluid and my mouth was dry.

I started having a conversation with myself inside my head. It was short. I was done. I was dehydrated and trashed and dragging ass. I couldn't fathom heading all the way back through all of that to the finish. I couldn't face those f---ing meadows again. I walked and shuffle-jogged the last couple miles to the aid station at the half way turn around.

The first person I recognized there was Brandi Henry who had been a bright smiling face at every aid station all day. She cheered for me and asked how I was doing. "I'm done. I'm pulling the plug."

Some people would respond to that with a sort of sympathy and understanding. "It's a tough day out there. You just did a 50K on a brutal day. That's something to be proud of!" Those are the sorts of things most people would say. "Nothing to be ashamed of." "You did your best." "You'll get 'em next time."

Brandi didn't say any of that.

"No you're not."

That's what she said. Just matter-of-factly-like.

But she was wrong. She didn't understand. No, really, I'm done. Don't you know? I decided this, like a few miles ago. I'm pulling the plug. It's just not my day. It's just a training day. 50K on a day like this is plenty of training. I'm dehydrated. I had 'em all lined up in a tidy little row in my head. Every reason to quit.

It doesn't matter.

I don't care.

I truly don't care.

There's this little place, though. Somewhere inside my head, or heart, or soul, or something. It's buried in there deep. It knew what was really going on. "This is too hard. This hurts. It's hot. I don't want to go back out there. Going back out there is hard. Like, really hard. Sitting here is easy."

Quiting is easy. Quiting takes the pain away. Quiting is better than a shortcut. It's like time travel right past the pain you otherwise had coming.

So, I sat there. Quitting or not, I knew I had to re-hydrate and refuel. I drank a bottle of ice water, then another. I ate an orange and a turkey sandwich. I drank some more, and then some more.

Michael Davenport came in about 10 minutes after I did, and told me I was going back out with him. "Nope. I'm done." He went about his business, and when he was ready to head back out, he encouraged me once again to come with. I just shook my head.

I had texted my wife, Jenni, soon after I arrived at the aid station, letting her know I was dropping out. After some time, she called, worried about me. I told her not to worry. I told her I was fine, just done with the race. I told her I could find a ride back to the start/finish area.

And, I told her to tell Derek that I was sorry he couldn't finish with me. That hurt.

Jenni and the kids were planning to come up to the race after Derek's soccer double-header. Derek's turning 7 next month. I've been crossing finish lines with him since he was two months old, at numerous Ironmans and ultras, whenever the family could be there and whenever the rules allowed. He likes it. I love it.

I remember once telling Jenni that I wanted to be Derek's hero. I wanted to be the guy worthy of being the man he wanted to become. I wanted him to grow up seeing, experiencing, people "achieving their impossible".

When I got off the phone with Jenni, I sat and thought about Derek. I thought about the conversation to come. Derek was going to want to understand why I didn't finish.

I couldn't come up with anything that didn't sound like a lame excuse. I had no honest answer I could give him that would serve as a useful teaching exercise. There was no way to make, "It was too hard", sound heroic.

Don't get me wrong. There are perfectly valid reasons to pull out of events like this. At the same time our race was going on, a young man died at a half marathon in Chicago, just a couple hours' drive away. These things can be dangerous, especially when it gets hot.

But, I knew I wasn't really in trouble. I knew that I was just quitting because it was too damn hard, and quitting was easy.

I knew something else, too. All of a sudden I had an urge to pee. That's a good thing.

I got up and did my business, and I noticed something else. I felt...pretty good. Much of the pain and stiffness was gone from my legs.

And, that was it. A switch just flipped in my mind. I filled my bottle with ice and sports drink. I filled my hydration pack with ice and water. I grabbed some more food. As I was stuffing all that in my back pack, I started to tear up.

Finish what you started!

FINISH WHAT YOU STARTED!

I was yelling at myself inside my head.

This thing I didn't care about. It mattered. It DID matter. Finishing what I started mattered.

I wiped away the unexpected tears, suddenly extremely pissed at myself for having given up, realizing the only reason I decided to quit was because the race was hard, and it hurt, and continuing on was going to be harder, and hurt more.

Did you think it wasn't going to be hard? Did you think it wasn't going to hurt? It's an ultra you dumbass. It's supposed to be hard. That's why you choose to do them.

You do this stuff for the very purpose of pushing past the urge to quit when things get too damn hard.

I sent a text to Jenni, telling her I was feeling much better, and that I was going to finish! I headed toward the timing mat, where Brandi was still there, encouraging other runners.

"I'm going back out."

A little cheer erupted from the few who knew my plan to drop out. I raised an arm in the air, determined to get this thing done.

More than an hour had passed as I sat in that aid station, but my mind was finally in the right place for the first time all day. I needed to finish.

Now, all I had to do was cover another 31.6 miles, in 90 degree heat with high humidity. The adrenaline wore off in about five minutes. After that, it was hard again. But, I was determined.

I ran past Bill Thom on my way out of the Scuppernong trails, proudly announcing to Bill that I had quit, but then "unquit". There's an example for you. I'm not sure if Bill has EVER not finished a race. One of the nicest guys you'll ever meet, but hiding inside that dude is a will strong enough break through any obstacle placed before him. He knows finishing matters.

It didn't get easier. It got harder. But, my mind was right. My body was as good as it was going to get. I was loading up on ice, keeping myself cool, and making steady progress.

The meadows ate me alive again. That's why they're there. Those steamy meadows are there to stop anyone who doesn't want it badly enough. They took their toll, but they didn't take me down.

Jenni and the kids had arrived by the time I finally came out of the meadow section and made my way into the Emma Carlin aid station. I guess I was looking rather haggard. I wasn't feeling great, and I guess I wasn't all that pleasant to be around just then, but I was determined to push on. And, I was very happy my family was there for me, despite outward appearances.

15.8 miles to go.

Hugs! 7.5 mi to go

Slowly I pressed on, as happy as I could reasonably be to be out of the meadows and back in the forest. When I arrived at the Bluff aid station, 7.5 miles to go, I was met by Jenni and the kids, with smiles and little kid hugs. They didn't even really care how dirty and smelly I was. I was tired, but feeling better than I had 8 miles ago, and ready to get this thing done.

I'll never come to appreciate the never ending roller coaster of hills that comprise the last few miles of this race, but I endured them as best I could and finally heard the sounds of the finish line as darkness was settling in. Derek came running out to greet me, and we ran together, hand in hand, across the finish line.

I started the race with the mindset that it was "just a long training day". I nearly misused that mindset as a rationale for quiting. Just a training day. 50K in the heat, that's good training, right? No shame in calling it a day early.

But, it turns out the real training benefit of the day wasn't physical at all. It was mental. If I'd have quit, the most valuable lesson of the day would have been lost. I hope this is a lesson that will stick in my psyche permanently. I'm going to need it again one day.

Finish what you started. It matters.

Darcie (tired), me (happy), Dustin (What's going on?),
Derek (unwitting student in the game of life)

Start Hard and Hang On - 2011 Ice Age Trail 50 Mile

2011-05-18T10:56:00.001-05:00

Pre-race: Jennifer Aradi, Dominic Guinta, me, Bill Thom

"I think I'm gonna dial it back a bit. You go on ahead."

That's what I said to Dominic about 7 miles into the 2011 Ice Age Trail 50 mile run as he pulled away from me, running up another hill while I power hiked it. We'd been running together to that point, just yucking it up and having a good time. But, Dom was setting a pace a bit harder than I would have done alone, and running up hills I would have walked. I was worried the damage may already be done and I'd be paying for it later, withdrawing a debt of early fatigue that I'd have no way to repay.

It's not like we were flying or anything. But, pace in these things is entirely relative to the number of miles and hills that lie in wait ahead. And I knew a whole lot of miles and a whole lot of hills were just waiting out there, smirking at us, cracking their knuckles, ready to pummel.

I gotta let him go or I'm gonna blow up. Maybe I'll catch him later. That's what I was thinking.

But, dammit if Dom didn't get but 30 yards ahead and then slow down while futzing around with his iPod earphones. :-) I soon found myself right back on his heels again, chit chatting away while we finished up the initial 9 mile Nordic loop that kicks off the IAT50.

The day before the race I put together a pace chart, both for myself and for my wife should she and the kids find the time to come up to the race after Saturday morning soccer. I'd built a pace chart for a 9:30 finish, then tweaked it a bit down to 9:20. Based on my training and goals for this event, that seemed about right. I told Jenni it could be off plus or minus 30 minutes or so depending on the myriad of variables that come into play during ultras. That would put me pretty much half way between the 8:58 I managed at IAT50 during my first 50 miler in 2008, and the 9:44 I turned in at the same race in 2009 where "long training run" was the mindset of the day.

Finishing the initial loop of the Nordic trail, Dom peeled off for a bathroom break while I pulled over to the aid station to grab a few calories. I soon found myself more or less alone over some relatively mild terrain, on our way to the twisting singletrack of the Ice Age Trail. Alone with my thoughts. Pondering my pace.

I could dial it back, treat it just like another long training day. But, well, I was feeling pretty darn good, actually. I started thinking that it had been quite awhile since I'd really pushed myself in a long endurance event. I thought back to how hard I'd pushed myself during a few half Ironman triathlons 5 to 10 years back, pushing the pace on the second half of the run to "tunnel-vision hard". Okay, maybe I wasn't prepared to go quite that hard, but the thought of pushing myself harder than I'd planned, harder than I'd pushed since starting ultras...well, the idea kind settled in and stuck there. So, I pushed on. Not crazy hard. But hard enough that I knew I might really suffer for it later.

Around mile 15 or so, who did I come up behind but Dominic. Apparently the line for the bathroom was too long when he'd stopped back at mile 9, so he skipped past it and snuck ahead of me. We ran together and chatted a little while. Telling him I was feeling good, I gradually pulled ahead. What I should have kept in mind was that this stretch, between miles 9 and 17, or so, is about the most gentle section of the course. It's easy to cruise pretty quickly through this stretch, almost forgetting what's coming.

The next 10 miles or so, from Highway 12 to the southern turn around at Rice Lake and back, which includes some of the most technical trail on the course, I ran almost entirely alone. This is where I started to feel the fatigue beginning to take its toll, particularly on my hamstrings on the climbs. This was a new one to me. I don't recall having my hamstrings become a limiter in the past. The result of too many treadmill miles this early season, and not enough trails and hills? Gonna have to address that before Cascade Crest in August!

Mile 26: Running with Meg Rubesch

Returning to the Highway 12 aid station, exactly a marathon into the course, a girl I'd not met before caught up with me and we ran together a couple miles. It was Meg Rubesch, who was currently running in 4th place among the women. Turns out this was Meg's first attempt at a 50 miler. She had the look of a lean mean cross country machine, was running smooth and easy, and I suddenly felt out of my element, in a place I didn't belong. But we each confessed we were starting to drag. Meg and I ran together for a few stretches on and off to mile 37 at Horseriders aid station.

I moved quickly through Horseriders and would run the remainder of the race alone, my confidence building as the number of miles remaining gradually started ticking down toward zero. I'd taken an Aleve around mile 30, and a second around mile 37, confident that I was well hydrated in the cool temperatures, and so not fearing risk of kidney damage that has been associated with taking NSAIDs during ultra endurance events. The effect of a couple Aleve over the final 10 miles of a 50 miler is almost magical in my experience. On the return trip from the northernmost turnaround at Emma Carlin back to the finish, I was able to run, hard, on all the downhills. I was walking pretty much all the climbs, but I kept pushing hard on the flats and descents.

With about 7 or 8 miles to go, I did something I've never done before during a race. I texted my wife, letting her know I was currently about 40 minutes ahead of the pace chart I'd given her. I didn't know if she was going to be able to come up to the race, but just in case, I wanted to let her know that she'd best just head to the finish rather than any of the last few aid stations. She replied that they were indeed headed up, and they'd be there at the finish. This boosted my spirits further, and I now really just wanted to be done, hanging with my family, enjoying that addictive post-race buzz (gently aided by some fine post-race micro brew :-)

Nearing the Finish!

I didn't even break stride through the last two aid stations. I wanted to be done. For sure, one of the great joys in my life is the distant sound of a finish line, still out of sight in the woods, but gradually getting louder, closer. And, when the finish comes into view, there's nothing better than seeing my family there, cheering, smiling, and happy to see me.

I have a "thing" with my son, Derek. We finish races together, hand in hand. It started when he was two months old, tucked securely in my arms. This year I was prepared for a first. If Derek was going to cross the line with me, there was no way little two and a half year old Darcie was going to stand by and watch. She'd be joining in the fun, and this would be non-negotiable. She's, how to put it...strong willed. But, not seeing Darcie with the rest of the family, I knew exactly why. She was sound asleep in the van :-) So, Derek and I joined hands, he still in his soccer kit from his earlier game, and we ran across another finish line together, while Jenni cheered, with Dustin in the stroller. A blessed finish indeed.

The time on the clock was 8:24:18, a 34 minute PR, 24th out of 222 overall, 3rd out of 33 in my age group. I could not have been happier with my day. How great it was, too, to see so many friendly faces from the Chicago area ultra running community, both running and cheering. These are good people!

Another very special day, in a very special place, the Ice Age Trail!

Happiness: Finishing with Derek, Jenni on left cheering with Dustin in stroller.

My Western States 2010 "Video Race Report"

2010-07-02T14:43:00.000-05:00

It seems I no longer write actual race reports, but instead bring along a video camera to capture the sights and sounds along the way. Both the Grand Canyon, and now Western States, felt like events I wanted to have some video of, since who knows when I may ever get back to these great places again.

This race was quite a challenge for a flatlander like me. I was very happy to simply finish! I hope this video gives you a chance to see and "feel" what the Western States 100 is really all about. Enjoy!

2010 Western States 100 Mile Endurance Run from Steve Emmert on Vimeo.

Rim to Rim to Rim for Haiti Video

2010-05-19T11:06:00.000-05:00

I haven't gotten around to writing any sort of report from our Grand Canyon rim to rim to rim run, but I have managed to piece together some video we captured along the way.

It was an amazing experience. Very hard, but very worth it. If you've ever considered doing it...DO IT! I can't think of any better way to experience such an incredible place.

Grand Canyon Rim to Rim to Rim for Haiti - April 24, 2010 from Steve Emmert on Vimeo.

Rim to Rim to Rim for Haiti

2010-03-01T16:46:00.003-06:00

On April 24th a few friends and I will be running the Grand Canyon from the south rim to the north rim and back again. It's about a 47 mile round trip with a bit over 10,000 feet of climbing, entirely self supported.

We're raising money for Operation Rainbow's Haiti relief efforts. Operation Rainbow sends orthopedic surgery teams to areas of the world in need. Most recently they've been focused on addressing the needs of the thousands affected by the devastating earthquake.

The needs in Haiti are far from over, and they can't do it without your help.

Please visit our site to learn more about our endeavor, and if you are able please help us by donating to Operation Rainbow.

r2r2r4h.blogspot.com

Thank you!

The Journey Continues - WS100 Here I Come!

2009-12-05T23:01:00.007-06:00

As if things weren't getting busy enough around here, a new journey I set into motion just over two years ago just took a big step forward. I was selected in the lottery to participate in the Western States 100 Mile Endurance Run, June 26-27, 2010. The odds of being selected this year were about 1 in 5.

I have to admit, I'm a bit intimidated by this one. I've done the distance, but only once, in nearly ideal weather, mostly on trails I'd run before at Kettle Moraine. They say there's about 12,000 feet of climbing and descending at Kettle, but it all happens over dozens and dozens of little ups and downs none of which is ever more than about 100 feet at a time.

There are no mountains in Wisconsin, or Illinois, or anywhere else anywhere near home.

Starting at Squaw Valley, California, the Western States course climbs 2,550 feet in just the first 4.5 miles, and continues from there to climb another 15,540 feet and descend nearly 23,000 feet before the finish in Auburn. It's not considered a high elevation race, but its peak of 8,700 feet at the top of the Squaw Valley Ski Resort is a bit higher than the base of Snowmass Village, Colorado, where Jenni and I have taken several skiing vacations. Just walking a couple hundred feet up the hills in Snowmass Village the day we arrive there always sends my heart rate soaring.

Now I can't help but picture myself breathing hard, heart pounding, legs already burning...and another 95 miles still to cover.

Temperatures in the high country can get as cold as 20 deg, and it's not uncommon for the mercury to rise over 100 in the canyons. Heat and I are not the best of friends. Ironman Wisconsin 2005 taught me that.

So, yeah, I'm a little uncertain about whether to be more excited or nauseous about this challenge.

How could it possibly get better than that?

Dustin Slideshow

2009-12-02T15:18:00.003-06:00

I've uploaded some Dustin pictures to Picasa. Here's a slideshow...

So, Does He Have A Name?

2009-11-30T23:17:00.002-06:00

Welcome to the family...

Dustin Clark Emmert

Born Nov 30, 2009, 10:44 pm

8 lb, 4 oz

21 inches

Jenni and Dustin are both doing great. He's already eating :-)

First Pics!

2009-11-30T23:01:00.010-06:00

It's a Boy!

2009-11-30T22:46:00.001-06:00

Beautiful! Everyone is great!

Ready to Push

2009-11-30T22:23:00.001-06:00

Baby's right there. Ready to push! Doctor's coming in.

Contractions Getting Stronger

2009-11-30T22:14:00.001-06:00

Contractions getting stronger, and less than 2 min apart. I figure we'll probably start pushing pretty soon!

Things Are Moving Along...

2009-11-30T21:22:00.002-06:00

Jenni's at 7 cm, 100% effaced, baby's head moving down. We're getting there!

Oh, and I just had a vending machine sandwich. Said on the package, "Quality 100% Guaranteed or Your Money Back!" I found that funny. It was fine, though, so I don't have to try to figure out how the package was going to get my money back out of the machine.

Water Broke

2009-11-30T19:40:00.002-06:00

The doctor just broke the water. Everything looks good. Things should start picking up now. I think with Darcie it was less than 2.5 hours from here to delivery.

The Waiting Game

2009-11-30T17:50:00.002-06:00

Okay, in as much as you can plan these things, the plan now is that they will put in the epidural around 7 and break the water around 7:30. I guess Jenni carries beta strep, and it's best to wait some time for antibiotics to take effect and cover the baby before they break her water. Er, something like that. So, we wait.

Jenni's comfortable, although she'd really like to get out of bed and walk around. But that involves unplugging her from the monitor which is a bit of a nuisance.

Oh, and we think we have the names finally narrowed down. But, we're not telling :-)

Birth Day!

2009-11-30T15:14:00.002-06:00

Wwwssshhh! Wwwssshhh! (That's the sound of me blowing the dust off this blog.)

Well, it looks like it's Birth Day! Jenni had a doctor's appointment today, and, "surprise", they sent her straight to the hospital because she's in labor. Not sure when things are really going to get underway, but here we are, getting ready! I guess there's a chance she won't deliver today, but we should know over the next couple hours I would think.

We're right about at 37 weeks now, so just about what they consider full term.

Exciting, this thing called life!

Derek's Tambling Lake Challenge Run 2009

2009-07-15T08:40:00.002-05:00

While in Eagle River, Wisconsin for vacation last week, we saw a few signs around town for a midnight 5K fun run hosted by the local YMCA. Derek, who just turned 5 during our vacation, was determined that he wanted to do it. It took some convincing, but he ultimately agreed with me that even if he could cover 3.1 miles on his own two feet, doing so at midnight might not be the best idea for a 5 year old.

No problem. He decided he'd just do his own race, 2 miles. With Grandma and Grandpa ready and willing to host an aid station which we could hit twice on our out and back run, and Grandpa doing double-duty as race photographer, and Mom as race videographer, we put together a top notch event.

Derek did great, and took my advice to mix running and walking, covering the distance with relative ease in just over 40 minutes. It was a blast. Might just become an annual event...maybe we'll even attract some other runners next year :-)

100 Miles, 1 Day - 2009 Kettle Moraine 100 Mile Endurance Run

2009-06-10T13:59:00.034-05:00

It was in November, 2007, that this all began. That was when I first got the idea in my head that ultrarunning was a journey I wanted to take, and 100 miles was the destination. I took the first significant steps along the way in 2008, culminating in the most difficult challenge I had ever faced at the 2008 Kettle Moraine 100K. I'll never forget the last few miles of that 100K, running past 100-mile runners who were headed back out for their final 38 miles. I wrote it up in my report like this:

"As I was coming into the finish of the 100K, thoroughly beaten, there were runners headed the other direction on their quest to finish 100 miles! When I signed up for the 100K, my thought was that if I could survive 100K I'd make an attempt at 100 miles next year. But with a couple miles to go in my 100K, all I could think was, "I will never ever do this again". How in the hell, after all of that, are these people continuing to run, knowing that they are setting off to cover another 38 miles, into the dark of night, with thunder beginning to rumble in the sky once again? How? How? I thought I was tough. I thought I was strong. That girl was, was...she was smiling! What the hell? Clearly, there is another level of tough that remains beyond my understanding."

Well, I couldn't leave things at that, of course. Once time did its magic and the pain and misery were mostly forgotten (time is like anesthesia for endurance athletes), I clicked "submit" and entered myself into the 2009 Kettle Moraine 100 Mile Endurance Run. I needed to figure out if I had whatever "those people" have. I put my trust in a truth that has held for me thus far in my endurance pursuits.

When the mind believes, the body will follow.

So there I found myself at the Kettle Moraine Nordic trail head, readying my drop bags in the pre-dawn hours of June 6, 2009. I arrived with a body I knew to be not all so different from the body that carried me through a torturous 62 mile slog on these same trails one year prior. But I now had a mind that believed. Not a mind that believed I would finish. I couldn't bring myself to be so arrogantly presumptuous. There was just way too much uncharted territory to be confronted. The simple difference was that I now had a mind that fully believed I would take at least one more step beyond 62 miles. I trusted that would be followed by another, and another, and so on. My hope was that my final step would the one that carried me across the 100 mile finish line. Belief. Trust. Hope. Little words that can make a big difference.

