Ironman St. George: A Tale of Four Athletes

I do not wish to arrive at the grave, as an old woman, in a neatly pressed suit but rather when my time is up, to skid in sideways, completely worn out, shouting "Holy shit!  What a ride!"

In order to give a complete picture of Ironman St. George I am presenting this blog from the perspective of each of the family members that competed in the event. We each had a different experience though we shared the same challenges. It was an epic day all around. My goal is to show you what was running through each of our minds through the day. What we thought and felt. What made us successful or not successful. This will be a long report, but hopefully enjoyable. There is something to be learned from each of us.

Athlete #1:  Myself, a 35 year old female, competing in my 8th Ironman.

I was so ready for this race.  I trained harder for IMSG than I ever have for my previous Ironmans.  I completed at least five 100 mile bike rides, with significant hill training.  I maintained a much higher weekly bike mileage than I ever have before.  My swim was strong, and my run.... My run was going to be amazing.  Breakthrough.  I ran a 1:42 half at the end of IM 70.3 5 weeks ago.  Do the math.  I was going to have an awesome day.  And then the cannon sounded.

The first 500 meters or so everything was smooth sailing.  We turned around the first turn buoy and from out of nowhere the wind picked up and we began battling horrific waves.  We were tossed around in the water.  It was impossible to pull the water with an arm stroke.  There was no place to breathe.  In a word, terrifying. 

It's really impossible to try to explain to someone who wasn't in the water what exactly we were up against.  A few years ago, my husband and I participated in the La Jolla Gatorman 3 mile swim, the championship of rough water swimming.  This made the Gatorman look like splashing around in a kiddie pool.

After rounding the second buoy we were headed straight into the chaos.  I began to really fear for our safety.  Many, many times I got smacked with a wave and inhaled water.  Once I inhaled so much water that I had to flip onto my back and was coughing so forcefully that I was gagging.  It was truly scary.  I spent more time breaststroking than attempting freestyle, but it didn't matter because the swimmers who were freestyling around me were going nowhere.  I kept looking over to the rescue boat as if to ask, "am I done yet?"  Apparently not because they didn't drag me out of the water.

In the center of the lake is a large rock that sticks up from the middle like an island.  We were supposed to swim from one end of the reservoir, past the rock to the other end, and then angle back to the boat dock.  No matter what I did, the rock wasn't getting any closer to me.  I was wearing myself out.  I couldn't imagine what others were going through if I felt this bad.  I tried to use my mantra about being a strong swimmer, but soon it became a mantra of 'just don't let me drown.'

Eventually, I made it past the rock.  There were no longer any swim caps ahead of me, but I could still see several more buoys that we were supposed to swim around before turning to shore.  I treaded water for a minute looking between our designated path, and the shore, trying to decide if I should call it a day and just get out of the water.  Do I keep swimming, even though I'm going nowhere?  Or do I cut my losses and get out while I'm ahead (as in, still alive)?  As I was paused there, the boat came speeding by and shouted for me (and everyone) to head to shore.  They cut the swim short.  They had moved the red buoy (the one that indicated we should turn) back so that we were no longer swimming the last few hundred meters of the course.  I was so relieved. 

I turned to shore, and even though I knew I was nearly done, the shore was ever out of reach.  I worked and worked and worked and finally pulled myself onto the boat dock.  I stood up, shell-shocked, and wandered out of the lake.  I scanned the crowd looking for my family.  My uncle shouted my name and I ran over.  "Has anyone else come out of the water?" I asked him, referring to my family racing with me.  No, I was the first one.  "It was horrible!  Horrible!  They cut the course short.  It was terrible!"  It was probably the wrong thing to tell him, considering he had two children still in the lake, but I was so scared for them.

To give a little perspective, my Ironman swim PR is 1:01. My slowest is 1:08. The swim was cut short by a half mile and I got out of the water in 1:16, not that I gave a shit about time at that point.  I was just so happy to be out of the water.  I got my wetsuit stripped and as I stood up I saw my husband coming out of the water.  I waited for him to catch up and at this point I couldn't hold back my tears.  I told him I didn't want to get on the bike.  The wind was horrific and after the swim, I was rattled.  He walked me to my gear bag and told me to just get on the bike, it will get better.  I shuffled into the change tent, still choking back tears.  No less than 5 volunteers got to work dressing me for the bike ride while I sniffled and wiped away tears.  I got up and ran to my bike.  I made it out of T1. 

