"RUN!" - Ice Age Trail 50

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

"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 Old Race Reports

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

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

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.

IMBrrr! - Ironman Wisconsin 2006

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

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

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.