The first 62 miles of the race would be a repeat of the same trails I covered during the 100K last year, starting with a 7.5 mile loop around the Nordic hiking and ski trails, then heading northeast on the Ice Age Trail to the Scuppernong trails and the turnaround at the 31 mile mark. From there you do a 180 and return to the start/finish area, where you find yourself with 62 miles on your battered legs, and just steps from your car. If you successfully suppress the urge to drop here, you head back out around the Nordic loop one more time, then head southwest on the Ice Age Trail down to the final turnaround at the 81.5 mile mark. From here, assuming you're still upright and mobile, you retrace your steps back to the finish at the Nordic trail head. The fun begins at 6am Saturday, and the cutoff time is noon Sunday, 30 hours.

Having to generate a pace chart so my family had some idea when I might be arriving at various checkpoints meant having to set a target time and pace. My goal was simply to finish, but I was hoping to be able to break 24 hours, so I put together an estimated pacing plan based on the average paces of runners who finished in the 22 to 24 hour time window last year. I told my wife, Jenni, that the margin of error in my estimated times could be significant. Jenni would be coming up later in the morning, toting almost-5 year old Derek and 9 month old Darcie, hoping to catch me somewhere around 25 to 30 miles into my journey. I signed her up for twittering the happenings of the day from my phone so some of my family and friends could keep tabs on how things were going. Jenni takes to new technology with, shall we say, reluctance. But once she figured out that tweeting was really very simple, I knew she would keep her thumbs busy, and my family entertained.

Besides Jenni and the kids, I was blessed to have my sister Vicki, niece Lexie, brother Dave, and nephew David all coming to support me sometime around the 45 to 55 mile mark, and they all planned to hang in there through the night until the finish. Dave was committed to running with me from mile 62 to the final turnaround at mile 81, which was pretty impressive of him considering this would be his first real trail running experience, and most of it in the dark of night!

Following some pre-race words from race director Timo, I gathered with the rest of the crazies behind the starting line awaiting the word. No air horn, no cannon, just Timo with a little, "Ready, set, go", and our journey was officially underway.

The first several miles of the Nordic trails involve a continuous series of little roller coaster ups and downs on relatively wide trails. As is the common wisdom for most ultrarunners setting off to cover 50 miles or more, I walked the uphills to save my legs for the many, many miles to come. Within the first mile I found myself running behind a guy and a girl who started chatting about her shirt. She'd written on the back of it, "Hey Jim! Blue Skies!", and the guy was asking her about it. She said Jim was a friend of hers who passed away in February. One of her favorite memories of Jim was the time he took her skydiving. Immediately my mind went to my dad. Dad passed away in October. Less than five months before he died, at the age of 70, he took a flying leap out of a perfectly good airplane.

It got me thinking about Dad. You have a lot of time to think when you're running 100 miles. I thought about how much pain and suffering my dad endured through the final years of his life, and it made me realize that the pain I was setting out to inflict upon myself today was nothing. Nothing. It made me think that the girl, the shirt, the words, the story...it was all there in front of me for a reason. I got the sense that Dad was there with me, and we were going to work through the pain and suffering of this day together. Like Dad jumping out of a plane, my running 100 miles makes no sense at all to most. These are things crazy people do. But, the way I see it, "life is too short not to do cool shit". It doesn't have to make sense to anybody else. It only has to make sense to me. And so, we took our "leap", down the trail, together. Common sense be damned.

The early miles rolled along nicely uneventfully. I was enjoying the mercifully mild weather, a good 25 degrees cooler than the steamy, stormy conditions of 2008. Eventually as the runners spread out across the many miles of trails, I found myself alone with my thoughts and pulled out my iPod so I could listen to a new audio book I'd just bought - Born to Run, by Christopher McDougall. I'd heard great things about this book from other ultrarunners, and they were right! Chris' book kept me entertained and inspired for hours, a perfect match for the day. This has actually become one of my favorite activities in life...running trails, listening to a new book, and just losing myself for awhile. If it weren't for running, I'm afraid I'd never find time to read a new book :-)

A little before 12:30pm I arrived at the Scuppernong aid station, the 31 mile mark, and the turnaround for the return trip back to Nordic. Jenni and the kids had arrived to greet me, which always gives me a huge lift. I loaded up at the aid station, eating whatever sounded good, told the family I'd see them in about 5 miles, and pressed on.

Soon after departing Scuppernong it started to rain lightly. The forecast had called for a pretty good chance of rain all day and night, so I was mentally prepared for a very soggy ordeal. But as it turned out, we got less than an hour of light rain in the early afternoon, and that was it. No significant rain, cool temperatures...ideal running weather!

As I was approaching the County Road ZZ aid station, mile 36.4, a girl running the other way said something to me about a cute little boy waiting on the trail just ahead. The cute little boy turned out to be Derek, waiting for me in the rain, about 50 yards up the trail from the aid station. Apparently Derek had been practicing his trail running while waiting for me to arrive. It makes me smile to see that Derek really enjoys getting out to these events. He doesn't even realize that what we were doing out there is considered crazy by most right-thinking folks. He's been around endurance events like this since before he can remember, so it all seems perfectly normal to him :-)

Somewhere between mile 40 and 45 I was running through the section of trail that is mostly grassy meadow, still enjoying listening to my book, putting one foot in front of the....WHAM!! I suddenly found myself sprawled out on the ground, trying to regather whatever wits were still functioning. My left foot had caught a small stump hiding in the weeds, intent on taking me down. I quickly assessed the situation, but happily discovered no significant damage. So I hauled myself back up and pressed on.

As I grew closer to the Emma Carlin aid station, mile 47.3, I started craving a pizza! My body wanted salt and fat, big time! Of course I knew there was no pizza at the aid station, so when I arrived at the food table I scanned the offerings trying to identify the next best alternative. I saw these tortilla rolls-ups with some meat and cheese inside, and started devouring them. Turns out, the roll-ups were turkey or ham, cheese, butter, and mayo! On any other occasion, I would have rejected these as being both disgusting and alarmingly unhealthy. But, in this particular circumstance, I was in heaven...not as good as a pizza, but it fit the bill. I must have downed half a dozen of those things!

The temperature had started to drop a bit, so I slipped on a long sleeve shirt from my drop bag. The rest of my family hadn't arrived yet, so I told Jenni I'd see her at the Bluff aid station 8 miles up the trail (the kids were napping at this point), and I got myself moving again. There's more uphill than down on this section of the course as you work your way past a huge granite erratic boulder know as the Stone Elephant, toward one of the highest points on the course, a hill known as Bald Bluff. I always get a refreshing sense of oneness with my surroundings whenever I find myself running on trails that were forged and traveled by native Americans hundreds, even thousands of years ago. Bald Bluff is thought to have been used by local tribes as a council grounds, a signal hill, and a place where ceremonial dances were held. And the Stone Elephant was thought to be a sacred place by the early Potawatomi Indians (Although, having stopped to look at the Stone Elephant during a training run one day, and finding no discernible resemblance to that of an elephant aside from perhaps color, it occurred to me, "How would native Americans know what an elephant looks like, anyway?")

I performed my own sort of ceremonial dance on my way down the rocky back side of Bald Bluff, trying not to fall or turn an ankle, and soon found myself passing through a trail intersection known as Confusion Corner on my way to the Bluff aid station, mile 55.5. I'd been running for nearly 12 hours now, and the miles were starting to wear on me. But, thankfully, the rest of my family had now arrived to support me. This was their first introduction to the world of ultrarunning, and I felt blessed to have them there, yet guilty at the same time. I felt guilty at the thought of them waiting around all night just to see me for a few minutes every couple of hours. But, they assured me they wanted to be there, and were in this thing for the long haul, so I just loaded up with some calories and kept moving.

The final few miles back around the Nordic trails took me through the roller coaster hills once again. As I passed runners headed the other direction to begin their final 38 mile out and back leg, I remembered back to one year ago as I was in the same place headed into the finish of my 100K. I was tired, but not nearly as trashed as I had been in this same place a year ago. I know the milder weather had a big part to play in that, but the bigger difference was mental. My brain had already prepared itself for at least a 24 hour ordeal, not a 13 hour one. My mind knew I was a long, long way from done. My body was just going along for the ride, tired, but not finished. Before long I found myself back where I had started - the start/finish area, and the 62.9 mile mark of my 100 mile adventure.

My family was there, helping me with whatever I needed. I took a seat in the grass to inspect my feet and change my socks. As I was checking for blisters, I started to feel lots of little pinches, like bug bites. I looked down and saw that I was covered in fire ants, hundreds of them! I had been sitting right on top of their nest, and apparently word got out and spread like...well, like fire! I jumped up and Jenni freaked as she saw my back was totally covered in the little bastards. They were under my shirt, under my shorts, between my two shirts, everywhere! Another ceremonial dance ensued as we worked to brush them all off. At least it perked me up!

Once the ant situation was taken care of, I got some more food, and readied my headlamp and handheld flashlights. Dave did the same as he prepared to pace me for the next 19 miles or more, depending on how he was feeling. I was a little concerned when I saw Dave's lights. He had three of these little clip-on LED lights, one on the bill of his hat, the other two each on the hand straps of his handheld bottles. I was concerned they may not be bright enough, but maybe having three of them might work out okay. I also knew I had more light than I really needed, so I figured we'd make it work. Dave said he was ready to go, and off we went, into "uncharted territory".

I chit-chatted about trail running tips for Dave, tried to describe the trails that lay in store for us, babbled about the book I'd been listening to, and just generally tried to keep my mind on anything but my aching legs and the many miles they still had to carry me. We went past a couple of fiends headed the other direction; Dorn Peddy who told me he was going to drop at 100K due to pain in his knee, and Dominic Guinta who was looking strong and determined to push on toward his first 100 miler. A few miles into the Nordic trails we came upon a rise with a beautiful view of a lush green valley to the west, and the ridge on the other side from which we had come. I was glad Dave got a least a bit of time to run the trails while there was still some daylight to appreciate the beauty of them. Not long after, the trails grew darker and we switched on our lights.

We found our way back to the Bluff aid station, mile 70.3, yucked it up with the family, and loaded up with enough food and drink to carry us the 7 miles to the next fully stocked aid station, and were on our way. Soon after we took the left turn at Confusion Corner it had gotten really dark and Dave was realizing his lights were not really bright enough. I had my headlamp plus two very bright handheld lights attached to my water bottles. I gave Dave one of my handhelds, which helped a lot, and left me still with plenty of light, so we were good to go for the night.

Then, things started to take a turn. The next few miles sucked the life out of me. A downward spiral was in the making.

It was somewhere between 11:30 and midnight when we finally arrived at the Highway 12 aid station, mile 77. I'd been running for nearly 18 hours, and I was growing worried. I knew I needed to eat, but I wasn't hungry. The 7 miles since the last manned aid station had taken their toll. I'd been stumbling in the dark, tripping over rocks and tree roots, over a section of trail that seemed much more uphill than down, and had grown dejected by the dramatic drop in pace. My spirits had darkened. I slumped into a chair, and worried about how hard it may be to extract myself from it again. Jenni's face revealed a look of concern. Negative thoughts began to dance in my head. First are the thoughts that come from that part of your brain whose job it is to keep you from destroying yourself. These are the thoughts that urge you to stop.

But then some other part of my brain sparked. It was that part of my brain for which, "stop" is the sound of a blaring alarm. It shook off the fatigue, assessed the situation, and spoke to me.

"Steve, pull yourself together. This is what running 100 miles feels like. This, right here, right now...this is what it's all about. You can stop now, nobody else will care, but you'll always know. Pull your ass out of this chair and move!"

The whole experience would have almost been a disappointment if it hadn't brought me to this dark place. You see, it's supposed to be hard. It wouldn't be worth doing if it wasn't. All the miles, all the hills, every step, all the pain, the falls, the stubbed toes, every rock and tree root, the entire cumulative experience of the 77 miles that led me to this place was all there for this very reason. It was all there to try to break me.

No. Not today. Not this time.

I picked myself up out of the chair, fueled my body, and we pressed onward.

And just like that, I gradually started feeling better. Sure, I was beat, I was tired, I was aching, and my progress was slow, but my confidence was making a comeback. By the time we pulled into the final turnaround at mile 81.5, Jenni couldn't believe I was the same person she'd seen just over 4 miles back. I told Dave he could pull out here, and I'd be fine. But he assured me he was still feeling good, and wanted to keep going. And so, keep going we did.

We made steady progress back toward Highway 12, buoyed by the fact the we were on the final push toward home. At the mile 86 aid station I once again told Dave I'd be fine if he'd had enough. I loved having the company out there, but I knew he was already well past his "commitment", and the next crew accessible aid station was another 7 miles. He thought about it awhile, but he once again assured me he was still feeling good. Keep moving forward.

All things considered, Dave and I made good time over the next section of trail. We ran where we could, and where we had to walk I forced myself to power walk. By the time we arrived back at the Bluff aid station, mile 92.8, the family was nowhere to be seen. As we busied ourselves eating and filling bottles, the crew arrived, surprised that we'd made better time than they expected. Dave finally decided to pull the plug here, having run farther than he'd ever run before, 30 miles. First real trail run, first night trail run, first ultra distance run! My brother went way above and beyond the call for me, and I can't thank him enough for helping me through!

My fuzzy brain had somehow already given up on the goal of 24 hours, convinced that I had an outside chance to make it at best. I couldn't do the math to figure out how fast I needed to go, and I didn't have the mental energy to care that much. But Vicki told me I could do it, so I pushed on. I knew the final 7 miles of trail had plenty of hills, but pretty reliable footing, and it would start getting light soon. So, I just pushed on, drawing on whatever energy I could still find.

Somewhere between 4:30 and 5am, it was like God flipped a switch. It seemed as if simultaneously every bird in the forest started to sing. Mother Nature was waking up. I drew some extra energy from that and pressed on. With a few miles to go the math became easier to figure and I could see that, barring some complete and

unexpected shutdown, I would break 24 hours by a comfortable margin. I looked forward to the final pass through the roller coaster of hills over the last 5 miles. As the sky grew lighter, I could begin to hear some voices through the trees from the finish line. Finally, the finish line banner came into sight a few hundred yards ahead. I could see Dave waving toward the parking lot, signalling to Jenni and the others that I was coming in.

The day before the race I had talked to Derek about the finish. Derek likes to run across finish lines with me whenever he can. I told him that he'd probably be asleep when I got to the finish line this time, and asked him if he wanted Mom to wake him up to finish with me. He said yes. I asked him a couple times to make sure, and "yes" was the clear answer. So, I figured that's what Jenni was doing now. There was no way I would go across that line without him. When I got about 30 or 40 yards from the finish, Timo the race director was there starting to cheer me in. I told him I had to wait because I promised my little boy he could finish with me. A couple minutes later, a sleepy-eyed Derek came jogging toward me. He was saying, "sorry, sorry", thinking I might be mad I had to wait for him. I assured him it was just fine, and I wouldn't have wanted to have it any other way. Derek and I joined hands and ran the final stretch across the line together.

100 miles. 1 day.

The day wouldn't have been the same, heck wouldn't have been possible, without the love and support of my family.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, to my wife Jenni, son Derek, baby daughter Darcie, sister Vicki, niece Lexie, brother and pacer Dave, and nephew David, for being there by my side. I know my Mom and sister Deb both also wanted to be there, too, so thanks for following along with Jenni's twitter updates. It made a difference just knowing you had me in your thoughts.

Steve Larsen

2009-05-21T16:39:00.004-05:00

I know I haven't blogged in quite awhile, but I find myself today unable to shake my sadness over the death of a man I didn't even know. Steve Larsen, former professional cyclist and triathlete, collapsed and died yesterday during a track workout. He was just 39 years old and he leaves behind a wife and five young children.

Five young children. Just the thought of it makes me cry.

From interviews I have heard with him, it was clear that Steve was a great dad and devoted family man. He appeared to place his role as a father clearly well ahead of his personal ambitions as an athlete, which sadly seems to be a rarity among athletes as gifted and driven as he. And, for that, I had great respect for the man.

Just so sad. I'm going home now to hug my kids.

Firsts... and Lasts: Ironman Wisconsin 2008

2009-01-08T14:23:00.005-06:00

For whatever reason I never quite got around to writing a race report for Ironman Wisconsin this year. I don't really know why. It wasn't for lack of noteworthy happenings surrounding the event. But somehow, the event came and went, and the experience never translated from my mind to my keyboard.

Then, my dad unexpectedly passed away. My mind went elsewhere. It continues to wander.

But, at the urging of my sister, Vicki, I'll try here to recapture my thoughts from this year's race. Perhaps as the words come I'll find some reason why this year's report was supposed to wait.

Firsts...

The day after Ironman Wisconsin 2007, my brother, Dave, made a bold move. He got in queue to sign his name on the dotted line, committing himself to his first attempt at the Ironman distance for IMWI 2008. Like me, a seed was planted in his psyche years ago by simply witnessing an Ironman.

In 2000, I went with a friend of mine, Tom, to watch him race his first half Ironman. It was a small, local event in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. At that time, they ran both a half and a full Ironman in Lake Geneva concurrently. After watching Tom finish the half, knowing what a great athlete he was, and seeing how much this race took out of him, I became transfixed in watching a small core of athletes attempting the full Ironman distance. I had just recently started doing some running myself, and was training for my first half marathon. At that time, a half marathon was a stretch for what I believed possible for me. A half Ironman was beyond my imagination. A full Ironman was well beyond any hint of comprehension for me.

That afternoon I got in my car, drove the hour back home, and said to my wife, "Jenni, you've got to come and see this! You won't believe what these people are doing!" We both got in the car and drove back to Lake Geneva to watch the rest of the race. We were both awestruck by what we were witnessing. We sat there for hours, in front of a bar overlooking the finish line, and watched as the faster athletes finished, and the slower athletes came by holding up their fingers to indicate how many more laps they had to go on the four-loop run course. Having done a short training run on part of the run course while Tom was on the bike gave me an even greater appreciation for what these people were doing. The run course in Lake Geneva is one tough, crazy-hilly course!

Little did I know it at the time, but that was the day the seed was planted in my mind. My inner resolve to complete an Ironman one day was sparked and began to slowly smolder in my soul.

One year after that day I found myself in Lake Geneva completing my first half Ironman, and another year later I found myself toeing the line at the inaugural Ironman Wisconsin, alongside my friend, Tom.

Many family members came to watch me attempt that first Ironman, but I didn't believe my brother was coming. What a nice surprise it was when I saw Dave smiling and cheering and high-fiving me half way through the run.

Little did he know it at the time, but that was the day the Ironman seed was planted in his mind.

Inspiration. It's a powerful thing. And, you never see it coming.

So, the 2008 Ironman Wisconsin would make for one very special day. I would get the opportunity to race alongside my brother, and he would get to prove to himself that he could do what he once believed impossible.

But these would not be the only firsts for this year's race.

In January of this year, Jenni, shared the exciting news with me that she was pregnant. When I asked her the due date, it took awhile for it to register in my mind that there was some significance to the answer. September 8th. Yep, that would be the day after Ironman. I think she was worried that this would be a problem with me. But, of course, it wasn't. I figured I would just train as if I was doing the race, and things would sort themselves out in time. If I couldn't do the race, there would always be another Ironman.

Yet, at the same time we were both aware that there was something special about Ironman this year. If you haven't followed my Ironman past, let me quickly bring you up to speed. Ironman Wisconsin has come to represent a sort of ad hoc family reunion for the Emmerts. My family has adopted this event in a way I never would have imagined. They, too, were moved in an unexpected way after coming to watch it the first time. It's what inspired my sister, Deb, to put the experience into these words, which have since found their way into print in American Tri magazine, which have been shared numerous times upon request on triathlon discussion forums, and which continue to inspire random souls who stumble upon it through a Google search. My family has come to look forward to this race each year. It's just assumed that I will keep doing it.

So, this being the year that Dave would make his entrée to Ironman, two brothers taking on Ironman together, we did hope there would be a way to make it happen. Our first child, Derek, arrived 10 days early. If baby sister were to follow in his baby steps, she'd be 9 days old on race day. We could make that work, right? Easy for me to say. I'd indeed have the easy job this year. As tough as Ironman may be, I won't make the mistake of assuming it compares in any meaningful way to giving birth to a child.

In March we had a family get together at Dave's house. I asked Derek to share the great news by telling Grandma he was going to be a big brother. After the excitement settled a bit, Dave said to me, "You're going to make me do this by myself, aren't you?" By "this", of course he was referring to the race. I said we'd just have to wait and see what unfolds.

As race day drew near, it appeared more and more likely that one way or another the baby would arrive at least a couple days early. Jenni's doctor told us that due to her "advanced maternal age" (she loves that term), she would not let us go past the due date, and more likely would induce a little early if the baby hadn't already taken the initiative herself.

As chronicled here "real time", on September 2nd, 2008, Darcie Ann Emmert, arrived into our world, strong, healthy, and beautiful. Just three days later, Ironmom Jenni, Ironbaby Darcie, Ironbrother Derek, and just plain old me, piled into the van and headed to Madison for Ironman weekend. I don't know how she did it, but if I hadn't been there myself I certainly could not have guessed that Jenni had just given birth to a child. She's a warrior. No doubt a much stronger woman than she realizes.

And then I remembered, "Holy crap. I have an Ironman in two days!" I'd sort of forgotten about it in all the excitement. Oh well. There was nothing more I could do to prepare. Those five or six swims since last year's Ironman would just have to be enough ;-)

While the annual Emmert family reunion commenced, and those who hadn't already met her got to hold Darcie for the first time, Dave and I proceeded to do the things we needed to do...get checked in for the race, attend the pre-race meeting, check in our bikes, pack and drop off our transition bags. There were a couple other guys who live near Dave for whom this would also be their first Ironman. I tried to answer their last minute questions and offer whatever advice I could give about surviving race day.

My advice about how to approach race day is always the same. It's all about patience and discipline. You have to hold back on the bike when you feel like 'racing'. You have to put your ego in your back pocket and leave it there until the last half of the run. During the first 60 miles or so on the bike, if you're wondering if you're going too hard, you are. Have a sound nutrition plan and follow it. It's really pretty simple. And, if you've done the training, and you execute your race day plan, there's no reason you shouldn't be able to finish the race.

The one variable that can dramatically narrow your margin of error is one that you can't control. The weather. A really hot day can make the line between success and failure very narrow. Thankfully, the forecast for race day this year was just about perfect.