On the way out of T1 was supposed to be the easy part of the course.  Unfortunately we were battling an extreme headwind and I found myself going about 12 mph downhill.  It was demoralizing.  Soon enough we had a reprieve as we carried a tailwind into town.  For about an hour, we had decent conditions with the wind safely at our backs.  Unfortunately, I had swallowed so much water and air during the swim that I was bloated and had stabbing stomach pains.  I couldn't take any food or water in.  I was so uncomfortable. 

I forced a bottle of water down through town, knowing that once we hit the highway we'd have another head wind and it would be harder to take in nutrition.  I stocked up at the aid station, rounded the corner and basically came to a halt.  My pace dropped significantly as I battled the winds.  For damn near 30 miles we battled head wind and cross winds through the desert canyon.  I was so unhappy.  My mindset, which had been shaky since 15 minutes into the race, was taking a turn for the worse. 

I began to question whether or not I wanted to continue.  At 13 mph, I had a long time to consider all my options.  First and foremost, with the stabbing pains in my stomach (which continued the entire race), I knew I wasn't going to be able to run what I had trained to run.  Doing the math in my head, I calculated that I would likely be on the bike for 8 1/2 hours, and then follow it up with a 5-6 hour marathon given my condition.  I just didn't want to be out on the course for that long.  I can't even explain it really, other than to say that I was exhausted.  I never once got into my aero bars once we hit the highway because I was being thrown around by the cross winds.  And I had a hard time taking in nutrition or water because I couldn't take my hand off the handle bars long enough to grab a bottle. 

Physically, I was fine.  Mentally, I was drained and tapped out.  I decided half way through the loop that I wasn't going to continue.  I was hoping to see my family at the start of the second loop so I could drop out.  Eventually I made it out of the valley, through Veyo and headed back toward town.  Finally we were headed downhill, but I still couldn't go aero because of the winds and at that point, my arm fatigue. 

I saw my family shortly after turning into the second loop.  I pulled off the road as they were cheering for me.  I told them I was done.  They encouraged me to just rest a few minutes and continue.  They offered me food and water and told me to keep going.  Ironically, I wasn't mad or feeling negative.  But my spirit was broken and my heart wasn't in it.  I just didn't want to do it anymore.  After about 10 minutes of thinking it over, I took my bike off the course, and laid it down on the side walk.  I was out.

Note:  This was my first Ironman DNF, after 7 successful IM finishes. 


Athlete #2:   My interview my cousin, EK, a 26 yr old female attempting her first Ironman.

Q:  What did you think about during the swim?

A:  Just keep swimming!  Swim, swim, swimming!  (from movie Finding Nemo).

Q:  Did you ever think about quitting?

A:  I wasn't ever scared, and didn't think about grabbing onto a kayak though they were full of people being rescued.  I knew I was going to make it (out of the water).  It was just so ridiculous that I was laughing to myself.  (Pauses) That's kind of sick.

I was worried about the time cutoff though.  Every time I saw someone on a lifeboat I thought, at least that's not me.  In training I had done the distance in just under 2 hours, so with the conditions, I was worried about the time. 

EK's Mom adds:  From the point of view of a spectator, and specifically one with two kids in the water, I watched a woman being thrown repeatedly into the buoy next to dock as she was trying to exit the water.  On one hand, I hated to see this woman struggling so much and didn't want that to be anyone I knew, but on the other hand I wished that it was my daughter because then at least she was out of the water and safe. 

Q:  Your mom says that you were in good spirits coming out of the water.  Walk me through what happened in transition. 

A:  I was glad to be out of the water.  Technically I didn't make the cutoff (having swum about 2:26), but the cutoff to leave T1 is 2:30 and given the conditions, the race officials gave me the option of continuing,  but I had to be on the bike in 4 minutes!  I thought, it can't get much worse than this! (laughs)

I got my wetsuit stripped.  I jumped up and ran off without it and they had to yell at me to come get it!  The volunteers didn't let me sit down in the change tent.  They rushed me out to the bike and everyone was yelling.  I didn't know what was going on.  4 people dressed me and shoved nutrition into my pockets and I had about a minute to get out of T1! 