One of my favorite activities during Ironman weekend is the Fit Kids fun run around the capitol on Saturday morning. Derek was returning this year to launch his third assault on the capitol square. When talking to Derek before the run, he told me, "I don't want to run around like a crazy man. I just want to finish." I don't know where it came from, but it sounded like a pretty solid plan to me. Derek ran the whole way, and did indeed finish. Afterwards, when my mother-in-law Judy asked him how the race went, he proclaimed, "That hill is a killer!" I think I will need to continue my streak at Ironman Wisconsin if for no other reason than to allow Derek to continue his streak at the run around the capitol.

Race Day...

Dave and I walked together to the race start early Sunday morning and did all the necessary race morning things. I took him to my usual race morning “hiding place” in the lower level of the Monona Terrace. In the early years of Ironman Wisconsin, there were lots of athletes there who didn’t really know their way around the Terrace, so one could find a quiet spot here or there to relax on race morning. By now, there are no more hiding places in the Terrace, but you can still find spots that are less frenetic than others.

If Dave was unusually nervous, I couldn’t tell. We just chilled out for awhile before putting on our wetsuits and making our way toward the swim start. We found Jenni, my sister, father-in-law, and nieces and nephews on our way down the helix. My sister, Deb, asked Dave how he was feeling. “Scared sh..less.” It is indeed rather a daunting challenge. Despite knowing you’ve done all the hard work, it’s nearly impossible to summon your confidence when faced with a 2000+ person mass swim start as merely the kick-off to the longest, hardest day of physical activity of your life. Especially for a relative non-swimmer. I know. I’ve been there.

I think the cool thing about race morning of your first Ironman is that there is really nothing anyone else can say or do that can make you feel better. The hard work is done, and so is the talking. All that is left is the doing. It’s supposed to be scary and intimidating because it is indeed hard, and it wouldn’t be worth doing if it wasn’t. So off you head to prove to yourself that you are a stronger person than you previously believed. There are very few days in a civilian life that offer an opportunity like that.

Dave found this wife and kids near the swim start and took in the energy of their hugs and kisses. Just before we entered the water, we shook hands and Dave told me, “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.” “But you’ve done all the hard work.” I replied. Inspiration is merely the first step on a long journey. Goggles on. Into the water. All that is left is the doing.

We treaded water together for a few minutes while waiting for the cannon to fire, finding a spot wide to the outside and pretty far back in an attempt to avoid the worst of the thrashing of the swim start. “Boom!” It was 7 AM.

If you know me, you know that swimming is not my strength. To make matters worse, I put very, very little time into my swim training this year, instead putting in much of my training time on the trails preparing for my first season of ultrarunning. So, I figured it would be a slow and relatively unpleasant swim for me. I was right. I also figured there was a good chance Dave would beat me out of the water.

I came out of the water in exactly the time I predicted, which was unfortunately my slowest Ironman swim ever. After the wetsuit peelers helped extract me from my suit, an old friend, Ali, found me and ran with me toward the parking ramp helix. A few years back Ali was the manager of the fitness center at the company where I work, and she has an infectious level of positive energy. She made me feel like a rock star despite my abysmal swim.

Coming out of transition on my way to my bike, there was Jenni cheering me on. I asked her if she’d seen Dave and she said, “Yeah, he came by here a long time ago! You better get going!” I was glad to hear that Dave had a good swim. I had no doubt Dave would get through the swim just fine, but it was a relief to hear that nothing unexpected had happened out there. As it turned out, he beat me out of the water by over ten minutes.

As I started the bike I felt, well, not all that great, really. There was nothing terribly wrong. I just didn’t have my usual race day energy. I’m not exactly sure why, but I think in no small part it was simply that my motivation to push hard was at a low ebb. For 2008 I’d taken on a new passion: ultrarunning. Running what had previously been inconceivably long distances on challenging trails had become my new focus, and it had begun to make triathlon feel a little less vibrant. On a more practical level, it had also replaced some of my critical early season bike miles with trail running miles, which don’t translate all that well to endurance cycling. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be there, or that I wasn’t enjoying my day, because I did, and I was. But, I think at least part of me was already looking ahead to other challenges in a different arena.

So, I rolled along, taking the day as it came to me, and remembered I did have some great things to look forward to. For one, Dave was up the road somewhere, and I was wondering how long it might take me to catch him. For another, we had over 20 family and friends out there on the course to cheer us on, including now 5-day old Darcie.

I was more than 40 miles into the bike, and still I had not caught up with Dave. I was really happy he was having a good day, and impressed he was holding me off so long. A couple miles beyond Cross Plains I finally saw a guy up ahead who looked familiar. “Hey, how’s it going?” I said as I pulled up alongside. Dave and I chatted for awhile about how our days were going. Since we were quickly approaching the first of three of the most significant hills on the bike course, with our cheering section camped out at the top of the last of them, we decided it would be cool to ride them together.

The first hill, Old Sauk Pass, is the longest of the three. It’s not terribly steep, but it’s long and winding, and just steep enough that you pray for the top around each bend in the road, just to be cruelly greeted with more uphill around each curve. But riding it alongside Dave, we climbed to the top rather painlessly. Actually, if you like riding hills, this is quite a beautiful little climb. A great little winding country road through the trees, which helps take your mind off the torment.

Much too soon after Old Sauk Pass is the Timber Lane hill. Not as scenic, the Timber Lane hill is a straight, steep shot upward. What makes it cool on race day, particularly on the first loop of the bike, is that it is packed with supporters. It’s brief, but it’s a Tour de France kind of vibe, and the energy of the crowd helps carry you to the top.

Dave and I just cruised along the next handful of miles toward the next major obstacle on the course, the Midtown Road hill. But this is one hill we were each looking forward to because the top of Midtown Road is where our family sets up camp to cheer on the athletes during the bike. Being a bit behind my anticipated pace, and Dave being well ahead of his, meant we’d get to do what probably none of the family expected: ride past them side by side. As we worked our way toward the top of the climb, our 20+ person cheering section began to identify one or the other of us, and the fireworks of cowbell ringing, signs raising, arms waving, voices screaming, cameras shooting, and friendly faces smiling exploded in front of us, drawing both of us over the top of the climb on a cloud. Just after we went past, I said to Dave, “It’s a bit much to take in all at once, isn’t it?” It’s a fantastic sight, but it’s impossible to make an eye to eye connection with everyone in our cheering section. As we later learned, it wasn’t so easy from their perspective either. Apparently as we were going by, some of our group was yelling, “There’s Steve!”, and others were yelling, “There’s Dave!” After we went by, my niece said to some of the others, “Who was that jerk who wouldn’t get out of Steve’s way?”, the offending 'jerk' in this case being her dad. As the discussions unfolded, it became clear that some of the family saw me, and some saw Dave, and several of them did not even realize that we were together! That was too funny!

As we cruised away from the hills back into Verona to complete loop one, I gradually pulled away from Dave, confident he was well on his way to a successful first Ironman experience. I was feeling better now, reenergized by spending some time with Dave and seeing the family. Yet, as the miles ticked by through the second loop, and I started heading back into Madison, I was very ready to get off the bike. One might think there is a sense of dread in the latter miles of the bike during an Ironman, dread of the upcoming marathon. For me, it’s always been the opposite. I always start looking forward to the marathon if for no other reason than the fact that I really want to get off my bike! Really, 6 to 7 hours is just way too long to sit on a bike, in my humble opinion. I don’t think I’m cut out for true endurance cycling.

About this time I was reminded of my one major concern about the day: my Achilles heel. I don’t mean that in a metaphorical sense, I mean my actual Achilles tendon. Four years ago I ran myself into a problem with Achilles tendonitis in my right leg, and it’s a problem that continues to plague me from time to time. While training for Ironman this year I started to have issues with my tendon becoming sore during and after my long bike rides, which has never happened before. My Achilles problems of the past have always been running specific, and hadn’t prior to 2008 been aggravated by cycling. So, coming off the bike this year, I was worried. 26.2 miles is an awfully long way to walk.

As I exited the transition area to begin the run, what was right there in front of me but a couple massage therapists looking for someone to help. Figuring it couldn’t do any harm, I told one of the therapists about my Achilles concerns and she worked on my right leg for a few minutes. I don’t know if it actually did any good, but it at least helped psychologically. I thanked her, and was on my way.

Right away on the run I was immediately greeted by my family, some on Pickney Street, some atop the Pickney Street parking garage, and still more along Doty Street, all yelling and high fiving and waving signs and snapping pictures. What a treasure I have in my family.

Due in no small part to the excellent weather conditions, and at least in some part to the many running miles I logged earlier in the year, the miles this year seemed to roll on by pretty smoothly. Never all day did I really have to do any walking in between aid stations. My stomach felt good, thankfully my Achilles was behaving, and I just tried to not slow down. A good Ironman run isn’t about running fast. It’s about not slowing down. I saw Dave a few times on the run while I was going one way and he was going the other. He looked good, and each time I saw him he was running and smiling, which are two very good signs that all is going well.

Just past the halfway turnaround near the Starbucks, a familiar voice thundered over the noise of the crowd, “Go Steve!” It was the unmistakable booming cheer of my dad. My parents have been there for all but one of my Ironmans, having missed just one when my mom was ill. Despite some health issues that have made it difficult for my dad to spend a long day on his feet, he has always been there for me, through heat and cold and rain and everything in between. He has always been there.

You know, come to think of it, besides my parents, I have been blessed to have a long list of family members who have always been there for me: Ironsherpa extraordinaire Jenni, Jenni’s parents, Jerry and Judy, my sisters Vicki and Deb, and of course, Dave. I don’t think any of them have missed even one Ironman over the past seven years, and most years the list has included brothers and sister-in-law, and numerous nieces and nephews. 2008 marked Ironman number five for my son Derek, despite the fact that he is only four. And of course, baby Darcie wasted no time getting into the Ironman spirit, making it to her first just five days into our world. I am blessed to say the very least.

About a mile into loop two, I stopped to give Jenni and Darcie a sweaty hug and kiss, and I set off to get this thing done. I ran by Dave another time or two, and he was still looking good, and still running. I was really proud of him, and happy to see his race was going well.

The second loop went by nicely uneventfully. I began to see that I should be able to run under four hours, which is always an unspoken goal of mine. In fact, if I could keep pressing, I thought I might be able to come in under 3:50. That gave me the motivation to keep running whenever I felt like taking a walk break.

Sadly, I had to abandon a personally cherished tradition this year. Each year that I have finished this race since my son Derek was born, I’ve crossed the finish line with him. I have always been a very responsible athlete when taking Derek across the finish with me, being conscientious to ensure we have never gotten in the way of any other athlete, have never in any way affected the finish or finish line photo of any other athlete, and have never caused a burden to anyone in the finisher’s pen. Unfortunately, not all athletes have been as considerate in the past; hence North America Sports was forced to get stricter about their finish line policy this year. Athletes this year were allowed to finish with no more than one child between the ages of six and 16, period. Seeing as Derek was only four, I had to bring this tradition to a close this year and cross the line alone. It meant more to me than to Derek, I’m sure, but I was saddened that our streak was coming to an end.

Nevertheless, the finish line once again proved to be a magical experience: the roaring crowd, the bright lights, and the announcer booming over the speakers, “Steve Emmert from Crystal Lake, Illinois…YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!” It’s a really cool pay off for a very long, hard day’s work. My time was 12:21:53, which was nowhere near a PR, but still about 20 minutes faster than my pre-race estimates.

My friend, Ali, who was there cheering me on at the wetsuit peeler station, was there to “catch me” at the finish line. Ali walked and talked with me to the back of the finish pen, and she really wanted to talk with Jenni since they hadn’t seen each other for awhile. It’s a mighty crowded place just outside the finish pen, with family and friends gathering to greet their athletes. Ali and I looked everywhere for my family for several minutes, but they were nowhere to be found. Eventually, Ali needed to return to her volunteering duties, and I continued to search for my family. Finally we found each other and the hugs and kisses and picture taking and story telling commenced.

After the reunion, I had to take off to get some food, warm clothes, and an ice pack for my Achilles, and then get back to the family to await Dave’s finish. Less than 14 hours into his race, Dave came into view, running down the chute with a huge smile on his face, finally experiencing the magic of the Ironman finish line, and in a time well under his expectations. It was great to be able to experience that post-race “glow” with my brother. (Actually to tell you the truth, you kind of “glow” for awhile from the adrenaline, then you get kind of pale, light-headed and nauseous, and really just need to sit down :-) )

Steve, Mom, Dad, and Dave

Lasts…

Seven weeks after the race I got a call from Dave. His voice was shaky. I hadn’t heard my brother like that since another call many years earlier when his first-born baby daughter was being rushed to a pediatric intensive care hospital in a fight for her life against a serious virus attacking her heart. It took weeks, but she won the battle. This time the news was about Dad. “I think Dad’s dead.” Those were the words. Dave had just gotten off the phone with Mom. She had just returned home to find Dad lying on the floor, unresponsive. He was being taken to the hospital, but it seemed clear that he was gone. The news was sudden, and unexpected. Just a couple weeks before, we had spent a few days with Mom and Dad so they could have some quality time with Derek and Darcie, and so Dad and I could participate in a musky fishing tournament. I’m so glad we got that time to spend with Dad. Who could have known they would be our last moments together?

Dad and I were a bit of an odd pair. I share some traits with Dad, such as his stubbornness, and strong will. But in many ways we found ourselves on opposite sides of the fence. We were not disagreeable, just different. Recently it had come to light that I did not share Dad’s very republican political viewpoints. I think he wondered just where he’d gone wrong as a father to have raised an Obama supporter. When Dad wasn’t watching the Fox News Channel, he was fishing, or reading about fishing, or working with the local chapter of Muskies Inc. As tests of endurance are to me, so was fishing a passion for my dad. Although I enjoy fishing from time to time, and will forever cherish the time I spent fishing with Dad just before he passed, I would much rather spend a few hours running or riding a bike than tossing a lure.

As much as Dad loyally supported my triathlon and running endeavors, and was proud as hell of my athletic accomplishments, I don’t think he really “got” endurance sports. A couple times, while well into an Ironman or ultramarathon, Dad would say things like, “Are you having fun yet?”, or “Are you still glad you signed up for this?” I know he was just joking around, but these are not the kinds of words that help when you’re hurting and fighting to keep moving forward. I know he loved me and wanted nothing more than to see me succeed at my various pursuits, but I don’t think he ever really understood what drove me to test my limits with these events.

A long test of endurance has the effect of slowly and gradually peeling back your exterior shell, first physically, then emotionally, until all that is left is…you. The strong defense shield you put up to surround and protect you in everyday life is stripped away, revealing who you really are, what you’re really made of. David Blaikie, a Canadian journalist and runner who put much of his focus toward writing about the activities of ultrarunners, put it like this:

"... Perhaps the genius of ultrarunning is its supreme lack of utility. It makes no sense in a world of space ships and supercomputers to run vast distances on foot. There is no money in it and no fame, frequently not even the approval of peers. But as poets, apostles and philosophers have insisted from the dawn of time, there is more to life than logic and common sense. The ultra runners know this instinctively. And they know something else that is lost on the sedentary. They understand, perhaps better than anyone, that the doors to the spirit will swing open with physical effort. In running such long and taxing distances they answer a call from the deepest realms of their being -- a call that asks who they are ..."

An extreme test of endurance is like a ritual that breaks you down, and breaks you down, and breaks you down, until finally, you break through to something else and come out the other side stronger for it. It is a way to strengthen yourself on the inside, so you don’t need such a strong defense shield on the outside. It is exercise for your soul.

My dad had the strongest defense shield of anyone I have ever known. He wasn’t going to let anyone crack open his hard shell to reveal the frailties hidden inside. Not even him. And that is why I believe my impulsion to push my body and my spirit to their limit and beyond, thereby exposing my sheltered weaknesses, was a bit of a mystery to him. I'm afraid he never really understood that to make yourself stronger on the inside, you have to find a way to break yourself open and confront your true self.

Yet, through it all, despite not really understanding why I did what I did, what my dad did understand and respect is that it mattered a great deal to me. And if it mattered that much to me, then damn it, it mattered that much to him, because I was his son, whom he loved.

And so, there he was, at every Ironman, yelling louder than seemed necessary to make sure I knew he was there for me. There he was at my first Ironman in 2002, as Deb put it, “sick with a rare disease rendering him less active than he’d like to be at his age, wanting to jump in and run part of the Ironman with his son because he was just so damned proud of him and wanted to show it”. There he was in 2003, at the State Street turnaround, taking matters into his own hands and stepping out into the middle of the street, cowbell in hand, to bring the energy back to the crowd after the announcers left for the finish line. There he was in the sweltering heat of 2005, writing to me in an email after the first and only DNF of my life at mile 22 on the run, “I could never have been more proud you.” There he was in 2006, standing around all day in the cold and wind and relentless rain, just to cheer me on for a second or two as I ran by.

And, there he was in 2008, his voice thundering over the noise of the crowd...

“Go Steve!”

Dad at the State St. turnaround, 2003

Dad's Video Tribute

2008-10-30T18:48:00.005-05:00

I Remember...

2008-10-30T12:35:00.015-05:00

I remember our fishing vacations in Park Falls, stumbling out of bed and into the camper on the back of the pickup in what seemed like the middle of the night, us kids still in our jammies, driving for what seemed like forever.

I remember spending one vacation day tooling around the lake on a pontoon boat, and even though the cruise was a break from fishing, Dad still brought his pole and kept his eyes peeled for any swirl in the water that could signal a musky working nearby.

I remember fishing for pan fish with Dad, and him reminding me over and over again not to rest my pole on the edge of the boat, so I could feel the fish bite.

I remember swimming in the lake at our house, and the days I would talk Dad into throwing us into the air as high as he could so we could splash back to the water, over and over and over again.

I remember the early mornings, riding with Dad in the truck, headed out to work on the farm, Dad chewing toothpick after toothpick down to splinters, and pouring coffee into the cup of his Thermos while bouncing down the country roads without ever spilling a drop.

I remember the hours I spent on the lawnmower, including the day I ran over the flag pole, completely flattening it to the ground. But, I don’t remember Dad being mad about it.

I remember the football games, and the baseball games, and the wrestling meets, with Dad cheering loudly from the stands. And, he’s still been there as I’ve gotten older, at Ironman and ultra-marathons, “high-fiving“, cowbell ringing, and overflowing with pride at the finish line.

I remember deciding to go to the University of Iowa, in my family full of Iowa State Cyclones, but I don’t remember Dad ever trying to talk me out of it.

I remember Dad coming to help me move once in college, even though I hadn’t asked for help.

I remember Dad teaching me the importance of a firm handshake, but I also remember when Dad stopped shaking my hand, and started giving me a hug.

I remember when Dad began ending our phone calls with the words, “I love you.”

I remember Dad teaching me to always give 110%, to leave it all on the field, and to hold my head high, win or lose.

I remember learning from Dad, by example, how to work hard, and how to stand up for what you believe.

You see, I remember my Dad teaching me…how to be a Dad.

David Clark Emmert

Love, Honor and Pride

Husband, Dad and Papa

December 4, 1937 - October 25, 2008

Meeting the Family

2008-09-03T16:52:00.007-05:00

The Announcement

2008-09-03T16:50:00.001-05:00

We Think We'll Keep Her ;-)

2008-09-02T14:43:00.005-05:00

You'd think Derek has been holding babies his whole life. And of course, there's no doubt Grandma's had some practice :-)

Welcome to the Family! She's Perfect!

2008-09-02T11:23:00.005-05:00

We would like you all to meet the newest member of our family.

Darcie Ann Emmert
September 2nd, 2008, 10:35 am
8 lb., 20.5 in.
APGAR score a perfect 10!

She can't wait to meet you!

Jenni and Darcie are both doing great!

Wow!

2008-09-02T10:50:00.004-05:00

She's Beautiful!!!

2008-09-02T10:45:00.003-05:00

Everyone is wonderful!!!

Getting There

2008-09-02T10:00:00.000-05:00

We're ready to push!

Moving Along

2008-09-02T09:44:00.002-05:00

Jenni is dilated 8 cm now. I guess she starts pushing once she gets to 10 cm.

Epidural Is In

2008-09-02T09:20:00.003-05:00

The epidural is in, which apparently went fine. They made me leave the room for that. I headed to the cafeteria, of course.

Contractions Getting Stronger

2008-09-02T08:31:00.002-05:00

The contractions are definitely getting more intense now, which they said would happen after breaking the water. We'll probably start the epidural soon.

Water Broken

2008-09-02T08:04:00.002-05:00

The doctor just arrived and she just broke the water to get things moving along a bit more quickly and naturally. That went very well, nice clear fluid. They said she had a nice thick water bag which protected the baby very well. She is dilated about 4 cm. They said the baby looks very good on the monitor.

So, stuff is oozing, now. I guess in this game, oozing is progress.

The Pain Scale

2008-09-02T07:55:00.003-05:00

I think they should have a chart like this at the aid stations in some of my races.

I remember when Jenni was in labor with Derek and the contractions started to get pretty uncomfortable, they asked her where she was on the scale. She said something like "4". I looked at the chart and looked at her, and said, "your face doesn't look like that". I think she has a pretty high threshold for pain.

If men had to go through labor, I think the species would have gone extinct long ago.

Food

2008-09-02T07:29:00.003-05:00

Jenni tells me I'm obsessed about food. It's not about food to me, it's about energy. It would seem to me she's in a race of sorts, which is something I can relate to. And when I'm racing, I need energy.

When Derek was born, before we left for the hospital, I insisted we make a sandwich for Jenni to eat on the way since she probably would not be able to eat once we got there and I knew she'd need her energy. Of course, I made one for me, too :-)

She had her typical toast with peanut butter this morning, which she ate most of, although her nervous tummy did not feel hungry. I just tried to get her a snack, but the nurse said, sorry, no food until after delivery.

Good thing she had that toast ;-)

Names?

2008-09-02T07:10:00.002-05:00

Oh, and by the way, yes we do have a name picked out.

No, we're not telling :-) I can say that it is NOT one of Derek's suggestions, such as "Shaggy Dog".