Q:  So tell me how you felt on the bike ride.

A:  My legs felt strong, I felt good.  Until I turned the corner (1/2 mile into the ride).  (Laughing)  The first few miles out to the highway I started to question the time because I was going like 8 mph on flat ground.  I was wondering where the tailwind was, which we then had when we turned onto the highway. 

I was so pleased with the volunteers at the aid stations.  I wanted to master peeing on my bike but I couldn't seem to get that.  The volunteers would hold your bike, and help you get anything you needed. 

The first part of the loop through town was good.  As soon as you turn onto the highway (through the canyon) there's no one out there and we had bad cross and headwinds.  And a huge snake crossed the road about 5 feet in front of my bike!!  That was good motivation for me not to get off my bike out there!  I imagined what would happen if I got bit by the snake, and they had to take me off the course.  (Pauses.) Going 7 mph didn't seem very productive.  It killed me mentally and physically. 

Q:  Did you think about quitting?

A:  I was worried about the time cutoff, but I didn't think about quitting.  Going down the last hill on highway 18 I thought, if I fall on the bike, I don't have to continue.  I didn't want to make the decision to quit, but I also wanted to stop.  The road surface sucked, and then you add in the winds. 

Q:  When you were told you didn't make the cutoff to start the second loop of the bike (at mile 64) how did you feel?

A:  When I didn't make the cutoff, I felt relieved.  I didn't want to continue, but I didn't want to quit. 

Q:  How do you feel about your accomplishment?

A:  I feel very proud of myself.  Looking back and hearing all the reports, I realize how tough it really was. 

Q:  Do you ever want to do an Ironman again?

A:  Oh, yes!  Of course!  I want to try again.  I probably need to train more but I think I will know that I did something harder than I'll ever have to face again. 

Note:  EK missed the bike cutoff at mile 64.  She had a positive attitude all day, and finished with a smile.  She will be back out there.  Someday. 

Athlete #3:  My interview with my husband, DB, a 43 year old male racing his 11th Ironman.   

Q:  What did you think about during the swim?

A:  The first part of the swim I was just trying to sight off of your pink cap and keep a nice hard effort.  Once we hit the turn buoy everything changed.  All of a sudden we were being thrown left and right and I was hoping that the waves would go away once we made the next left turn.  I thought, everything should be just fine then.  But it only got worse.  About 10 minutes into heading north I saw a lady on a kayak and I asked her what happened.  She said a horrible wind picked up all of a sudden.  I thought since she was on the kayak she probably had a swim background and knew something about surviving the chop, I asked if she had any tips.  She told me to stick close to the buoys.  (laughs) That's it.  It was just about survival at that point. 

The thought of having my best swim went out the window and I just thought about getting the hell out of the water.  I could have sworn that the section heading north took an hour.  I was certain I would be out in 2 hours, I was going nowhere.  I kept swallowing water and had to clear my lungs, coughing it all up.  I had to choose between sighting, and getting a mouthful of water versus not sighting and just hope I was swimming straight.  Luckily even though I stopped sighting I still maintained a straight course because the waves were hitting us straight on.  I kept the rock on my left peripheral.  Once I passed the rock, I tried to sight a couple of times to see the last buoy at the next shore.  I couldn't see it because, come to find out, they had moved it.  But I didn't want to be disqualified for not swimming the whole course so I kept swimming for a while until I was 100% sure the buoy was no longer there and there were no athletes in front of me- everyone was going to shore. 

At that point I knew I was going to make it.  I was certain it was going to be close to two hours when I got out, but my watch said 1:17.  Mike Reilly told me "nice job" and I replied, "that was dangerous!"  He said, "we know!"  And then a few seconds later, you were there with tears in your eyes.  You told me you didn't want to get on the bike.  I walked you to your gear bag and told you to just get on your bike.  I told you I'd meet you on the other side of the change tent, but you weren't there when I came out.  So I figured you'd either get on your bike or you wouldn't.  I figured you'd be OK once you got through the change tent, but I wasn't certain.  When we started up the road from Sand Hollow I remember thinking, hopefully it's just out here by the lake that it's bad like this.  I hoped that the canyon would block all the wind on the back side of the course.  I passed you at mile 2 of the bike, so obviously you made it out of transition before I had a chance to go back and get my gear bag and change.  That was pretty much my swim and T1.