The Fancy Contractions Gadget

2008-09-02T06:25:00.003-05:00

Since I don't really know what I'm supposed to be doing during this labor thing, I find myself studying all the fancy gadgets. I make it my job to let Jenni know when she's having a contraction by looking at the graph on the monitor (as if she needs me to tell her). They're about 3.5 to 4 minutes apart now.

Approaching a New Finish Line

2008-09-02T05:28:00.003-05:00

Today's the day! We arrived at the hospital at a dark and early 5 am this morning to induce labor. All is looking great. According to the fancy monitor, Jenni's actually having contractions about every 5 minutes, although she hardly feels them. I think this thing might have happened today anyway :-) I'll try to keep posting when I get a chance.

The Beauty and the Wrath of Mother Nature - 2008 Kettle Moraine 100K

2008-06-13T11:31:00.010-05:00

"I don't know if I can, but I know why I want to try. I want to try because I don't know if I can."

That's what I wrote when I decided to sign up for this race back in November. Signing up for the Kettle Moraine 100K Endurance Run was my first step into the world of ultrarunning. Running 62 miles seemed impossibly far at the time. But, so far, each step I've taken on this journey has taught me that when the mind believes the body will follow. And my mind hasn't failed me yet.

Since we ran in the aftermath of an unseasonably late snow storm at the Chippewa Moraine 50K in April, and we had absolutely perfect running weather for the Ice Age Trail 50 Mile in May, it would only seem right that Mother Nature would slam us with the worst heat and humidity of the year for Kettle. The race started at 6 AM, and although it was only 64 degrees, the humidity was 94%! Over the first few miles on the Nordic Loop it was very clear we were in for a long and difficult ordeal. Even though I was taking it easy and going slow, my heart rate was a good 10 to 15 beats higher than normal for the pace.

I tossed my sub 12 hour time goal out the window. Today would be about surviving the elements, not conquering them. The early miles clicked by uneventfully. I made sure to keep my two handhelds topped off with fluids at every aid station and tried my best to keep up with the conditions. A couple miles past the Bluff aid station, I was surprised to find myself already atop the second highest point on the course, Bald Bluff. The climb up to it had seemed more daunting during training and Ice Age 50.

Between Horseriders (12.3 mi) and Emma Carlin (15.5 mi), I fell in line with a few folks running together and enjoyed their camaraderie for awhile even though the pace felt a little slow. I figured that probably meant I was going a little too fast, so I just settled in and enjoyed the ride.

I'd never been farther north than Emma Carlin on the Ice Age Trail, but I had heard there were several miles of open rolling meadows in this section. Sure enough, not far past Emma Carlin we hit the first open prairie section followed by more wooded trail to Antique Lane (18.7 mi). From Antique Lane to the Highway 67 aid station (23.9 miles), a significant proportion of the trail was open meadows. The temperature was now in the mid-70s, and the humidity was still over 80%. I was not looking forward to coming back through this section on the return trip of the out and back course as it would be mid-afternoon by then.

But, on the positive side, it was at Hwy 67 that Jenni and Derek arrived to cheer me on. I'd not been keeping track of my time since I knew my original goals were out the window, but I asked Jenni and she told me I was about 15 minutes behind schedule. Seeing Jenni and Derek is always a nice boost of energy for me, and I was glad to receive it as I was starting to drag a bit.

Hwy 67 is the lowest point on the course, and from there the trail heads back into the woods and offers up plenty of hills, more of them going up than down, as it climbs to the highest point on the course on the Scuppernong Trail just before the turnaround. Somewhere between the Hwy ZZ aid station (26.5 mi) and the turnaround, another runner, Kent Green, caught me and we ran together for awhile. Kent seemed to have more energy than I at the time, and it was good to have someone to talk with for awhile. He was attempting his first 100 miler, and I see now from the participants list that Kent was one of the two youngest runners on the course that day at just 21 years old. As that is almost half my age I don't feel so bad that Kent had more spring in his step at that point :-)

Kent and I pulled into the turnaround at Scuppernong (31.4 mi) at 6:04 on the race clock (12:04 PM). This was nearly 25 minutes behind my original pace plan, and I was already one tired puppy. I spent some extra time at the aid station resting, refueling, and cooling down. The temperature was now pushing into the lower 80s, and the humidity was still near 80%. Eventually, I pulled myself together and soldiered on.

As I returned back through the Scuppernong trail I was struck by the awesome beauty of the place. At one point I found myself down in a kettle bowl marveling at the lush green walls of the forest surrounding me. I heard the runner in front of me simply say, "Beautiful!", and I couldn't agree more. Despite my fatigue, at that moment I felt truly blessed to be able to do what I was doing, and to be doing it in such an amazing place.

When I returned again to the Hwy ZZ aid station (36.4 mi), expecting to be greeted by my loving cheering section, I instead encountered almost-4-year-old Derek, arms folded, lower lip pouting, making that "hmmf" sound. Clearly, he was pissed about something. Turns out, he'd found this really great stick and someone (he claims it was Mom, but she denies it) stepped on it and broke it. "It was the best stick. There aren't any other good sticks.", Derek pouted to me when I asked for the story. "Derek", I said, "You're in the middle of the forest. Surely you can find another good stick. A better one." But he was sure that was the last good stick in all the forest. What it was really all about was 'hot, humid, and past nap time', but it made for some nicely distracting entertainment for a couple minutes.

When I hit the Hwy 67 station (39 mi), I was happy to see that Derek had indeed found a new, better stick. This one was shaped like a Star Wars blaster, and of course I was cold-heartedly blasted by my little storm trooper upon arrival.

Around this point, we started hearing reports of some serious weather possibly headed our way. Besides that, what I had to look forward to was the miles of open meadows between me and Emma Carlin. Onward. One foot in front of the other.

The meadows lived up to their reputation. Exposed in the heat, the humidity even higher in the rolling fields of tall grasses, it sucked the energy right out of me. I got into a rhythm of running the exposed sections and walking in the shade of the sparsely scattered sections of trees to try and cool off. At one point, leaving one long meadow behind me, seeing another long exposed section in front of me, I sat down in a small grove of trees to recover. I've never sat down in the middle of a race anywhere other than at an aid station. (Well, there was that one time at Ironman Wisconsin 2005 which ended with an EMT helping me into an ambulance, but that story has already been told). But, as the saying goes in ultrarunning, "It never always gets worse." I think that quote needs to be followed with, "assuming you live to tell the tale", but that's just me.

A few miles later I came upon Kent again, walking and talking with Meghan Hicks. Meghan looked familiar but it took awhile for me to realize why. She also ran Chippewa Moraine back in April. None of us was having a particularly good time just then, so we walked a bit and ran a bit together. We had each been drained by the oppressive conditions. I ran with Kent and Meghan on and off for most of the rest of the race.

The rain drops started to fall just as I arrived at Emma Carlin (47.3 mi). Reports were that we were soon to be nailed by a strong storm. A little rain sounded good to me. A tornado, not so much. Keep moving forward.

Somewhere past Horseriders (50.5 mi) is when it happened. The sky opened. Flashes of lighting were followed sooner and sooner by violent crashes of thunder. The rain started coming down as hard as I've ever experienced. Quickly the trails turned into little raging rivers. Rocks on the hills created small waterfalls. Dips in the trail turned into shallow ponds. And the lightning got closer. Twice there were explosions of lighting so close it made me instinctively duck. I was just praying that my time was not up yet. Since I was on a section of trail going more uphill than down, heading toward the highest point in the area at Bald Bluff, I had thoughts of heading off-trail to lower ground to wait out the lightning. But seeing as I was surrounded by thousands of trees, I figured the lightning would much rather nail one of those giants than little me, so I slogged onward.

Between the pounding of the rain, the pounding of the miles, and the damage inflicted by the heat and humidity of the day, my legs and feet were in bad shape. Running uphill was impossible, and running downhill was too painful. Running the flats kind of sucked, too, but I tried. I was already beyond "the hardest thing I've ever done", and every new step was one step farther into the unknown for me.

By the time I reached the peak of Bald Bluff, the worst of the storm had passed, and a new problem presented itself. Mosquitoes. The pounding rain had washed off whatever insect repellent remained on my flesh, and the mosquitoes were swarming. They gave me incentive to keep running so I could reach Jenni, and a can of bug spray, at Bluff Road.

After finally reaching the Bluff Road station (55.5 mi), and applying a liberal coating of bug spray, I felt ready to finish this thing off. I ran and walked the first couple miles of the Nordic loop with Kent and Meghan, and then I tried to dial it up and run as strong as I could the rest of the way. I pulled into the final aid station at Tamarack (57.8 miles), and in my mind I was thinking the finish was less than 3 miles farther. I was informed it was another 5.1 miles (the course is a little longer than 100K, at 62.9 miles). The last few miles of this race are anything but easy. It's an endless series of roller coaster ups and downs, and I was hurting. With three miles to go I really couldn't run anymore. Usually I'm able to muster up some extra energy and extra resolve late in a race and finish strong. Not in this race. Not on this day. I was humbled by the course. Humbled by the conditions. Humbled by the distance.

And humbled does not even begin to describe what I was feeling about the runners headed the other direction. As I was coming into the finish of the 100K, thoroughly beaten, there were runners headed the other direction on their quest to finish 100 miles! When I signed up for the 100K, my thought was that if I could survive 100K I'd make an attempt at 100 miles next year. But with a couple miles to go in my 100K, all I could think was, "I will never ever do this again". How in the hell, after all of that, are these people continuing to run, knowing that they are setting off to cover another 38 miles, into the dark of night, with thunder beginning to rumble in the sky once again? How? How? I thought I was tough. I thought I was strong. That girl was, was...she was smiling! What the hell? Clearly, there is another level of tough that remains beyond my understanding.

All I could tell myself was that if I kept putting one foot in front of the other, this would eventually end. Finally I began to hear the sounds of the finish line. Finally, Jenni and Derek came into view, and Derek was ready to run. I handed Jenni my water bottles, and ran with Derek the final 100 yards to the finish line, crossing the line in 13 hours and 45 minutes.

Of course, Derek wanted to play then. He told me I didn't have to run, but sitting was no good. But, I had to sit. I was feeling pretty bad, knowing I had to eat, but not feeling one bit hungry. I eventually got myself into some dry clothes, found a place to sit near the food table, and tried to get some calories and fluids into my system. It took awhile, but I started to feel better. Not my legs. My legs were shot. But the rest of me finally began to recover from the trauma.

As it turns out, I wasn't the only one who suffered that day. Of the 70 runners who started the 100K, only 38 of us finished. I was 11th among them and 3rd in the 40-49 division. Of the 123 starters of the 100 mile run, just 37 finished the full distance. Many decided to call it a day at 100K. I'd venture to guess those are the lowest finishing percentages in this event's history.

-

So, I said I'd never do that again. But as anyone who has participated in endurance events can tell you, time is a wonderful anesthetic. It quickly forces the mind to lose track of just how badly it hurt. I can't let go of the mental image of those runners headed back out there for the final leg of the 100 miles as I was limping in to the finish of the 100K. They have something that I don't have. Even those that didn't end up finishing the 100 miles. Just the fact that they had the strength and resolve to push onward, having been just steps from their car. They picked themselves up and pushed on, heading out into the night. How? Physically, mentally,...how? I don't understand it. It bothers me that this event was so hard for me. And, it bothers me more that the idea of running 100 miles feels no more clear to me now than it did before...maybe even less clear. Those people possess some character than I do not yet possess. Whatever it is, I want it.

When the mind believes, the body will follow.
-

"RUN!" - Ice Age Trail 50

2008-05-12T16:25:00.011-05:00

When the farthest you have ever run is 31 miles, how do you convince yourself you are capable of running 19 miles farther? 50 miles. I guess there is but one way. Run 50 miles. And so, at 6AM on May 10, 2008, I found myself standing amongst 250 other runners awaiting the start of the 27th running of the Ice Age Trail 50.

It was a cool morning in the upper 30s with temps expected to rise to the upper 50s or low 60s by day's end, no wind, clear skies early, clouds in the afternoon. If you were to place an order to God for the perfect running weather, that would be about how it would read.

The race starts with a 9 mile loop on wide cross country ski and hiking trails, followed by a 24 mile out and back to the southwest, then a 17 mile out and back to the northeast. The early 9 mile loop was very runnable with some flat sections on soft pine needle covered trail, and numerous roller coaster hills. It was a perfect layout to let the field of runners spread out before entering the narrow single track of the Ice Age Trail.

A few miles into the early loop I found myself running and chatting with Caroline Spencer. I learned this was Caroline's 12th Ice Age 50, that she has completed several 100 milers all over the country, and like me she has competed in every Ironman Wisconsin triathlon starting with the inaugural (and that the 2005 edition of IMWI left a similar blemish on each of our racing resumes :-(. I have found that ultra runners are such a humble lot, you have to pull out of them all the incredible things they've accomplished. I hope I didn't drive her crazy asking questions about her achievements and experiences, but to my benefit our chat helped the first 9 miles feel almost effortless.

I stopped at my drop bag at the end of the loop to shed a layer of clothes and refill my handheld bottle, and off I headed for the first out and back section. This section has everything. A few flat romps across open grassy meadows, but mostly narrow winding dirt single track, steep rocky ups and downs, projecting tree roots, and a few timber stair steps thrown in to keep things interesting. I lost track of how many times I nearly tripped and fell, and I rolled my left ankle pretty good once, but I managed to stay upright and injury-free throughout this section.

I ran by myself through much of the first out and back, and was starting to drag a bit around 18 or 19 miles. But my spirits picked up when the leaders starting coming back at us. Something about handing out a smile and a "Nice job!" to the passersby helped to lift my spirits and return some energy back to me.

After rounding the first turn, between mile 22 to 26, or so, I was actually feeling pretty good. My spirits and energy were high. It was in this section that my wife and son, Jenni and Derek, arrived to cheer me on at each of the accessible aid stations.

Somewhere after about 26 miles I started feeling less chipper, and I concluded that I had actually been taking in too much fluid. I was feeling slightly light headed, I'd been "watering the plants" a bit too frequently, and my hands and fingers were noticeably puffy and swollen. So, I started to dial way back on the fluid intake. I made sure to take salt tablets regularly, and add a bit more food from the aid stations to make up for the calories and electrolytes I otherwise would have been getting from the sports drink. I think that was the right move, but it's not like I immediately started feeling better.

Around mile 33 marked the end of the first out and back and the start of the second out and back at an intersection in the trail called "Confusion Corner". I'm glad there was a volunteer there to tell me where to go because I certainly would have taken a wrong turn otherwise.

Not far into the second out and back section is the climb up to Bald Bluff, the highest point on the course, with a memorable long steep rocky hill to take you there. This hill is also called Indian Signal Hill. The name reminds me of something I've noticed from cycling. When you're cycling it's pretty common that the most significant climbs on the route take you to hill tops with large radio antennas at the peak. I guess the Indians used the some logic for sending messages, they just used different technology.

I was definitely slowing down on the out section of the final out and back. More than once I realized that I was walking, but I'd long since crested the hill I had been walking up and just unconsciously continued walking the following flat. I had to shake myself out my daze and remember to start running again.

When I reached the final turn around at the Emma Carlin bike trails, just past mile 40, I was happy to see Jenni and Derek. I took a break to eat and drink, and to, well, just stop for awhile. But after a couple minutes of that and confessing how tired I was, Derek had heard about enough and he just yelled out, "Run!". I found that pretty funny, and started to laugh. But, Derek wasn't laughing. "RUN!!", he yelled again, louder this time. The boy was serious. He knew this was a race and it wasn't sitting right with him that I had stopped for so long. "RUN!!!", he shouted once more, and with that, what could I do but soldier on...and RUN!

Derek's lively proclamation was like magic to my psyche. As I started to head back to complete the final 10 miles, each time I found myself walking anywhere other than a steep hill, I heard Derek yelling, "RUN!" in my head, and it got me going again. With about 6 or 7 miles to go I started doing the math and I could see that I had a chance to come in under 9 hours. But, to do so I'd have to dial it up a notch. I started to dig deeper, to push harder, to walk less, and to run faster. My exhalations started to become some kind of primal growl to shed the pain and fatigue. I didn't know how fast I was going, but I knew I need to average a little better than 10 minute miles over the last 6 miles to make it, and that was nearly 2 minutes per mile faster than I'd been managing over the preceding 10 to 15 miles. And, I'd have to go back over Indian Signal Hill in the process, not to mention the dozens of other lesser bumps on the trail.

When I reached aid station #8, with 2.5 miles to go, my watch said 8:35. I was still on track for 9 hours, but just barely. There could be no slowing down now. Fortunately the biggest of the hills were now behind me and it was just a matter of pushing through the fatigue to keep the pace up. At the final aid station, with 1.5 miles to go, my watch said 8:45. I started to believe I could make it, but the final mile and a half seemed to go on forever. Finally, I could hear the announcer at the finish line and I knew I would make it. When I arrived at the finishers cute, there was Derek and he was ready to run. He jumped in with me and sprinted across the line. I'd say we crossed the line together, but I couldn't catch the little guy :-) The clock said 8:58:01.

It wasn't like 9 hours was some really important goal I had tucked away in my back pocket for this race, but I guess subconsciously, it was indeed exactly that. And, I was glad there was a part of me deep inside that wanted it because those last 10 miles could have really sucked if I didn't have that goal to wrap my mind around.

So, I guess I CAN run 50 miles. Imagine that. Now, I just need to tack 12 more miles onto that for my 100K next month. And then... Jeez, where does this end?

"It's Just a Training Run" - Chippewa Moraine 50K 2008

2008-04-13T10:02:00.028-05:00

"It's just a training run."

That's what I was telling myself when I signed up for the inaugural Chippewa Moraine 50K.

It's not that I really view a 50K as "just" anything other than a really long way to run, particularly seeing as this would actually be my first ultra. Rather, it's that my first step down this ultra path was to sign up for the Kettle Moraine 100K, coming up in June. Some time after that fool hearty mouse click, I got to thinking that perhaps I should try a couple shorter races first to get some experience. And that's how I found Chippewa. You know, "just a training run."

I got a bit more than I bargained for.

As race day loomed near, I started peeking at the weather forecast. It didn't look good. As much as I distrust weather forecasts of anything beyond the next 24 hours, it looked pretty inevitable that we were going to be hit by something unpleasant. But, would it be cold rain, or sleet, or snow? And, just how much? The race site appeared to be right on the line between rain and snow as part of a huge storm sweeping across the country. Areas to the north were forecast to receive a foot or more of snow in the 24 to 36 hours before the race. For New Auburn, it was looking like we would likely see just a couple inches of fresh snow.

"It's just a couple inches."

We arrived in Chippewa Falls on Friday afternoon, picked up a few groceries, and after a brief scare that our van's cooling system was crapping out on us (turned out to be nothing serious), we headed out to the race site to get checked in. The Chippewa Moraine Interpretive Center on the Ice Age Trail northeast of New Auburn was great. My three year old son, Derek, (he'd be quick to point out, "I'm three and three quarters") was having a blast checking out the snakes and turtles and all the various items on display. The staff there was very friendly, and they came over to let Derek see and touch the painted turtle, and let us watch him "run" across the floor. I noted for the record how much quicker the little guy was running than I probably would be the next day.

In the race packet was a flier for a place in Chippewa Falls called Loopy's Saloon and Grill which sounded right up our alley, so that made dinner plans easy. I filled up on the classic athlete's pre-race meal of beer and pizza before heading to the Country Inn and Suites for the night. Our initial plans had us heading about 70 miles farther north to stay with my parents east of Hayward, but given that they were being pounded by a major snowstorm, we had already tweaked the itinerary and decided to stay closer to the race site.

We awoke early Saturday to see that, sure enough, Mother Nature had delivered the promised inch or two of fresh snow. It didn't seem like that should be a big deal. The big unknown for me was, how much snow was already out there on the course, still hanging on from the winter that just wouldn't quit? Reports were that there was still snow on much of the course, particularly on north facing slopes.

So, what to wear on my feet? I decided to go with insulated shoe covers/gaiters and Kahtoola Microspikes. The shoe covers are made more for cycling than running, but I've used them together with the Microspikes several times this winter, and the combo has worked pretty well, particularly on hard packed snow and ice. On several inches of soft snow, the spikes do little good, except to hold the toe end of my shoe covers in place. Not exactly sure what to expect out there, I wore a waist pack thinking that if I wanted to shed the extra footwear I could stuff them in my pack. I figured it would be better to have my spikes and not need them then to need them and not have them.

We arrived at the race site less than 15 minutes before the scheduled start time, which was about 15 minutes later than we had planned. So, I left my wife, Jenni, and a sleeping Derek, in the van, and with a rushed description of how they could get around to the aid stations along the course. Jenni will be the first to admit that she's a bit "directionally challenged", so I wasn't sure when I'd see them next.

I arrived just in time to catch Wynn's pre-race talk before we all gathered in the snow covered field in front of the Interpretive Center for the start. I found myself a bit farther back in the pack than I wanted, so as soon as we started running I quickly made my way around the crowd to settle in about 1/3 to 1/4 back from the front of the field before we entered the trail, figuring passing would be challenging once we entered the woods.

The first couple miles of the trail didn't seem too bad. There was a fair amount of snow out there, in addition to the couple of newly added inches, but the dozens of feet pounding away in front of me quickly packed the snow down to form a narrow path with reasonable footing. I learned very quickly that in a trail ultra, especially on snow, you can't always run your pace. Within the first mile I found myself in a single file line with a small group going a bit slower than I would have liked. Passing meant stepping outside the freshly packed narrow path into soft snow several inches deep with who knows what hazards possibly hidden beneath. I decided it was probably best to just settle in and take it easy. After all, there were still 30 miles to go.

At the first aid station about two miles in I was happy to see Jenni already there with camcorder in hand, cheering me on. Around mile three I was reminded about why I had done virtually no running in the two weeks leading up to the race. My left calf started to complain. At 3.5 miles it actually hurt pretty bad. Not good when you have more than a marathon still to go. But, you know, I started to get pretty pissed off at my calf about this rebellion. My calves have been giving me grief on and off for a handful of years now, and it's about time they suck it up and get with the program. So I decided, fitting with race director Wynn's directive of "no whining", that I wasn't going to listen to this whimpering from my calf. Enough already. Go ahead and hurt. It's not going to get you off the hook. You're coming with me, and I'm not about to DNF my first ultra at less than five miles, dammit! That was the end of the conversation with my calf. It may have kept moaning, but I stopped listening.

Upon meeting up with a crowd again, I decided to try and pass while a small group in front of me walked up a hill. It took more effort than it was probably worth, but I really wanted some open trail in front of me so I could dictate my own pace for awhile.

The trouble with this plan, as I well know from experience, is that once I spike my heart rate like that it just doesn't seem to want to settle back down again to match my perceived effort. At least that's what I told myself. In reality I was having trouble coming to grips with the fact that this was going to be a much, much longer and harder effort than I had imagined. Any thought I had about my anticipated finishing time was already long gone, and even at what was a seemingly ridiculous slow pace, the going was tough. The snow seemed to start getting thicker, the traction worse.

I started to conclude that the Microspikes were doing practically no good at all on the soft snow. In fact, snow was starting to clump on the bottom of my shoes, forcing me to flick it off every few strides. At the second aid station around mile five, I peeled off the Microspikes and handed them to Jenni. The change didn't give me any better traction, but it didn't seem significantly worse either, and the reduced weight was an instant relief. But, the clumping snow continued to be an issue, with snow sticking to the straps of my shoe covers under the arches of my shoes. So, at the next aid station around mile eight, off went the shoe covers as well.

Now, just so you don't get the wrong idea, with all the challenges of the day, the conditions of the trail, my footwear annoyances, pacing troubles, my whining calf...all of that aside, I was having a blast. The course was truly beautiful, and unique. It was hard to really take in and appreciate the full beauty of the place because taking your eye off the trail for more than one stride was to invite a sudden face plant or turned ankle. But it was the kind of place that just felt peaceful. The funky, rickety, narrow boardwalks winding over sections of marshland...that's the kind of stuff that imprints itself permanently in your memory.

But even beyond the beauty of the setting, I had a feeling during this race that I've never had in any other race I've ever run. It occurred to me out there that this was the first time in all my years of racing that I've ever been, well, not "racing". I've raced against others. I've raced against the clock. I've raced against myself. I've raced against the course. I've raced against the weather. This didn't feel like any of those. The word "participating" doesn't do it justice either. And, it's not simply that I felt content to take it easy, because there was nothing easy about what I was doing. This was damn hard work despite what the pace might later prevaricate on paper. It was none of that. I was simply immensely enjoying the challenge set before me in a way that I don't think I can properly describe. The best things in life can't be told. They must be experienced.

Derek was finally awake by the time I hit aid station #4 around nine miles, and I'm sure he has no idea how great a boost it was to see his smiling face running toward me, arms wide, yelling, "Daddy!!" No gel, no sports drink, no caffeinated beverage ever concocted can come close to matching the boost of energy you get from that!

The six mile section between aid station #4 and the turn around seemed to be where the snow got just nutty. Several sections had snow knee deep, which I learned more than once while stepping just off the beaten path. Around mile 10 I settled in behind two guys who were going about my pace and I was happy to follow. Between mile 11 and 12 somewhere I started to wonder when we'd see the leaders coming back toward us, and how cozy the narrow trail was going to get then. When we saw a few runners headed toward us, however, it was disconcerting to discover that they were not the leaders. We'd all taken a wrong turn somewhere, and they were headed back. When we asked them if they were sure, they said they got to a point where there were no more footprints. Yep, wrong turn indeed. Fortunately we weren't too far off the mark and the little detour probably only cost us five minutes, or so.

But, when we found our way back to the right trail, the mistake resulted in a major traffic jam. We found ourselves queued up in a long line of about 20 runners, moving slower than we'd been traveling before our side trip. A couple times I tried to get by a few runners only to have the terrain force me back in line, and really no further ahead. And, that's the way it would be all the way to the turn around. As I guessed, it did indeed get tricky when the leaders started coming back toward us. I always tried to step off the beaten path a bit to let them by, but it was not always so easy. The leaders were a real stand-up bunch of guys. Most of top 10 or so runners offered words of encouragement as they squeezed by, which I found really impressive.

It was a great relief to reach the turn around, but I did my best to refuel and restock quickly, and get out of there before most of the crowd I'd been running behind. As the miles progressed after the turn around, the snow conditions began to change. Snow that had been kind of "sticky" earlier was turning into a slush about the consistency of a 7-11 Slurpee, and the change was not good. You just could not get any decent traction on this Slurpee snow. You'd plant your foot, and it would slide one way or another, sending you off balance. Also, several areas had become wetter and muddier, and there was no getting around stepping into ankle deep icy water from time to time.

There were no more long lines of runners on the return trip. I was typically behind two or three people, or completely alone. In fact, there were long stretches where I couldn't see anyone in either direction as far as I could see. I couldn't help but to start becoming annoyed at the snow at this point. Besides feeling constantly off balance, I kept repeatedly kicking the inside of my left ankle with the inner edge of my right shoe, always in the same spot. And, that spot was getting very painful. Each time it happened, I'd wince with pain, and curse the Slurpee snow. I was more than done with winter. Really. Enough with the snow already.

Something else happened on the return trip. The hills. There were more of them, they were bigger, and they were steeper. Yes, I know it's an out and back course, but I'm telling you there must still be glaciers out there reforming the topology, and it happens much more quickly than tens of thousands of years. It was just a few hours, but several new hills appeared. I'm sure of it.

Returning back to aid station #2, around mile 26, I was happy to see that my parents had arrived to join Jenni and Derek. The roads to the north had finally been cleared of the dumping of snow they'd received, allowing my cheering section to double in size for the final few miles. And I needed some extra cheering, because those final few miles seemed to go on forever. What a relief it was when the Interpretive Center finally came into view. Fittingly, the final stretch to the finish is uphill, and when I arrived at the finishing chute, Derek was there and happy to see me. I encouraged him to grab my hand and we crossed the finish line together.

My time was 6:20, nearly two hours longer than the time I believed I was capable of had conditions been favorable. But, I certainly was not disappointed. It was a long hard effort, and I enjoyed a major sense of accomplishment.

It didn't take long to find my way to a hot bowl of some fabulous chili at the well stocked post race party. With some warm food in my belly, and a welcomed change into dry clothes, I had my hands on the cap of a bottle of Leinie's Honey Weiss when Derek ran up to me, and said, "Daddy, will you play with me?" I smiled, put the bottle down, and played in the snow with my son. The same snow I'd just been cursing.

The best things in life can't be told.

New Milestones

2008-03-10T16:43:00.004-05:00

One of the most satisfying aspects of running is reaching a new milestone. When you're just getting started in your running, those new milestones come rapidly. Your first 5K or 10K. The first time you hit double digits, running 10 miles. Your first half marathon. If you've ever trained for a marathon, you probably remember the first time you covered 20 miles in training. And, of course, there's the satisfaction of crossing the finish line of your first marathon.

26.2.

The marathon. It's a major accomplishment. A life changing experience for some.

But like most runners who've worked their way up to the marathon distance, I've never taken a stride beyond 26.2 miles. 26.2 has been the ceiling of my running distance milestones for over seven years.

I've finally broken through the ceiling.

In each of my last two long training runs, each of the last two Saturdays, I hit 26.2 miles...and kept running. 26.6 miles a week ago, and 29 miles this past weekend.

It's been a pretty amazing experience, actually. It really wasn't all that long ago that I had no desire to venture beyond 26.2. Any thought of running beyond that distance just sounded too painful to consider. Every marathon I've ever run, whether as a standalone marathon or in an Ironman...about 10 times in total...has left me hobbling for days. For days following each of those efforts, walking down stairs was a torturous ordeal. My mind and body had no interest in finding out how much more pain may await by venturing farther.

But, then one day I fixed my mind on distances beyond 26.2 miles. Suddenly, and quite to my surprise, covering 26.2 miles doesn't seem that painful anymore. Now racing 26.2 miles, that's another beast altogether. But covering the distance at a training pace is starting to become rather ordinary. I've been surprised to discover that aside from some minor soreness in my knees, and a random ache here and there, my legs feel...well, not good, but not so bad after these marathon-plus runs.

Having nearly covered the distance in training already, 50K feels well within my reach. But, 50 miles? 62 miles? I have yet to really wrap my mind around those distances. And, 100 miles...that still feels beyond my imagination.

But, when I turn around and look back, I see that I've truly begun an adventure into new territory, and that hasn't happened in quite some time. I don't exactly know where this path leads, but I know this. When the mind believes, the body follows. Now I just need to get my mind to believe I can run 62 miles. One step at a time.

"Daddy, I need to go do my run now."

2008-02-24T18:35:00.007-06:00

When I got back from my run yesterday, my 3 year old son, Derek, first excitedly showed me the two snowmen (correct that...snowpirates) he had just built with my wife. The one on the right with the red bandanna, the cutlass, the eye patch, and the hook, was the captain. The one on the left with the black bandanna was his first mate. Between them was a pile of snow and a shovel, where they'd just dug for treasure, of course.

But then he quickly shifted gears and announced, "I need to go do my run now." Off he went to put on his shoes. Not just any shoes. These were the ones he refers to as his "fast shoes". This was serious. I thought he was going to do a few laps down the hall and through the living room, but he headed for the door to the garage. He opened the door, not having bothered to put on a coat, and asked one of us to put up the garage door. Seeing now he was intent on heading outdoors, we put on his coat and sent him on his way. Since the road in front of the house was solid ice, we suggested he stick to the driveway, and with that he was gone.

We hustled to the window to spectate, and watched in amusement for the next several minutes as Derek ran laps around my car in the driveway. He'd jog down the sidewalk, up onto the front porch, back down the sidewalk, around the car, over and over. When I saw him peeking into the garage, I opened the door thinking he was done, but he just said, "I'm not done yet.", and turned to do a few more laps.

When he finally decided he'd done enough, he came inside and I offered him a cup of water to rehydrate. He showed me his muscles so I could see how they were getting bigger and stronger. I drank a glass of milk and ate a banana, telling Derek how I needed to refuel. He told me how his throat "hurt" while he was running, and we talked about how breathing hard in the cold air can cause a burning sensation in your throat and lungs while your body adapts to the conditions.

Just two runners, talking runner talk. :-)

-Steve

Winter's Not Always So Bad

2008-02-16T20:00:00.008-06:00

This winter I've run in sub-zero wind chills, several times. I've run in snowstorms. I've run in several inches of fresh powder. I've run in snowshoes. I've run on a slush covered frozen lake. I've run through skin-stinging icy snow blasting at me sideways. I've run with sheet metal screws in the soles of my shoes for traction. I've run on solid ice. And, a few times when I just couldn't bring myself to face the cold in the dark of the early morning hours, I've run on (shudder) a treadmill. Enough with the character builders already.

But, today, I actually had one of those runs that makes winter seem not so bad after all. Yep, it was on snow, and it was still undeniably winter. But, the sun was shining. The wind wasn't blowing. It was a very tolerable 30 degrees, or so. And, the several inches of snow on the trails was packed just enough that the footing was not half bad. All things considered, it was a good day.

This was my second time trying out my latest traction gadgets, Kahtoola Microspikes, and they worked like a charm. I was never at a want for traction today. They're certainly no replacement for snowshoes, so the snow needs to be relatively packed down for Microspikes to work well. But, today was perfect for them.

I covered 23 miles on the snow today, 3 hours and 45 minutes worth. In fact, I believe this was actually my longest training run ever, outside of races. And, on snow covered trails to boot. It was a good day.

All that said...I'm pretty much ready for spring now :-)

-Steve

Looking Ahead - My 2008 Race Schedule

2007-12-17T12:53:00.000-06:00

Here's how things are looking for 2008 racing. If you've been reading you may know that I'll be trying something new in '08...ultrarunning. I've added a couple more ultras in my buildup to the 100K in June. So, it looks like running will dominate my early season racing, and triathlon will take over later in the season.

So, the plan for '08 is looking something like this:

April 12 - Chippewa Moraine 50K Trail Run
May 10 - Ice Age Trail 50 Mile Trail Run
June 7 - Kettle Moraine 100K Trail Run
July 20 - Door County Half Iron Triathlon
September 7 - Ironman Wisconsin

So, that's one whole sport I've never tried before, four new races I've never experienced, and one rather familiar event to cap things off. I'm really looking forward to seeing how things go.

If '08 goes well, look for a 100 mile run on the agenda for '09 ;-)

-Steve

Trail Running + Snow = Snowshoe Running!

2007-12-17T11:13:00.002-06:00

My training plan called for a 2 hour 15 minute run yesterday, we got several inches of fresh snow the day before, and I didn't feel like doing my run on the pavement. All that added up to me calling around to find some snowshoes. I'd been wanting some anyway just for this sort of occasion. I found a ski shop nearby that carried a line of snowshoes, so I headed there and picked up a pair that looked like they'd work well for running (Redfeather Trek 25)...not too big, not too heavy, with a narrow tail.

I headed to the park in town where I've been doing most of my trail running. I ran there last weekend on packed snow with just my running shoes and some small steel spikes (by Surefoot) but that wasn't going to work very well in six inches of fresh powder. I strapped on the snowshoes and I was off. It was a bit awkward for the first 10 minutes or so, but not quite as awkward as I'd imagined. I had to lift my knees a little higher with each stride, and widen my stance a bit to keep from clunking my snowshoes together. But, it was certainly a much shorter learning curve than, say, cross country skiing. It was hard work, at a much slower pace than I'm used to, but I was having fun. By contrast to running on the snow in shoes where I have to stick only to trails that are hard packed, I loved the feeling of freedom to wander on trails still covered in fresh powder.

I think I saw more people out on the trails in the snow than I'd ever seen before...cross country skiers, hikers, and a few teenagers trying to sled and snowboard down a steep narrow singletrack trail without dying. But, it seemed I was the only one out there running in snowshoes, and it struck up some curious looks and conversations. Even the group of teenagers asked some genuinely curious questions about snowshoe running.

By the end of my run, it was dark enough to need a headlamp (so I guess this was also my first experience with night snowshoe running, too), and it was getting pretty cold, and I was pretty well wiped out. But it was that really good kind of tired. The kind where you feel a little more alive than you did when you started.

It's a big world, but sometimes you don't have to go far to find something new...and cool. Get out there and find it!

-Steve

New Old Race Reports

2007-11-27T16:08:00.001-06:00

Since I have a few race reports from past Ironmans floating around in various places in cyberspace and the nether regions of my hard drive, I decided to try to consolidate all of them here on my blog. So, this is just a head's up that some new "old" posts have shown up in my Archives (over on the right side of the screen). They are all reports from Ironman Wisconsin races...

"Steve Emmert, You Are An Ironman!" - IMWI 2002
Iron Again - IMWI 2003
"Irondaddy!" - IMWI 2004
My First Ever DNF - IMWI 2005 (not so much a report...more of a "what the hell happened?")
IMBrrr! - IMWI 2006 (not so much a report...just some brief reminiscing).

And, just to keep this list complete:

"All The Way To The Finish Line" - IMWI 2007

-Steve

A Journey Into A New Unknown

2007-11-04T17:13:00.002-06:00

"Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, ambition inspired, and success achieved."
- Helen Keller

I really don't know from where the idea came. I don't think it was a sudden epiphany. I think it was more like a seed that floated into my brain some time ago and waited there to sprout. I've thought about it before, but not all that seriously.

There was nothing particularly special about the moment. I was recently listening to a triathlon podcast with a coach talking about one of his older athletes who had been trying for years to win his age group at Kona. He mentioned the guy's history, like how he'd completed the Western States Endurance Run a few times some twenty years ago. For some reason that I cannot understand, that's when the seed sprouted. I was suddenly a bit overwhelmed with the thought as my mind painted the picture of a new challenge.

Western States was the first thought, but I knew that couldn't be the first step in this new journey. What I knew was this: I had a need to try something new, and it's called ultrarunning. Ultrarunning is a term applied to running distances beyond the marathon distance. Western States, for example, is an infamous 100 mile run through the challenging terrain of the Sierra Nevada mountains in California. So, I set off to learn a bit more about the sport, and about Western States. Western States is not for a newbie to ultras. Entrance to WS100 is via lottery, and you have to qualify to enter the lottery by running a race of at least 50 miles within a specified time.

I remembered having seen something about an ultra distance race in the Kettle Moraine State Forest in Wisconsin. At Kettle Moraine, they offer both a 100 kilometer and a 100 mile run. Since 100 miles as a first ultra would be absolute lunacy, I set my sights on the much more reasonable distance of 100K. That'd be 62 miles if you are metric-challenged.

The run is entirely on trails, in an area I know fairly well as I have mountain biked there many times. It's challenging terrain, over dirt, rocks and tree roots, with numerous hills. The 100 mile course consists of two different out and back sections. The first section is a 62 mile out and back, and this section serves as the complete race course for the 100K. The 100 milers then continue on from there for another 38 mile out and back section. The 100K includes about 7200 feet of climbing and descending. The cut-off time for the 100K is 18 hours, and the cut-off for the 100 milers is 30 hours.

It will be a very different kind of event compared with an Ironman. Ultras, and the ultrarunner community are known for being laid back and friendly. It won't have thousands of spectators, a live webcam, or bleachers packed with screaming supporters at the finish line. What it will have is a couple hundred athletes comprising a tight-knit community of a unique breed of runner, their faithful supporters, a dedicated crew of volunteers, and an overarching ambition to continue moving forward.

And so the challenge is set. At 6:00 AM on June 7th, 2008, I plan to be on the starting line of the Kettle Moraine 100K Endurance Run, taking my first step into a new unknown...probably feeling very excited, and more than a little nauseous. My goal now is to arrive there healthy.

I don't know if I can, but I know why I want to try. I want to try because I don't know if I can.

"It's very hard in the beginning to understand that the whole idea is not to beat the other runners. Eventually you learn that the competition is against the little voice inside you that wants you to quit."
- George Sheehan

Oh, and if you're wondering, this in no way changes my 2008 Ironman Wisconsin plans. It just presents a rather sizable obstacle in my training plan ;-)

N+1 and eBay

2007-09-27T08:19:00.002-05:00

Ask any avid cyclist about "N+1" and I bet they'll know what you're talking about. "N+1" is the answer to the question, "How many bikes do I need?", assuming the number of bikes you have now is "N".

N+1 has led me to my first experience in buying something on eBay. Why waste time figuring out how eBay works by buying a shirt or a toaster when you can dive in head first and start bidding a couple thousand smackers on a shiny new bike?

Here's what I learned about eBay, particularly when it comes to buying something like a high quality bike. There are a lot of bikes for sale on eBay. It takes awhile to sort through the list of hundreds of bikes to filter it down to a manageable list of bikes you're actually interested in. Then you need to look not just at the bike, but at the seller, too. Being new to the eBay experience I was pretty leery about who was doing the selling. When I came across a great bike, but the lack of details in the description made it clear that the seller knew nothing about bikes, I steered away.

I think an eBay seller of something costly and specialized, like bikes, would be well served to break through the inherent anonymity of the web and tell their prospective buyers exactly who they are. When I finally got serious about bidding on a bike, I was a bit suspect of the seller. He had a very limited history in doing business on eBay, so there was very little feedback for me to use to judge his character. To me he was just "xyz1234" (fictitious as to protect the anonymity of the anonymous). He'd bought a few things on eBay in the past, but had never sold anything. Now, he had several bikes for sale. Not much to go by, but he gave just enough details on his bike descriptions that I trusted he at least knew bikes. But, still, I was a little nervous. I was committing to send a couple thousand bucks to a guy I didn't know and trust that he was going to send me the brand new bike I saw in the picture, professionally assembled and packaged to arrive at my doorstep without damage.

Once I won the auction, I got access to a bit more info on the seller, like his real name and email address. Through some clever Googling, I was able to figure out that "xyz1234" is a real guy named Mark who owns a bike shop in Colorado. I was able to find the website for his bike shop, where I saw his picture with this lovely wife Kathleen. I learned he is referred to in the shop as "The Head", and his wife is "The Real Boss". Without any detriment to Mark's privacy, I learned that the guy I was dealing with is a real bike guy, a community businessman with a reputation to uphold. It's not a lot of information, but it's a lot more than I had when I was bidding, and it's the kind of information that gave me dramatically more confidence that the seller was likely to be a trustworthy, stand-up kind of guy.

Imagine if all the bidders for his items on eBay had that added level of confidence beforehand. It would go a long way to attracting more bidders, and higher winning bids. If I was ever going into online selling, I'd take this experience with me and take advantage of it.

I also learned about "reserves" on eBay. A seller can set a "reserve" which is the lowest price the seller is willing to accept for the item. The problem is, the reserve amount is unknown to the bidders. The result is a lot of wasted time. People start bidding at a fraction of the value of the item, and the system tells them they are the high bidder but the reserve has not been met. To win the item you have to be highest bidder and your bid must be at least as high as the reserve. Until the reserve is met, all the bidding is just a waste of time. I think sellers would be much better served by forgetting about setting a reserve, and instead simply set the starting bid at that price so the buyers know where the real bidding needs to begin. I think a seller who has set a competitive and reasonable starting bid is more likely to attract serious buyers earlier in the auction, which is likely to lead to an actual bidding war and a higher winning bid. With reserves, most of the auction time is spent by bidders just nudging their way up to the reserve, and by the time the reserve is met most of the auction time has already passed, leaving little time for the auction to attract a bidding war above the reserve. That's what I think, anyway.

But, as it is, I think I got a good deal on a great bike. The lowest prices I've been able to find on this bike at the big online retailers is $600 to $800 more than my winning bid on eBay. So, according to my man Mark, my N+1 bike is set to be shipped out of Colorado today.

2007 Scott CR1 Pro, my "N+1"

But, why? Why on earth do I need a new bike? Because right now, I only have "N", that's why. Seriously, though, what I wanted was an actual road bike. I already have two bikes you might think of as road bikes, but each of them has a very specific geometry for triathlon, commonly referred to as a tri bike. My original tri bike is now my dedicated "trainer bike". It pretty much stays in my basement, attached to my trainer for indoor riding during times of foul weather, like winter. My newer tri bike, much nicer and more comfortable than my first one, is the one I use, and will continue to use, for triathlon racing. Tri bikes are great for triathlon racing. They are designed to put the rider in a very aerodynamic position, allowing them to minimize the key nemesis to going fast on a bike...wind resistance. But, for just regular road riding, exploring, off season training, or riding in groups with other riders, a tri bike leaves a bit to be desired. That aero position is not the most comfortable for long rides, particularly in the, uh, crotch region. And, if you ever ride in a group, other riders view those aero bars sticking out in front of a tri bike as weapons, like a knight's jousting lance. If a crash were to happen in a group, they don't want to see those aero bars heading for their internal organs at 30 mph.