Q:  Did you ever think about quitting during the swim?

A:  I don't think I thought about quitting, more just how do I get out of here.  I was preoccupied thinking how unsafe it was for the less strong swimmers behind me.  I knew there were a ton of people who weren't solid swimmers and I couldn't imagine how they were surviving.  I thought about your cousins and our friends who aren't as strong of swimmers.  I knew you'd be fine, just that we'd be slow.  To have these conditions, as hard as it was for me, I fully expected that they would cancel the swim.  Back in 2002, a man drowned in the swim during IM Utah (previously held in Provo, this event was cancelled after 2002) before they could remove all the athletes from the water when winds came up.  I though how Utah is such a horrible place for an Ironman (laughs).  I just didn't want anyone to drown.

Q:  Take me through the first leg of the bike.  How did you feel, what were you thinking?

A:  From when we hit state route 9, heading west with the wind at our back-ish, I just tried to settle into the climbs.  This was the only section that I hadn't pre-ridden so I tried to be smart and let people hammer by me if they wanted.  I got into a rhythm.  I passed a guy on the first climb, and I said to him, "Mrs. St. George is not happy about us coming back next year.  She has it out for us!"  I knew it was going to be an epic day. 

After the first 20 or so miles when we turned onto the highway, a friend (AF) passed me and exclaimed, "dude, what about that swim!"  My response was, "what swim?"  (laughing)  I couldn't comfortably stay with him, I had to keep my own pace.  I still thought that at some point, the canyon would block the winds, but I was wrong.  I broke up the course in my head before the race into sections, Hurricane to St. George, through St. George, and then the 25-28 mile section heading north through the canyons.  A majority of the time I was sitting about 14 mph into the head wind.  I just wanted to get to the switch back.  I kept telling myself, it's not as bad as you think.  Once I made the turn, and I flew up the switchback with a strong tail wind I thought, "you (the author) were right, the switchback is the easiest hill". 

At the top it was about two miles or so back into the wind to Veyo.  I was just looking forward to our turn at the pie shop and starting the section of downhill.  Luckily there weren't terrible crosswinds on the down so I could take advantage of it.  Everyone was stopping at special needs and getting off their bikes.  When I made the turn to head south, my speedometer told me I averaged 16 mph for the first roughly 56 miles.  On the descent I tried to make up time.  I'm a strong descender.  I'm not afraid to get in my aero bars.  I topped out at 58 mph on the steepest part of the downhill.  I flew by people. 

Once I got past the Snow Canyon park, I never saw another cyclist in front or behind me until just before you turn on the highway into the canyon in the second loop which was about a 15 mile stretch.  That's where I started to pass people.  At first I was confused trying to figure out how they were ahead of me (they were biking very slowly).  And then I realized that they were only just in their first loop.  It had taken them that long to do the swim and first 20 miles. 

I knew it was going to be an epic day.  I knew I could be out on the bike for 6 1/2 -7 hours which was significantly worse than what I biked in Hawaii the year I broke my collarbone 9 weeks before the race.  I stuck to my plan which was to start pushing in that second loop.  I continued to pick people off left and right.  I passed another friend (MS) and I encouraged her to keep going.  She didn't look very happy. 

The second loop I felt good.  I felt strong.  My stomach hadn't been good the whole day, which concerned me.  But I had my watch set to beep every 34 minutes to remind me to take in nutrition.  When I hit the wall (the switchback) the second time, around mile 90, I was extremely happy to know I only had to make a few more turns.  I passed through Veyo, turned the corner at the pie shop.  I was so pissed off to see (spectators) standing on the corner eating pie and not offer us any.  That thought subsided when I turned right and began flying down the road into the last real climb of the day. 

The next thought was it feels so good to finally be heading south.  I checked my speedometer and was at 16.4 mph which was 0.4 mph faster than the previous loop.  I picked up time on the descent again and crushed it.  I was quite happy to see the 100 mile marker.  My calculation had me close to 6:20 for the bike which was a relief.  I tried to stretch out a little, particularly my hamstring.  And I peed, figuring it would probably be my last chance for the day.  On the big drop past Snow Canyon I was between 56-58 mph.  Flying.  Next thing I know, I'm making the right turn.  In the back of my mind I knew we had one more climb coming out of the tunnel.  As I was coming back into town, to my left there are hundreds of cyclists heading back into T2 with me.  I couldn't figure out, again, where they came from.  How they were that far ahead of me and I hadn't seen them all day. 