Not that I do a lot of group riding, but, well....N+1 requires some reasons, right?

Ironman Inspiration

2007-09-20T16:41:00.003-05:00

I did my first Ironman on September 15, 2002, the inaugural Ironman Wisconsin. A couple days later I received an email from my sister, Deb. She was there to watch the race, and through this letter she managed to capture the spirit of Ironman through words as well as anyone could. When people ask why I would do such a thing like the Ironman, all I need to do is show them this. After having done a few Ironmans, I tend to lose track of how special it was that first time, and how the event can touch a nerve in so many people, and in so many different ways. Every time I read this, that all comes flooding back to me. Thanks, Deb.

I've posted this letter several times on trinewbies, usually once in the summer as Ironman Wisconsin is approaching and many triathletes are showing the effects of Ironman fever. The past couple of years I've actually been requested to re-post the letter from trinewbies regulars. The letter was even published in American Tri magazine. I remember sending it to American Tri editor Kyle DuFord, who is now the editor-in-chief at Inside Triathlon magazine. Kyle read it once and immediately replied to me that he wanted to print it.

For anyone who has ever completed an Ironman, is training to do an Ironman, or has even just witnessed an Ironman, this letter strikes an emotional nerve. It seems appropriate that I should share it here. Enjoy.

"Hi Steve -

Well, I made it home safe and sound. Had to pull over for one 30-minute snooze, but other than that the trip went well. Small price to pay for witnessing a midnight Ironman finish line the night before!

I'm still trying to bask in all the excitement I was privileged to see on Sunday. I spent the first 2 hours of my drive just reliving everything I saw in my mind, (the middle 3 hours listening to my book-on-tape since it is due back to the library tomorrow!), then the last 2 hours thinking about what I could do after witnessing an Ironman. You all may not realize what impact you have on spectators so I'll just tell you a little of mine.

I saw real people living out dreams based on goals they'd set for themselves long before race day. I saw determination and "giving it all" like I'd never seen before. I saw people doing this not as much to compete with others, but to simply accomplish something they'd never dreamed they could do before training began. I saw an athlete grab his elderly mom and run her down the finish line with him, arm in arm, both with smiles a mile wide. I saw grandparents waiting in silent anticipation for their grandson just to see him and cheer him on for a second or two as he ran by. I saw kids with "My Daddy's an Ironman" on their shirts. I saw a wife crying as her husband crossed the finish line. I saw marriage proposals and pregnancy announcements. I saw athletes running in silence, very focused on what appeared to be just them, the road, and God, telling themselves "one mile at a time, one mile at a time....". I saw the announcers going to great lengths to mention every athlete's name as they passed by, getting the crowd going to keep the athlete going. I saw a rough, macho-looking male spectator reduced to tears as he hugged his friend after he crossed the finish line. I saw a 2-month-old cross the line in his Daddy's arms. I saw a 73-year-old man cross the finish line. I saw and heard just as much excitement for the guy crossing the finish line at 11:58 p.m. as the first guy to cross that same line many hours before. That spoke volumes to me. This was a spirit of seeing others succeed in a sport like no other I've ever seen. I saw a Dad (ours), sick with a rare disease rendering him less active than he'd like to be at his age, wanting to jump in and run part of the Ironman with his son because he was just so damned proud of him and wanted to show it. And I saw my "little" brother, participating in the event of his life, smiling every time he saw/heard his family cheer him, staying focused on his goal, crossing that finish line with what appeared to be relative ease, still smiling after nearly 12 hours of the most physical work he'd ever done and exceeding his goal to boot! I could go on and on. And I got to see it all.

Thanks for giving me the opportunity to witness something that has truly inspired me like no other event I've ever seen. I may not ever participate in an Ironman, but being able to see the fruits of goal-setting, commitment, determination, perseverance and unconditional love & support right in front of my eyes all in one day, shall not soon be forgotten.

Congratulations Steve. YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!

Love, Deb"

"Breathe Into Your Feet"

2007-09-18T09:01:00.001-05:00

In my quest to rid myself of the nagging injuries that have plagued me over the past few years, I decided to try something new - Yoga. I know lots of triathletes and runners, including professionals, rely on regular Yoga to help improve their flexibility and balance. I'm not usually one to readily latch onto new things, and particularly tend to shy away from new things in group settings. But, I determined if I don't try something new I'm destined to repeat my past. So, off to Yoga I went.

I selected a class called "Yoga - All Levels", which sounded good to me since my level would be best described as "ignorant". I was briefly prepped by my wife, who has not done Yoga but has done similar sorts of classes. She clued me in that there would be some sort of mat to lay on, and that I'd do the session barefoot. She even offered for me to borrow her mat, but I didn't want to give any sort of impression that I had any clue what I was doing, so I decided to show up empty handed.

I arrived to a dimly lit conference room at our fitness center, grabbed a mat, and found an open spot as far toward the back of the room as I could find. I noticed several people were taking not just a mat, but also a couple of what looked like foam blocks, and some sort of nylon straps, and some people had these big tube shaped pillows. I briefly considered that maybe I should similarly accessorize myself, but having no idea what any of the extra stuff was for, I thought better of it and just popped a squat on my mat.

The teacher of the class was probably in her late 50s or early 60s, and introduced herself as a runner and a one-time triathlete. We started by sitting cross legged, back straight, shoulders back...and we just breathed. This breathing thing seemed pretty important to the whole experience. I guess we were supposed to be in a comfortable and relaxed position while taking in our deep breaths, but I actually found sitting up all straight like that pretty uncomfortable. Probably need to work on my posture.

She had us focus on our bodies, from bottom to top. "...now, breathe into your feet...". Alright, at this point if I were not such a mature adult I may have started one of those back-of-the-classroom giggle-fests. But, I fought past that and restrained myself to nothing more than a compressed smile. She told us to focus particularly on those areas of our bodies that may be sore or injured. I needed to perk up now since it seemed like she was now basically talking to me, as we worked our way up our bodies past all the spots I've injured over the past few years. So, in I breathed, into my Achilles tendons, and into my calf muscles, feeling my "life force" move through my body.... Okay, maybe I don't really know what my life force feels like yet. Perhaps that's a skill I will develop in later classes.

The class moved on through various poses and postures that challenged my ability to bend into curious positions without tearing something, and balance poses that challenged my ability to, well, not fall over. I learned it would have been better to pick a spot close to the instructor rather than hiding in the back, so I could better see what I was supposed to be doing. Trying to understand, "...cross your right leg over your left, then put your right arm under your left elbow with your palms together pointed toward the ceiling...", was, let us say, challenging.

The last three minutes was perhaps the best. They had some name for it that I don't recall now, but it was basically like nap time in kindergarten. I'll have to say, I found myself in one serious state of relaxation.

In the end I was very happy with the experience, and happy that I actually went. It would have been easy for this to be just another of the things I talk about doing, something I know I should be doing, but never follow through on. Like getting help with my swimming :-) I plan to keep going back. As for the swimming...we'll see.

Race Photos Available

2007-09-14T12:04:00.002-05:00

The company that does all the Ironman race day photography just got all the pictures up on their website. My pics are here. There might be a couple more in the lost and found section, but it takes awhile to go through all of those.

Here's a low resolution shot of one of the finish line pictures :-)

Hard to tell, but it looks like
we're both smiling :-)

IMWI 2007 - Janus Athlete and Volunteer Videos

2007-09-14T09:05:00.003-05:00

Each year at the awards banquet, the folks at Janus are kind enough to sponsor and distribute two DVD compilations of the race for all the athletes. One is focused on the race and the athletes, and one is a tribute to the great volunteers (we could not do these races without the volunteers!). I see someone already beat me to it and put them on youtube, so here they are for your enjoyment.

Unfortunately they do not include the incredible midnight finish of 78 year old Frank Farrar. I think they actually have to start working on this before midnight to get them done in time.

Here's the athlete video...

And here's the volunteer video...

"All The Way To The Finish Line" - Ironman Wisconsin 2007

2007-09-12T16:38:00.002-05:00

Training, or the lack thereof...

As has become my annual tradition, I returned once again this year to compete in the Ford Ironman Wisconsin triathlon. As has also unfortunately become my tradition, my training was a bit light, and hampered by injuries. Actually, all had been going well up to the end of July. July 22 I did the Spirit of Racine half Ironman and was very pleased with my race, managing a time of 5:03 on a beautiful day.

It was July 28 that things took a turn. My next run after that race, I stopped after just 30 minutes with pain in my lower right calf. I've actually been having trouble with my right lower calf and Achilles tendon on and off since late 2004. But this year, I started doing virtually all of my running on trails to save myself the pounding of the pavement. This had been working very well, I thought, but now I once again found myself unable to run without re-aggravating my chronic right calf condition.

For the next two weeks I did no running, replacing all my runs with sessions on an elliptical trainer. On 8/16 I tried to do some easy running on a treadmill, and found myself with yet another injury. This time it was a sharp pain in the back of my left heel. What the hell?! I made a visit to my podiatrist (who is also an ultra-runner, so not the type to try and tell me, "Well, maybe you just shouldn't run."). He suggested I start using a night splint when I sleep, a heel lift in my shoe, work on my hamstring flexibility, and ice a couple times a day. So, that's what I did.

I continued to replace all my running with an elliptical trainer, so this meant I'd be going into Ironman with my last quality run being my half Ironman 7 weeks prior to race day. I had no idea what was going to happen out there on the run course, but I was going to find out :-)

Independent of the injuries, and pretty much by design, this would once again be an Ironman on very low training volume. I really just focus my training on completing my key sessions each week, those being my long bike and long run. Well, this year I guess it would really just be my long bike seeing as several of my long runs didn't happen. I typically just do one workout per day, five or six days per week, with a long ride on Friday afternoons, and a long run on Sunday. All my other workouts are typically no more than one hour. Taking a look at my training log, I see that my average weekly training volume in the 12 weeks leading up to race week was 7.5 hours. I know a lot of folks put in a lot more time than that, but I try to not let this Ironman thing overtake the other priorities in my life. So, that's all I give it. It keeps some mystery in race day :-)

Pre-race...

I arrived in Madison on Thursday, got checked in, perused the expo, and all that good stuff. Friday morning I headed to the lake for a swim. I looked around for some folks from trinewbies, but I didn't really know what anyone looked like except maybe Joe Ryan. I didn't see him, but I did spot someone that looked familiar from her picture on TNO...it was kricket. We had a nice chat and then headed into the choppy water. It was very windy on Friday, creating some serious choppy waves coming straight into our faces on the first straightaway. I really wasn't in the mood to fight the whitecaps for very long, and since the weather forecast was looking good for race day, I made it a very short practice swim.

Then it was off to the Pancake Cafe to meet up with a few other folks from TNO. It was really nice to meet everyone, and put faces to the names. I was there with my wife Jennifer, and son Derek who is three. We got to talking about Derek running the kid's run the next morning. When we asked him where he was going to run, expecting him to tell us he was going to run around the capital square, he instead came back quite matter-of-factly with, "all the way to the finish line." How nice it is sometimes to simplify things like only a child can. We decided that was a pretty good mindset for all of us. And thus, the name of this blog was born.

Derek running with Bucky, Mike Reilly calling him in.
"All the way to the finish line!"

Race Day!

I awoke at 4:00 AM, had two Boosts for a quick breakfast, and put myself together. Had another Boost at 4:45, and started heading to the transition area at 5:00. Wow, were we blessed with a beautiful day for an Ironman. It's hard to imagine how you could ask for nicer weather.

Sunrise over the swim start area on Lake Monona

I got myself body marked, checked my bike to make sure I didn't have a surprise flat, and headed into the Monona Terrace to relax, and to use the bathroom a few times. At 6:20 I started pulling on my wetsuit and gave my wife a call. I found out my family was on the helix so I could see them on my way down to the start. My support crew for Ironman is just unbelievable. My whole family converges on Madison for Ironman weekend to cheer me on and take in the experience...siblings, nieces, nephews, in-laws, parents. Sadly my parents were not able to make it this year as my Mom came down with a nasty respiratory infection just before the weekend. I know they really wanted to be there, and that is one part of why this report is so long. Since they didn't get to be there this year, I'd like to paint the details for them. Hopefully it won't take longer to read this than it took me to finish the race :-)

The journey down the helix begins.

I met up with my crew on the way down the helix and we had a nice chat. About 6:40 they suggested I might be a bit too relaxed about the day and suggested I should perhaps get a move on. And, with some warm well wishes, I was on my own...well, just me and about 2200 other rubber clad athletes.

The crowd, slowly making our way into the water.

The Swim

If you were not aware, I rather suck at swimming. I taught myself how to swim just so I could do triathlons back in 2001, and have really made no improvements since. Oh well. At least I know what to work on if I want to shave some time off these races. I got in the water about 10 minutes before the cannon blast, and picked my spot pretty far outside, and a ways back from the front. A little floating around, and "BANG!", we were off!

Since this was my sixth Ironman, I know just what to expect in the swim, but it doesn't really make the experience any more comfortable. 2200 people simply cannot occupy the same space at the same time, but we sure as hell give it a good go every Ironman. I largely avoided any real damage and just tried to get through it as best I could without expending too much energy. I generally stayed well to the outside to avoid the worst of the combat, and eventually found myself rounding the last turn toward shore. I've got to say, that's a good feeling heading toward the shore. And then you remember what's awaiting you...

Swim: 1:29:02, 337/399 in the M35-39 age group

T1

Some of my support crew was right there behind the wetsuit peelers, so I gave a quick wave and a smile and headed up the helix. It was cool to see more of the crew on the jog up the helix since they've never watched from there before. I made a quick change in the Terrace, jogged out to my bike, and heard a shout from my brother on top of the Terrace. Clipped into my pedals, and I was on my way.

T1: 9:27

Just about to wind down the helix out of T1.

The Bike

Oh, this is probably as good a time as any to go through the long list of race-day no-no's I committed. They say, "nothing new on race day". Let's see... I swapped out my saddle the day before the race. I've been riding the ISM Adamo all season, but I've started getting some very sore spots at pressure points, and made the call to switch to my Profile Tri Stryke for race day. I picked up a new tri top at the expo...might as well give that a try. Just about the time I injured my calf I was really overdo for a new pair of running shoes. I'd been thinking of switching from Brooks Beasts to Brooks Adrenaline, so I picked up a pair. As I did no running in this time frame, all I'd done is some walking in the new shoes. Decided to go with them on race day anyway. They were handing out Wigwam running socks at the expo. I rather liked them, so what the heck, I went with those on race day, too. Oh, yeah, and I picked up a new visor at the expo, too. I always wear a hat when I run, never used a visor. Yep, that sounds good for race day, too. :-) What's life without a bit of risk, eh?

Anyway, back to the bike. What a great day for a ride. Happily, the bike was nicely uneventful. I pretty much stuck to my pacing plan, trying to hold my heart rate between 145 and 150 for most of the ride, particularly the first 60 miles. The Timber Lane hill was awesome this year. It was so lined with people they had to move out of the way a bit as I tried to get by another rider near the top. I didn't even feel that hill...on the first loop. My support crew was all gathered at the top of the Midtown Road hill, so it was great to get a boost of energy from the yelling and cheering and cowbell ringing. The sight of little Derek, scampering out from somewhere, wildly shaking a big red cowbell, wearing his "My Daddy's an Irondad" t-shirt...man, that image carried me along for the next two hours.

Just past my cheering section, under the red and black tent.

As I came into Verona near the end of the first loop, a sign caught my eye. It simply said, "KNOW YOUR REASONS". That message sank into my brain, then into my heart, and...tears welled up in my eyes. I knew my "reasons", but suddenly it hit me hard how much this all meant. KNOW YOUR REASONS. You see, later in the day, when you're somewhere in the middle of the run and everything hurts and you feel like crap, and the doubts and the negatives start to creep in...the question will come. "Why am I doing this?" When that question comes, you damn well better have an answer that means something to you. KNOW YOUR REASONS.

My son has become my reason. What I mean is this... As I grew up, through my 20s and early 30s, I never would have thought I was capable of doing something like an Ironman. To me it was just impossible. I figured those people...those Ironman people...they had some special gift for endurance or something that I just did not have. I thought they were extraordinary, and I was not. But, now I know that I am capable of doing things that once seemed simply out of reach...impossible. I dreamed bigger, and I realized that dream.

I want my son to grow up with a different definition of what is possible. I want him to start from a different place...to start dreaming bigger dreams, earlier. I don't know what his dreams will be. I don't care if they have anything to do with Ironman. But I want him to experience examples of people "achieving their impossible". What I know is that he won't live a single day of his life thinking that something like an Ironman is impossible. I can't wait to see what his impossible dreams might be.

That's my reason. And, that's why it means so much to me to cross the finish line with him, either in my arms...or this year, even cooler...by running with me, hand in hand, by my side. That's my reason. And, out there on the bike in Verona, with 56 miles and a marathon still to go, it hit me like a hammer. "All the way to the finish line", hand in hand with my son.

"KNOW YOU REASONS"

And onward that carried me like a swift breeze all the way through the second loop of the bike. I'd never felt more solid in my purpose during an Ironman.

Back through the hills, and their crowds, and back up Midtown hill past my family one more time. And with their rowdy cheers, it was back to Madison to get this thing done.

Bike: 6:15:28, 176/399 M35-39 AG

T2

You don't feel the ride back up the helix at the Monona Terrace. You're just glad to be getting off the bike. One of the great volunteers grabbed my bike, I headed into the Terrace for a quick change, and I was off.

T2: 3:23

The Run

Oh yeah. The run. I really didn't know what was going to happen here given my earlier injuries and subsequent suspension of running. But, I had a feeling. There's something special about race day. I don't know what it is, but somehow my body knows that race day is important and it usually comes through for me. What I was hoping was that I could maintain 9 minute miles and manage the run in under 4 hours. I didn't know if I could, but that was my internal goal. After a few of the early miles clicked by, I checked my watch and saw I was indeed holding something a bit better than my goal pace.

I got a great boost again from my cheering section at the State Street turn around, a bit past 6 miles. My stomach wasn't really feeling all that great, and I could feel some blisters forming on my feet. Neither of those is anything new...typical Ironman pains to work through. I kept rolling along, running from aid station to aid station, walking through the aid stations taking in whatever nutrition I thought my body might be calling for. Other than that, I only walked just the steepest sections of the hills on Observatory Drive.

Somewhere in the first half of the run.

A little before the half way turn around, I got another shot of positive energy from my family, and capped that off with a few more high fives as I went by again after the turn around. I was starting to drag a bit now, and my pace was slowing some. But I was still running aid station to aid station and wasn't about to start walking in between them.

I got to look forward to seeing the family once again as I approached the State Street turn around for the second time, and was now past 19 miles. Derek had now awoken from a nap and I gave him a quick hug. Around mile 20, I starting eating some pretzels at each aid station, and this immediately seemed to help calm my stomach. Around mile 23 a guy came past me, and I dug a little deeper, found a little extra, and hung with him as long as I could. When that rubber band snapped, I started picking out people ahead of me as targets to pass. I was peeking at my watch, and I could see that if I kept up my pace I should make my sub-4 hour marathon goal.

Somewhere in the second half of the run.

Around mile 25 is when I started to smile. The spectators are great in the last couple miles of the run, and you really start to absorb their energy. It's like a magnet pulling you in. And, then I rounded the last corner, down MLK Blvd. I starting scanning the crowd, looking for my family or one of their signs. My brother was along the right side of the barricades and had Derek. I started to pick Derek up and a volunteer said, "no, he has to run with you". That was fine with me, I was just thinking I'd carry him part of the way toward the finishing chute and then set him down to run with me. But I was more than happy to run the whole stretch with him, and he hit the ground running. I checked behind me and slowed to let a few folks pass by, leaving Derek and me nice big gap in the final stretch of the finisher's chute for us to enjoy our moment. With Derek's hand in mine, I raised my other arm in celebration as we crossed the line together! "All the way to the finish line."

Derek and Daddy crossing the tape.
"All the way to the finish line!"

Run: 3:56:17, 71/399 M35-39 AG

Total: 11:53:34, 124/399 M35-39 AG, 571/2209 Overall

Post Race...

We got our goodies and worked our way to the back of the finishing pen. My catcher did a great job of not assuming I was okay, and guided me all the way to my family at the pen exit. Smiles and handshakes and hugs and high fives ensued. It really does feel good to finish an Ironman.

Jennifer, Derek, and me - happy.

I know little Derek is just three years old, and all of this Ironman stuff might not mean that much to him now. I know it's what I do as a father the other 99.999% of the time that matters most. But, hopefully one day he will look back on this and come to realize that there was a reason I wanted to include him in the magic of this 0.001%. Perhaps it will come at a time in his life when he's hurting, when he's doing something that just seems too damn hard, when the question comes into his mind, "Why am I doing this?"

KNOW YOUR REASONS.

IMWI 2007 - Video "Snipet"

2007-09-12T09:02:00.002-05:00

Well, Ironman #6 has been conquered! I'm hoping to find the time to put a full race report here once I, (a) find enough time, and (b) actually figure out how to do this blogging thing. For now, I grabbed some of the video Jenni was able to capture. Kind of hard to compress a 12 hour Ironman into 3.5 minutes, but here we go....

Thank you so much to everyone for coming out to support me, or keeping me in your thoughts while tracking my progress online. I would find it much harder to keep pushing on without the support of my loved ones.

I'll let you know when I get a chance to write a full report and share some pictures and thoughts here.

Thank you!

-Steve

IMBrrr! - Ironman Wisconsin 2006

2006-09-10T12:00:00.002-05:00

As it turns out, I never actually wrote a race report for Ironman Wisconsin 2006. I'm writing this well after the fact, and post-dating the blog just so it appears in the right place chronologically.

The report would have gone something like this. "It was very wet, and cold. I finished. The End." :-) The temperatures never got out of the 50s. The winds weren't terrible, but at a steady 10 to 20 mph throughout the bike, they sure didn't help. And, the only time it didn't rain all day was during the swim.

I'm kind of sad I didn't capture my thoughts in a report right after the race. Life must have gotten in the way and I just never got to it. Unfortunately time has a way of erasing the details of the memories and emotions. However, it is fun to look back. And, in looking back, I came upon one of my favorite memories of the weekend...my two year old son, Derek, completing the FitKids Fun Run. It was about 0.6 miles, and he "ran" the whole thing by himself, with just one stop at Aid Station Mommy :-)

It still makes me smile. It was a good weekend.

Pointing out the next kid
to catch.

Aid Station.

Mike Reilly calling Derek
into the finish!

My First Ever DNF - Ironman Wisconsin 2005

2005-09-14T12:00:00.002-05:00

The one and only DNF (Did Not Finish) I have ever suffered in my life was Ironman Wisconsin 2005. I didn't really write a race report for the race. Rather, I posted a review of what happened in an attempt to diagnose what went wrong. What I posted, on trinewbies.com, is copied below, along with some of the comments I received as a result.

When it was all said and done, what I ultimately concluded is that I consumed too much water during the race, seriously diluting my electrolyte levels. Anyway, the "report" of sorts...

This isn't as much a race report as it is an attempt to lay out the details of my race in hopes of understanding the cause of my demise. IMWI '05 was my 4th IM, having also done each of the previous three IMWI's. I finished all of them until this year where I fell about 4 miles short.

Brief history of my IM past:

IMWI '02: Mild weather, about the best fitness of my life, finished in 11:37. Felt pretty good the whole way except some stomach discomfort through the middle to latter part of the run.

IMWI '03: Very hot weather, a bit less fit than '02, finished in 12:00. Physically felt much the same as '02, although I considered hitting the med tent after the finish for an IV. But there were a lot of folks worse off than I, and I started feeling better after some time and food.

IMWI '04: Again hot weather, quite a bit less fit than previous years, finished in 12:48. Again, Felt pretty good the whole way except some stomach discomfort through the middle to latter part of the run.

Basic nutrition for these IMs was all about the same, except I added more water and sodium for the hotter races. I used Cytomax, water, Hammergel and Clif Bars on the bike, plus a mix of Succeed and Endurolytes, to get about 350 cals and 800 to 1000 mg sodium per hour during the bike at least for the hot races. For the hot races, I took in about 24 oz Cytomax per hour, plus anywhere from 24 to 48 oz of water per hour. On the run, I find it MUCH harder to measure and track just exactly how much stuff I'm consuming. Generally I'd try to take in some Gatorade at most of the aid stations, plus some water throughout by carrying a bottle of ice water, kept taking in salt tablets at the same rate, and a shot of gel about every 30 min.

Onto this year. I made a couple changes to the plan this year. First, I backed off a bit on the calories, thinking excess calories were contributing to my stomach discomfort later in the run. This year, I planned on about 250 cals per hour. Second, I decided to rely on the Gatorade Endurance from the aid stations rather than hauling along my own supply of Cytomax. I followed this basic plan for most of my long training rides with what I perceived to be good results. A couple of my long rides were in very hot weather and I finished them feeling pretty decent.

My run training was non-existent going into this race. I had recurring calf and achilles injuries that brought my running to a halt. I did the St. Croix Half Ironman on May 1 in 6:03, and that was actually my last "long" run of the year. I truly was able to do very little running, and sporadic at best, front mid-May to race day. I probably ran a total of 20 miles in the 4 months preceding IM. A reasonable person would not have raced, but I decided to give it a go anyway thinking the worst case would have me walking a major portion of the run. I was okay with that. My swim training had been weak, but I had no real concerns about it. My bike training had been adequate...not as much as I had done in previous years, but my long rides were going pretty well so I was confident I could come into T2 feeling pretty decent.

Here's how the day went.

Up at 3AM for a liquid breakfast of 2 Boosts and water. Back to sleep.

Up again at 4:30, another Boost and some water.

At 6:30 I had one GU and about 12 oz of water.

Took it very easy on the swim. Avg HR was 141 which is very low for me. My HR usually rockets on the swim due to adrenaline. Swim time about 1:28.

Urinated at T1, had one small cup of water.

Sipped on water the first 30 min. of bike, then started into my plan as follows. One 24 oz bottle of Gatorade Endurance per hour, about 1/3rd of a bottle every 20 min. Approx one 24 oz bottle of water per hour, also about 1/3rd of a bottle every 20 min. I was drinking one or the other every 10 min. As the temperatures went up I increased my intake of water to as much as 1.5 to 2 bottles per hour, which is much the same as I have done successfully in past hot IMs. I took one Succeed cap every hour and about 1.5 oz of Hammergel every hour. So that plan was giving me about 260 cals per hour and 950-1000 mg Sodium per hour consistently throughout the ride, with an increasing rate of water intake as the temperatures drove up into the 90s.

I think I paced the bike well. I held a pace that felt easy for the first 60 miles, keeping my HR usually below 150. From mile 60 to the end of the ride I really felt quite good aside from just getting uncomfortable being on a bike that long. I was feeling stronger than most of the people looked to be feeling, and passing lots of people...not so much because I was increasing my pace, but because lots of people were slowing down.

Since it was so windy, I had no good way to gauge how much I was sweating during the ride. I urinated twice during the bike, and again at T2. My avg HR for the ride was 153, and my bike split was about 6:25.

The run is where things get much less "calculated". I don't like to carry too much with me aside from a flask of gel, so I rely on the aid stations for all my liquid. And, taking it from those little cups with varying amounts in each, with my brain getting fuzzy, it's hard to know how much I'm getting. In general I was trying to take one cup of Gatorade Endurance at each aid station. I did carry a water bottle with me, as I've done in the past, keeping it filled with water and ice. I would sip on this from time to time, but probably used most of that water to spray on my head and body. I was still taking about 1.5 oz of Hammergel and one Succeed cap per hour.

Half way through the run, I found that my high tech salt tablet container (Tic Tac box) had come apart and my Succeed caps had dissolved. From that point I started to add alternatives for sodium by taking some pretzels and chicken broth. I would have a little broth at each aid station that was offering it, while still taking a cup of Gatorade as well. I also started taking some cola at a few aid stations to get some a caffeine. You'd think that crazy mix would make a person nauseous, but I never felt nauseous at any time during the day. In fact, I never really had any significant stomach discomfort all day.

My pace was a slow run (~11 min/mi) for about the first 11 miles, and mostly walking about 15 min/mi after that. My HR was pretty low, probably bouncing around from around 115 to 130. I noticed that I did not appear to be sweating much at all, and my shorts were starting to look pretty salty. I thought maybe my low sweat rate was due to the temperatures dropping and the fact that I was mostly walking and not working very hard. I urinated twice during the ~4 hours that I was out there.

Around mile 20 I was actually feeling pretty decent and started doing some running again for a mile and a half, or so. A bit past mile 22, I very suddenly started to feel disoriented and dizzy. I was forced to stop. It was either sit down or fall over, so I sat down. Still feeling very dizzy, I laid down and asked passing athletes to get me some help. The EMTs where there within a few minutes. I told them I needed an ambulance. They checked my HR and blood pressure, and said it the BP was 72/50. It took probably 10 min or so for the ambulance to arrive. They checked the BP again and got something like 110/50 and they were thinking the EMT's reading may have been erroneous. They started an IV in the ambulance. My temperature was 99.something, but I was cold and shivering.

At the med tent I stepped on the scale. At check-in on Friday I was about 165, sans shoes. In the med tent, I looked at the scale and saw 172. I figure at least 2 pounds of that was my shoes, so I estimate I gained about 5 lb during the race. However, I saw my chart later in the tent and they had written my post-race weight as something like 164. I have no idea why or how they made that error. I'm sure I know what I saw on the scale.

In the med tent, my BP seemed to stick around 110/50 or 60, which unfortunately for me is actually lower than normal. The first IV finished and they decided to pull it out. However I continued to feel very cold and still kind of dizzy. I asked them, not once but twice, if maybe they should check my sodium levels, but for some reason they never did. I tried to sit up but still felt bad, so they gave me another IV. I drank some Gatorade and broth. Since they weren't doing anything else for me, I decided maybe food was my only way to recover so I got them to get me a sandwich. I think I was in there a total of about 2 hours and eventually finally felt well enough to stand and walk out of there. For the rest of the evening I actually felt quite good. But, I noticed my whole body was quite puffy. Things like by hands and fingers looked swollen. My ring that normally fits pretty loose was very tight on my finger.

So, folks, what's the deal? Did I actually consume too much liquid, even though I believe it was much the same as I have consumed in past IMs with similar temperatures? Not enough sodium, or too much? Not enough other electrolytes outside of what I was getting from Gatorade Endurance? Could my non-existent run training have played a part, maybe my body not working as efficiently on the run as it should? I'm very interested to hear from coaches, nutritionists, IM vets, on what you think doomed my race, so maybe we can all learn something from it.

Thanks!

-Steve

Some of the feedback I received...

"Lots of factors playing out here. No way too much sodium at 1 succeed per hour plus 24 oz of Gatorade Endurance. Especially with 24 oz of water on top of that. Not enough likely. You were bloated and not processing fluid through the kidneys. A red flag for low blood sodium.

I personally think plain water is a bad idea during an IM, especially a hot one. At least save the water for the run, when you can't take the sports drinks anymore. Every ounce of water ingested is lowering you blood sodium concentration."

-Mike

-----

"... when I did IMFL 03 I became VERY dizzy about the last 2 miles of the run and I had been walking a lot of it anyway. I didn't get it but I seriously worried that I might pass out and I think it could have been a blood pressure issue. I recall going into a porta potty and the "room" was spinning as if I were drunk. I was in better shape for IMAZ this year even though my finish times were similar and I had no such dizziness but I worried about it. Sometimes I think the calories/sodium/water/fitness thing is just too much to figure out always...the body is just doing the best it can and sometimes things happen than just aren't preventable no matter how much we try.

Sorry about your DNF so close to the finish line and I am glad you are feeling better."

-Steph

-----

"I'm not a doctor, and haven't yet tackled an IM, but my guess is that you were hyponytremic caused by too much fluids, not enough sodium, or both. Clues to me are the quantity of liquids you were taking (twice what I take during a half IM, for example on the bike), the amount of urination (seems like a lot), the weight gain, and the puffiness you noticed afterwards. So, I think you either need to drink less liquids, or take more electrolytes. 2 large bottles per hour seems like an awful lot of fluids on the bike. I'm not an expert, just an half-educated guess."

-Nate

-----

"Generally when I become dizzy and disoriented it comes from either low electrolytes and/or dehydration or a calorie deficit induced bonk.

250 calories/hour would be very light for me and it would eventually catch up with me. When that happens perceived exertion goes up but your HR doesn't necessarily follow.

24 - 48 oz. of plain water is a lot. In an IM I usually go with water to chase calories but for basic hydration needs I stick with Gatorade. If I were forced to guess based on what you have said I'd go with low electrolytes."

-Joe

-----

"Mental effects would be most likely low blood sugar or hyponatremia.

The low hr on the run points to low blood sugar
The bloating points to hyponatremia

The low blood pressure could very well be exertional hypotension from trying to run.

It's a tough call between dehydration and hyponatremia. A fine line to walk. One thing needed to help figure it out is the sodium content of your sweat. Shouldn't be too hard to find out, I thin hospitals actually do this test. You could bring your own sample and pay cash for the test. But at any rate with a sweat rate test and a test of the sodium content then you'll know how much sodium to replace. "

-Kevin

-----

"... there is a lot of misinformation about the causes and prevention of exercise related hyponatremia. Sodium intake is not necessarily protective of this condition, especially in the context of a hypervolemic condition caused by fluid intake, regardless of tonicity, in excess of sweat and urine rates. The fact that you were peeing every 2 hours supports the hypothesis of hyponatremia secondary to excessive fluid intake. There are some other, less likely causes, but without a blood draw you will be guessing. Weight gain of that magnitude with your symptoms is enough for most medical tents to classify you as hyponatremic or at the very least, on the way.

The strongest factor associated with hyponatremia is fluid intake that exceeeds loss. One could argue that your sodium intake may have staved it off for a longer period, but that has not been proven. Remember that even Gatorade is hypotonic relative to serum sodium concentration. It is a relative scale; think of it as slowly diluting the system. This reflects the recent position stands changes of just about all the major governing bodies and sport medicine associations.

I was thinking about you folks most of the day on Sunday. Fit or not, heat like that will take down large numbers of folks, as the margin for error for pacing, nutrition, hydration, training practices... are reduced to a whisker. Hydration issues sometimes don't rear their head in shorter events as there is less time for a gradual change to become symptomatic. You likely did the right thing by calling it a day before things got worse.

Congratulations on your effort and courage. I respect all the folks who lined up on Sunday regardless of the outcome!"

-Keith M.

-----

... I'm not a doctor, but in my IM races, and other hot weather 1/2 IM's I've done, I've experienced exactly the combination of symptoms you list. In my consultation with the med tent, the diagnosis was low blood sugar and low sodium.

Consider adding a 'natural' sugar, such as fruit during the later half of the bike and into T2. Low sodium you can overcome while racing - low BP you can't. Oranges, watermelon and bananas. All absorb fairly quickly and easily. Coke might not be the best answer.

-Keith J.

-----

"Irondaddy!" - My Journey to the Finish of Ironman Wisconsin 2004

2004-09-19T12:00:00.002-05:00

T minus 9 weeks: It was 9:30 PM on July 8 when the phone rang. Caller ID told me it was my wife Jenni’s cell phone. “Steve, I think my water just broke!” “Okay. What do we do now?” You would think I had paid attention during at least one of those birthing classes, but apparently not. It was about 11 days early, so we were taken a bit by surprise. At 5:28 AM on July 9, our firstborn son Derek gave his lungs their first workout as he let out the most beautiful cry. It’s fair to say that triathlon had just taken a seat way at the back of the bus for awhile.

T minus 8 weeks: Jenni had not been feeling well for a couple of days, and she felt warm. “What is it?” she asked as I stared at the thermometer. “Um… it’s 104”. It was 8:30 PM as the three of us packed up to head back to the hospital where we would stay for the next three days as Jenni fought off an infection. I don’t think I packed my running shoes, and I know I didn’t bring my bike. This would make nearly two weeks with almost no workouts and Ironman Wisconsin looming less than two months away. But, I didn’t care. I just wanted to get back home with a healthy, happy new family.

After a few days, all was well and we got back to the business of figuring out how to care for a baby. Unfortunately for me, it also was time to get back to the business of business as I had to head back to work after taking over two weeks off. You know, the pile only gets deeper when you take time away from work.

Oh, and then there’s that Ironman thing. Early morning workouts were out of the question. I just can’t function on five hours of sleep and we weren’t getting much more than that with the new baby. Lunchtime workouts were not going to happen while trying to catch up after the time off. In the evening I just wanted to get home and spend time with my new family. So, the plan I put together in my head was as simple as it gets. I would do one long workout per sport per week. My cycling and running base was…okay. My swimming had been almost nonexistent since…well, since Ironman Wisconsin 2003. I figured I could get in a couple more centuries on the bike, build my long run up to three hours, and build my long swim up to 90 minutes all between now and race day. It was not very elegant, but it would be good enough, and it would have to do.

This would be my third Ironman and the first time that I really didn’t care about my time. Oh, sure, I wanted to give it everything I had. I wasn’t going there to socialize for mile after mile during the marathon. But, I just put no pressure on myself about hitting some target time. One thing mattered to me. I wanted to get to the finish line feeling good enough to carry my two month old son across the line with me. That’s what my day was going to be about, and it felt right.

T minus 3 weeks: “Do you have any plans next week?” It was my boss. “I need you to go to China.” What was I going to say? We were taking off on a Sunday, so I was able to get in one last long ride on Saturday. Our hotel in Beijing actually had a 35m lap pool, so I packed my goggles. Oh, here’s a little tip. If you ever find yourself in China and want to go for a swim, they’re quite insistent that you wear a cap. I created a bit of a stir as I tried to explain to the pool attendant that I did not have a cap. As he scurried away, I got in and started swimming. When I returned from my first lap I was met by the pool attendant and a woman who was happy to sell me a cap. They like things to have a certain order over there.

Fast forward to race day.

T minus 4.5 hours: I don’t recall if it was little Derek or I who woke up first, but at 2:30 AM we were both ready for some early breakfast. I quickly downed 3 cans of Boost while Derek took his time with Mama. I managed to get a little more sleep before rising out of bed for good at 5:00 AM. I had another can of Boost, a quick shower, and off I went to drop off my special needs bags, hit body marking, and put my bottles and food on my bike. This year, rather than waiting in the Monona Terrace with a bunch of nervous athletes and long lines for the bathrooms, I instead returned to my hotel room in the attached Hilton to relax for awhile.

T minus 35 minutes: At 6:25 AM I headed out toward the swim start along with several members of my family. I had nearly 20 family members coming to cheer me on. My wife had ordered t-shirts for them to wear that said, “Go Steve! One stroke, one turn, one step at a time.” with the M-dot logo in the center. It was easy to spot them out there!

T minus 20 minutes: I kissed my wife and Derek goodbye as they headed to the roof of the Terrace for a bird’s eye view of the swim. My sister came along with me as we wound our way down the helix toward the swim start. Near the bottom, I stopped to pull on my wetsuit and take a shot of gel and some water. It turned out I was nearly at the end of the line with probably just 20 or 30 athletes behind me. That was fine with me since swimming is my weakest sport. I had planned to start toward the outside this year to try and stay out of worst of the chaos.

T minus 1 minute: I made my way into Lake Monona and swam out about 30 yards or so. “BOOM!!” Off went the cannon, a bit earlier than I anticipated. I punched my watch and I was off along with 2187 of my Iron friends! You would think I was far enough to the outside to be in clear water, but I think there is no avoiding the fact that you will find yourself “bumping rubber” with plenty of other swimmers in an Ironman. It’s a given. The key is to not let the crowd of swimmers bother you. My number one priority for the swim was to stay relaxed, and I was successful as the swim went by smoothly.

T plus 1:25: When I exited the water I took a look at my watch and it said :37. “That ain’t right.” My watch Stop button must have gotten kicked out there. No worries. It fit with my theme to not be so concerned about my time. The wetsuit peelers grabbed me before I had my arms out of my sleeves, so they helped me with that and in a jiffy I was out of my Aquaman. I heard my sister nearby yelling my name and gave her a wave as I started up the helix. I headed into the T1 changing room, donned my cycling garb, and headed out for the jog to my bike.

T plus 1:38: As I was mounting my bike I heard my family yelling to me from the top of the Terrace. I gave them a wave and a smile, and with that I was off and spinning down the helix and out onto bumpy John Nolen Drive.

I quickly settled into my plan to keep the pace very easy for the first 60 miles of the bike, aiming to keep my heart rate around 145 for the first 30 miles and expecting it to creep up a few beats over the following 30 miles. I took in nothing but water for the first half hour, then started into my plan to take a shot of gel with water on each :30, a half Clif bar with water on each hour, and about a third to a half of a bottle of Cytomax on each :15 and :45. A also took in one or two Succeed salt tablets each hour. I could feel that it was going to be a warm one again, so I made sure to grab at least two water bottles at each aid station. I used one to pour water on myself every few minutes to help keep me cool. I don’t know if there is any science to support this as an effective technique to keep cool, but it sure feels good. This was all pretty much exactly the same nutrition plan I followed successfully on a slightly warmer day during IMWI 2003. A lot of people seemed to make hydration and pacing mistakes in the heat of last year, but my plan fortunately got me through that day in reasonably good shape so I stuck with the same plan this year.

The Ironman Wisconsin bike course just keeps getting better every year. In the inaugural 2002 race, it was the human tunnel in downtown Verona that made the day special. In 2003, both the participants and spectators understood the course a little better so we were treated to large crowds of cheering supporters on the toughest hills. This year the crowds on the hills were even bigger. Compared to the solitary suffering I did up so many similar hills in my training throughout the year, I could hardly even feel the hills on race day as the energy of the crowd just pushed and pulled me to the top. Well, at least that would describe the first loop. With the crowds a bit thinner and the legs quite a bit less fresh, I really started to feel the bite of the climbs the second time around. I was probably not the only one out there trying to fend off the demons in my mind saying, “Dude, you still have a marathon to run. Man, that’s going to hurt!” But, I didn’t have to fight off those demons by myself, because near the top of the last tough hill on each loop was my small army of supporters…my family! Friendly voices cheering, cowbells ringing, signs waving, high fives slapping, and my beautiful baby looking justifiable bewildered in Mama’s arms! Man, if that doesn’t fill your tank for another 30 miles or so, check your pulse!

The Ironman gods smiled upon us for the return trip from the Verona loop back to Madison with a nice tailwind for much of this section.

T plus 8:13: As many saddles as I’ve tried, it seems clear that there are just some body parts that were not designed to be sat upon…for over 6 hours! So, as I wound my way up the helix into transition, I was anxious to get off my bike. I handed my bike to one of the great Wisconsin volunteers, jogged into the Terrace, grabbed by T2 bag and headed into the changing room. With a fresh pair of socks and a cold bottle of water, I headed outside and heard a familiar voice. It was my sister cheering from the top of the Terrace.

T plus 8:19: Just past the timing mats to begin the marathon, I passed my parents. They told me to look up, and on top of the Pickney Street parking garage were 7 or 8 of my cheering family members including Jenni and Derek. I passed my father-in-law who was on photographer duty as I made the turn onto Doty Street and away I went to face the final test of the day.

Early in the marathon I thought I might be in trouble. I had a side-ache type pain across my diaphragm. Thankfully this pain eased up after a couple miles and I began running reasonably well. Whereas I didn’t really have any hard and fast time goals for this race, the one place I was hoping to perform relatively well was the run. I wasn’t out there to socialize. My plan was to run from aid station to aid station, and walk through the aid stations to take in my nutrition. I like this approach because it puts you in a little “box”. It allows your brain to focus only on the next 8 to 10 minutes, so it doesn’t have to try to comprehend doing this for another 20+ miles. It can’t figure that out, but it can manage to comprehend…”if you can just keep running to the next aid station, then you can take a little walk break.” If you can do this through the duration of the marathon, you’re going to turn in relatively good performance. It’s when you start walking between aid stations, or fail to start running again when you reach the end of an aid station, that the minutes really start adding up.

At the State Street turn around between miles 5 and 6, they have an announcer and music. Big crowds gather along this part of the course, and among them were several of my family members to give me some high fives and words of encouragement. I kept rolling along as best I could through the half way turn around. I was still able to run from aid station to aid station, but my pace had started to slow. As I began the second loop, I passed a large group of my loyal fans and my wife stepped out in the street with Derek. “Here, he needs a diaper change!” I stopped briefly to give them a kiss, and told Jenni, “It’s starting to get really hard.” That was my little warning that the second half of the marathon was likely to be a bit slower than the first.

It’s a difficult thing heading out for the second loop of this run having been so close to the finish line. But, with that little boost from my family I had a clear mission. I needed to get back there to see them again! I was able to keep running until I hit the State Street turnaround for the second time. The announcer was gone, but the music was still playing and some of my family was there to give me one last shot of confidence.

Somewhere around mile 20 I was forced to do some walking between aid stations. As much as I truly believe that continuing to run late in the marathon is more mental than physical, I guess my brain was just tuckered out. I was actually starting to feel a little sleepy. I think this is when I starting taking in some Coke instead of just Gatorade, and that seemed to perk me up a bit. My little “box” had gotten really small by now. I couldn’t think all the way to the next aid station. Now I was in “one step at a time” mode. But I was moving forward, and moving forward is good.

T plus 12:48: And then, there it was. I made that last right turn with just two blocks to the finish line. I could hear the announcer and the blaring music. I was scanning the crowd along the sides of the chute looking for my family. I saw the big sign my wife had made, and there they were about 50 yards from the finish line. Derek was awake and alert, and I was feeling good. I know they don’t really like you taking babies across the finish line, but it was something I just had to do. I knew I wasn’t at risk of collapsing. I grabbed Derek, clutched him safely in my arms and began to walk to the finish. I scanned the course behind me to make sure I wasn’t in someone else’s way, but there was no one in sight. It’s possible that I’ve never smiled more happily as I carried my son to the finish. I gave Derek a kiss and we stepped across the line, together. It was a magical finish to a 140.6 mile journey.

As soon as we crossed the line, two very concerned volunteers were right there. The volunteers at an Ironman are truly awesome people. They were doing their job not to believe me when I told them I was feeling fine. One of them held her hands under Derek for fear I was not totally with it. In fact, she wanted to take him but for some reason I didn’t want to let him go and just pulled him closer. I really did feel just fine as they escorted us very cautiously to the back of the finish pen. Eventually they had seen enough to convince them I was not about to fall over and off they went off to catch another finisher. I searched the crowd behind the finish pen and eventually picked out my family. I made my way over to them, handed Derek to my sister-in-law, and relished about a dozen hugs from my parents, sisters, brother, in-laws, nieces and nephews. My wife had gotten caught up in the crowd somewhere trying to collect Derek from the finish pen, but soon she found Team Emmert and gave me a big hug and kiss. I felt like more than an Ironman that day. I was an Irondaddy!

T plus 16:00: After gathering all my stuff, showering, and enjoying some dinner and a couple of frosty beers, a few of us, including little Derek, headed back to the finish to cheer on the remainder of the finishers. If you’ve never been to the final hour of the finish of an Ironman, find the one nearest you and get yourself there. The energy and emotion of that place and time is beyond words. You have to experience it. At 16:27 on the clock, a roar began to build through the crowd as we saw 75 year old Frank Farrar shuffling into the finish chute. He stumbled a bit as he stopped to give a bow to the crowd. I shielded Derek’s ears from the deafening roar as Frank shuffled the last few yards to the finish. 75 years old and crossing the finish line of an Ironman, under the cutoff time nonetheless. It’s stuff like this that makes you wonder if anything is impossible if you want it badly enough.

Derek slept through the whole thing.

T plus 8 days: After finishing my first Ironman in 2002, another athlete, when he heard I was doing it again asked, “What’s going to happen when you don’t go faster?” He was a more competitive type than I, and he’d given up on Ironman after going slower in his second race than his first. There’s nothing wrong with being competitive and constantly striving to go faster. In fact, I’ll probably start every season with the intention of going faster than I went the last. But, to consider it a failure if I don’t achieve that goal would be to forget why I set my mind on doing Ironman in the first place. Not so many years ago while flipping through the channels and stumbling upon Ironman on TV, I watched for awhile and began to think, “How cool would it be to do that sometime in my life?” That thought was very quickly replaced with, “Come on, you could never do that. There’s something extraordinary about these people.” To me, it was impossible.

I do Ironman because of that day when I didn’t believe I could. Ironman is one of those rare opportunities for ordinary people to accomplish something extraordinary. I want my son to grow up believing that anything is possible if you want it badly enough and you’re willing to work hard to get it. That day. That day when I didn’t believe I could. How long it might take had nothing to do with my doubt. Simply covering the distance seemed impossible. I’ll never forget that day. I’ll never forget that to finish an Ironman is to achieve my impossible.

Iron Again - Ironman Wisconsin 2003

2003-09-21T12:00:00.002-05:00

The Preamble

I had a great experience last year at Ironman Wisconsin, my first Ironman, so back I went again this year to “get me some more of that!” When I put together my annual training plan this year, I did so with high hopes of improving my time on a multi-year journey toward one day winning a slot to Kona. Well, the plan might have been a good one, but somehow my level of motivation wasn’t where it needed to be to execute the plan. It was clear from my training and racing this season that I wasn’t quite as fit as I was last year, so improving my time wasn’t really in the cards. But, I was still psyched to get back to Madison to prove to myself once again that I have what it takes to make it to the finish line.

Part of my motivation on race day came from my family. I was richly blessed to have a crowd of 20 family members at the race to cheer me on. Yes, 20! Talk about getting a lift when you need one. Now, I know my family would not want me to feel extra pressure due to their presence, but I do…and that’s a good thing. It’s not pressure to go fast. They don’t care. It’s really not even a pressure to finish. It’s simply the kind of pressure that helps to remind me to keep putting one foot in front of the other when things start to get fuzzy. Believe me, in the middle of an Ironman marathon that might be the only answer you need when the inescapable question enters your mind, “Why am I doing this?”

I kissed my wife farewell at 5:45 AM and headed into the Terrace to relax and focus my mind on the day. At 6:40 I slipped on my wetsuit and made my way down the helix to the swim start where I met a crowd of rubber clad athletes tentatively making their way into the water, which was a comfortable 72 degrees. I swam out about 100 yards to seed myself about two-thirds of the way back and somewhat toward the outside of the pack.

The Swim

The swim was mass chaos, as usual, but somehow I managed to avoid the misfortune of taking any really significant blows from errant fists, elbows or feet. The toughest part of the swim was simply getting into a comfortable rhythm with my stroke. Much of the first quarter to a third of the swim was spent just navigating my way through the crowd, which was a huge waste of energy. Eventually things thinned out a bit and some order was created from the madness as I found myself swimming alongside people going about my pace. I’ve been having a problem with drifting left, especially as I get tired, so for much of the second loop I found myself inside the buoy line having to work my way back to the right to get around the corner buoys. As I crossed the timing mat at the swim exit, I checked my watch and saw 1:20, which certainly isn’t fast but it was a couple minutes faster than last year, so I was happy.

The wetsuit peelers did their thing, and up the helix I ran. I actually hit my highest heart rate of the day in T1, running up the helix. That’s just cruel. As I reached my bike, the roar of the crowd was drowned out by the roar of my family as they cheered me on from their perch one level up on the Monona Terrace. My transition time was 8:16, about three minutes faster than last year. Funny, I don’t remember stopping for breakfast in T1 last year.

The Bike

My plan was to follow Gordo Byrn’s tips on pacing on the bike, which worked well for me last year. I’ve followed this same pacing plan on many a long ride during training, but on race day I found it hard to get my heart rate down as it generally seemed to be about 5 to 10 bpm higher than my perceived exertion was indicating. I just kept telling myself to relax and eventually my heart rate settled down a bit. More people were going by me than I was passing, but that was in the plan. I was expecting to see many of those folks again later in the day.

As the temperature climbed, so did my intake of extra water and salt tablets. My pacing and nutritional plan seemed to work as I felt good throughout the bike. I wasn’t moving as fast as I had hoped, but I was feeling good, and that was the most important thing.

The toughest part of the course, the section of the loop between Cross Plains and Verona with three steep, stand-out climbs, was amazing this year. More spectators learned where the toughest hills were, and there were tons of people lining the roadsides, urging us to the top. As I hit the base of the third tough climb on Midtown Road during my first loop, I could hear the crowds up the hill cheering and ringing cow bells. In fact, the noise sounded familiar because my family was gathered near the top of the hill, cheering everyone over the top. What a boost it was to have the high fives, and supportive words, and ringing cow bells. It was so cool on the first loop I was actually looking forward to this challenging section on the second loop.

Around 75 miles into the bike, it became noticeable that many people were losing their focus. Lots of people were sitting up, out of aero position, just coasting the downhills and grinding the uphills. I wasn’t going very fast, but I was starting to move up through the field. It became clear to me right there that lots of people were in for a very tough day. Around 90 miles, I reached the Midtown Road hill again, and collected another free dose of energy from my screaming posse. Hopefully, some of the rest of you IMMooers absorbed some energy from them as well. They had a great time cheering people up that hill, trying to light up some grim faces. The final 16 mile stretch back toward Madison found a number of people stopped along the side of the road just sitting. I just tried to keep doing my best taking in my calories and hydrating.

It felt good to get back to Madison, and circle back up the helix to the transition area. My bike time was 6:27, about 10 minutes slower than last year, but not much slower than I expected. A quick change into my run gear, and I headed out. As soon as I headed out the door of the Terrace, there was that wonderful, familiar roar again. I looked up and spotted my family again, cheering down to me from the top of the Terrace. Just like last year, I gave them a couple of fist pumps and set off on my marathon. My T2 time was 4:31, exactly 2:30 faster than last year.

The Run

The first couple miles went very well. I took a glance at my watch at mile 2 and saw 15:15. I knew I couldn’t sustain that pace so I backed off a little. This would be the last time of the day I slowed down on purpose. I surprised myself with a 3:38 marathon last year, but had no real hopes that I could repeat that effort this year, especially since it was 15 to 20 degrees warmer. I was still feeling pretty good when I hit the State Street turnaround between miles 5 and 6, and there the family was again to urge me on.

My pace started to drop noticeably around mile 9 or so, but I was still running from aid station to aid station. It was unreal how many people were walking. It seemed like more people were walking than running. I can’t remember when it was, but somewhere around mile 10 or so I was forced to begin walking a bit between aid stations. My stomach felt a bit cramped, and it was becoming harder to get the calories down. I wasn’t throwing up, but when I would take a mouthful of Gatorade, or even water, I could swallow just a little of it and sort of spit out the rest. It was like my throat had teamed up with my stomach in rebellion against the Ironman. They didn’t seem to understand how important it was to me.

The next boost from my cheering squad came near the halfway turnaround, where I got high fives from one side of the street just before the turn and from the other side of the street just after the turn. If only I could have bottled up that energy and spread it out over the next several miles. Miles 13 through 18 were really tough. I continued to run as best I could with some walking mixed in, looking forward to the next rendezvous with my fans which would come between miles 18 and 19 on State Street. On the first loop, there had been an announcer at this turnaround, calling out names and getting the crowd going. Apparently, they shut down this announcer station earlier this year than last and the crowd sort of lost its energy. My dad found that unacceptable, so he stepped out into the middle of the street in front of the turnaround, cow bell in hand, cheering all the athletes as they came by. With a few more high fives, I set out on the final push to the finish.

I hadn’t been paying much attention to my time, but when I got to mile 20 I looked at my watch and figured I still had a shot to go under 12 hours. But, it would mean no more walk breaks between aid stations. That became my new mission, and somehow I found a little extra and picked up the pace a bit. This was the most physically and mentally demanding portion of my race, which also made it the most rewarding portion of my race. It’s incredible how the finish line is like a magnet that pulls you in the closer you get. Your legs are shot, but your will to finish takes over and pushes you forward.

A couple blocks from the finish, I could hear the roar of the crowd and the echo of the announcer. I took the final turn to the finish and looked down the street at the clock. I could see I was going to just miss 12 hours, so I slowed down and just absorbed the energy of the finishing chute. This time I couldn’t distinguish the cheers from my family above the thunder of the crowd. It was electrifying!

I crossed the line in 12:00:23 with a 3:59:49 marathon. I was greeted by two very nice catchers, unsure for a moment whether I was destined for the medical tent or the food tent. It seemed that my senses were mostly intact, so I told them I was fine about the same time I heard my wife screaming from the other side of the barricade. I gave her a big hug and a kiss, and rest of the family was soon to follow, with enough hugs and kisses and high fives to last me until next year.

Thoughts

I tell you, if there is even a little thought way back there in the nethermost regions of your mind about one day doing an Ironman, you need to pull that dream up the front of your mind and put together a plan to get you there. Your plan might be years in the making. So what! I saw a 74 year old man cross the finish line at 12:02 AM. 74 years old! It is truly one of those experiences you will never forget, and that no one can ever take away from you. It will make you a stronger person, physically, mentally, even spiritually. I most certainly didn’t believe I could ever do such a thing the first time that crazy thought crossed my mind. On Sunday, that crazy thought and I crossed the finish line of the Ironman for the second time. Anything is possible!

Congratulations to every dedicated soul who toed the line at Ironman Wisconsin. It was very tough day at the end of a very long and hard journey. Each one of you is an inspiration for having taken on the challenge.

"Steve Emmert, You Are An Ironman!" - Ironman Wisconsin 2002

2002-09-15T12:00:00.002-05:00

First, just let me say, this is an AWESOME race! The city, the course, the volunteers, the spectators – the ENERGY! It should only get better next year. Ya gotta do this race!

This was my first Ironman. I registered for it on May 10, 2001. I competed in my first triathlon on June 2, 2001. I knew I’d love this sport, I knew I’d love Ironman, and I knew I could do it if I set my mind to it. So, when they announced Ironman Wisconsin, just two hours from my home, I was IN!

My goal for the race was to go under 12 hours, but I wasn’t going to be a slave to the clock, I was going to be a slave to my plan. My plan was to survive the swim (I really need to learn how to swim), go easy on the bike, and leave whatever was left on the run course. Nevertheless, I needed to give my family an idea of where I’d be when, so I figured on 1:25 for the swim, :10 T1, 6:15 bike, :05 T2, and 4:00 run.

Speaking of my family, I had loads of support. My wife (a.k.a. the Sherpa), of course, along with my parents (the first time they’ve ever seen me race), and my sister were there from start to finish. During the bike, my in-laws came up, and my other sister and her four daughters. And during the run, my brother came up as a surprise. Many of them have never seen me race, and have never even seen a triathlon, let alone an Ironman, so it was great to have all of them there!

Swim – 1:23:03

Heading down to the swim, I could not believe how many competitors there were! I couldn’t imagine how that many people could try to swim the same course at the same time. Turns out…they can’t ;-) My plan was to seed myself pretty far back, but in-line with the buoys. You see, I didn’t want to swim any farther than I had to, so I really didn’t want to spend the whole swim way on the outside.

The cannon went off, and I thought my seeding plan was a good one as I swam comfortably for a minute to the starting line. That’s were I ran into a logjam of bodies. I tried to think of a way to describe the swim to my family, and this is what I came up with: It’s like being in a washing machine with a bunch of cats! Good Lord, there was more neoprene than water in Lake Monona that morning! But, damn it anyway, this was Ironman and this is what I expected. All I could do was smile (if you can really do that while swimming) and do my best to relax. I didn’t get anxious or upset about the mass of humanity. I just dealt with it. It was actually kind of fun.

Turning to breathe and seeing thousands of spectators on and around the Monona Terrace was just awesome. But, I was happy to get out of the water and onto activities more suited to human beings than fish. And, I was “on plan”.

T1 – 11:37

My best friend was doing this race and his parents volunteered as wetsuit strippers. They were working as a pair and I sought them out to strip me. Cool! That wetsuit stripping thing rocks! Then, up I went, jogging up the four levels of the parking ramp helix. Got my transition bag, threw on my bike stuff, another jog around the top of the parking ramp, and I was on my bike riding down the helix. I was concerned that the helix was going to cause of traffic jam, but no such thing. It worked just fine, and I was on my way.

Bike – 6:17:09

Immediately on the bike I started to focus on relaxing. If I was to be a slave to my heart rate plan, I needed to be calm and relaxed. I spent the first few miles spinning nice and easy. The plan was as follows, much like recommended in Rich Strauss’ “Ironman How-To”: upper zone 1 for miles 1-30, low to mid zone 2 for 30-60, mid to upper zone 2 for 60-90, and upper zone 2 to lower zone 3 for 90-112. I found that it took great discipline to follow this plan, but I held my faith that it would pay off on the run.

The bike course is simply great. I’ve ridden it several times during training, and I like it more each time. The first time I rode it was a little over a year ago, and at that time it scared me. I was a true flatlander, and those hills ripped me up. But, having a year to prepare, I’ve come to appreciate the challenge. My buddy’s parents, the same ones who helped me out of my wetsuit, were out on the course on the hill on Old Sauk Pass Road. In my book, this is the first hill that really gets you. Maybe some of you Moosters remember them – a gray haired woman madly ringing a cowbell and yelling you up the climb, and a bald man snapping pictures. They’re awesome fans of sport and gave me a great boost!

The best surprise on the course was the crowd in Verona. There were hundreds of people lined up along both sides of the road, crowding in on the course forming a human tunnel and cheering like mad. We’re talking about a little town in the middle of Wisconsin that really doesn’t even get a mention since Madison is the home of the race. But the people of Verona, and those who drove or were shuttled out from Madison, came out in a HUGE way to support the race. It was such a surprise, it brought tears to my eyes. It was there that I thought about how I didn’t want this day to end.

I felt good throughout the bike. It was a little slower than I had hoped, but I had no worries. I followed my nutritional plan to the letter and felt ready to run when we came back into Madison.

T2 – 7:02

Riding back up the parking ramp helix was easier than I had expected, and the crowds screaming at the Monona Terrace were fantastic! I handed my bike to a volunteer, headed to the changing room, and out for a quick visit to the porta john. Over the crowd, I heard someone call my name. I looked up to the upper level of the Terrace, and there was my family cheering me on. I gave them a “fist pump”, and I was on my way.

Run – 3:38:30

I was really surprised with how good my legs felt. Through the first several miles I was able to hold better than an 8:00 pace and it felt comfortable. This being the first time I’ve ever run after swimming 2.4 and riding 112, I didn’t know what to expect, but I didn’t expect this. I had planned on trying to hold a 9:00 pace, but this was such unknown territory I didn’t know if that was aggressive or conservative. As the miles ticked by I kept doing the math. “Let’s see, 8 times 7 is 56, right? My watch is under 56, so I guess I’m still holding 8’s.” When I got past 11, it seemed like too much of a metal effort to do the math anymore. Maybe I’ll bring a calculator next time.

As I approached the halfway turn-around I saw my family again, and this time my brother was among them. This was a nice surprise since I didn’t know he was coming, and it gave me a nice boost. It was depressing running basically halfway down the finishing chute and then having to turn around to do it all over again. But that let me go right back past the family again, and with a high-five as I passed them, I was up for it.

On and off through the second half, I was not feeling so well, and I couldn’t decide why. My stomach felt pretty full and uncomfortable, but I couldn’t decide if it was a result of eating or drinking too much, or if it was signs of hyponatremia, or what. I cut back on the Gatorade and it seemed to help. I knew I was slowing down some, but I was still running and had no plans to start walking.

I apparently ran right past most of my family around mile 18 without seeing or hearing them, but I did see my dad because he jumped out onto the course to give me a high-five. I found out afterward that he had wanted to run with me for a bit there, but decided against it for fear it may disqualify me. Now, if you knew my dad you’d be intrigued by that last sentence. You see, my dad has had problems with his feet for several years, and can’t spend too much time standing and walking without pain and discomfort. Yet, on this day he’d been on his feet ALL DAY, and was so moved by the experience of Ironman, he felt inspired to RUN with me! Ironman breeds inspiration.

The final few miles were a countdown for me. My math exercises had changed to something like, “If I run 10’s the rest of the way, will I still finish under 12:00? Yes. Okay, that’s good, just keep running!” With about two miles left, I started to pick up the pace. I could see shadows of people behind me and could feel a couple guys back there using me as a rabbit. That was fine with me, but I was starting to smell the finish line and I wanted to get there NOW!

I’m not sure I can adequately describe the feeling of an Ironman finishing chute. Can you think of another example of an event where a couple thousand people will scream their heads off for a complete stranger? I’m not a celebrity. These people don’t even know my name, that is until the announcer screams it into his microphone. And yet there they are, standing and cheering and clapping and….caring. If you’ve been there before, you know the feeling. If you haven’t, it’s just a 140.6 miles away. I highly suggest the trip.

Summary

I crossed the coveted finish line in 11:37:19. I made my way to the back of the finish area and saw my wife running to meet me. We shared a powerful hug, and the rest of my family was right behind to do the same. I think some of them were more moved by the experience than I was. They were simply floored by what I’d just done.

When it’s over, it’s kind of an odd experience, really. I mean, I’ve been working for this moment for over a year. Somewhere in there I moved past that mental roadblock. You know the one. Maybe it was the first time you ever heard of the Ironman. For me it was probably 12 years ago, and I remember thinking, “What a cool ‘lifetime goal’ that would be!” But right behind that fleeting thought is that metal roadblock which makes you think, “But, I could never do that.”

Well, somewhere in the past year or two, I’ve managed to move past that obstacle and have believed I could do this thing. I just confirmed it on race day. Ironman IS a life altering experience, but the “life altering” part doesn’t happen when you cross the finish line. It happens that day you move past the barrier in your mind that says, “I can’t.”

So, here I am. Another Ironman. Another example that you CAN do whatever you set your mind to. You just have to find your way past that barrier. “You can!”