I saw the family, who cheered for me.  I gave them a thumbs up.  With 3 miles to go to T2 I was flying by these cyclists which was when I realized that they probably didn't make the cutoff for the second loop of the bike.  There were so many of them.

I got off my bike in T2, and I had forgotten to leave my bike shoes on my bike, but I was still running past everyone through the gear bags.  All these athletes were taking their time, and proclaimed that there was no hurry because their races were done.  I knew everyone else in the change tent was out of the race.  I was the only one with any sense of urgency to get out of T2.  I think I had a pretty fast transition.  Changed my shoes, grabbed my bag (of nutrition) and started to run.  My legs didn't feel bad, I tried to settle into a nice groove as I headed out.   

Q:  So on the bike, did you ever think about quitting? 

A:  No, definitely not.  I never thought about dropping out or quitting, because in my mind once I got out of the water and decided that today was going to be about survival, I knew it was about getting to the finish line to get the medal.  I stayed pretty positive the whole bike.  You can only play the cards you're dealt.  It was windy and there wasn't anything we could do about that.

I remember saying to you in T1, you're going to have to readjust your bike thoughts for the day.  At some point, I reminded myself of that.  I got rid of preconceived notions of time.  My mind switched from frantic race mode to lets get through it, lets stay positive mode. 

Professional triathlete, Linsey Corbin always says (when she doesn't race well), it's a great fitness gain.  I thought, if I wasn't there, racing this race, I couldn't get out of myself what I was, during a training day. 

I was thankful for the super long training rides that I put in this season.  I had several 6 1/2 hour training rides which normally I wouldn't.  And I was thankful, too, for the over distance swims and training with paddles that we did.  It helped me be able to withstand being in the water today for 1:17.

Q:  You had some problems on the run.  When did you realize that you were in trouble?

A:  Unfortunately every Ironman run, I run scared because I'm worried about at what point my stomach is going to give up.  I have tried everything to work out my stomach issues.  And today, I did everything I could to minimize risk.

I ran comfortably, a solid pace.  I saw some friends on course, and we encouraged each other, but no one was closing on me so I knew I was keeping a good pace.  My stomach was on the edge but I kept thinking, just try to get to the finish before it gets bad. 

I made most of the second loop comfortably as well.  At mile 14 I forced myself to take calories- a gel (because I hadn't eaten anything).  Immediately I could feel the cramps hit my stomach.  In my mind, I told myself that it would settle back down.  My danger zone is usually mile 14-18.  That's when my stomach makes its decision. 

Finishing the second loop of the run, and starting the third I stopped to stretch my back.  I walked about 10-15 steps and my stomach finally rebelled.  I was nauseated.  Cramping and over several miles this turned into stabbing pains that I could no longer run through.  I was constantly trying to figure out what I could do to get to the finish line.  I was just trying to survive. 

I knew I needed water, but every sip would cause stabbing pains.  I was also losing energy which I knew I needed just to make it to the finish.  At mile 18 I tried to take in a gel.  I maybe got 1/3 in.  I kept moving.  I kept telling myself early on during the run that it was too early for coke.  At that point (in loop 3) I knew it wasn't going to get any worse so I started to drink the coke. 

(Friend) MS caught me on main and I stayed with her through the 200 block.  We took turns leading a bit.  I started having stabbing pains again so I took in more coke.  I knew I only had two sections left to get through.  This is where it gets a little confusing.  I was getting dizzy and started to feel weird, light headed.  At some point, I remember lying on the side of the road.  I don't think I fell, because I don't have any marks.  I must have sat down.  Two medics came over and talked to me.  I couldn't really see them (because everything was black) but I could hear them radio for a gurney.  I asked if they had anything for nausea.  They told me that if they gave me an IV they'd have to pull me from the race. 

I sort of grunted a "no".  I laid there for a while, and a volunteer brought me some potato chips.  The medic started to radio for the Gator (to transport me) and I knew I had to move so I asked the volunteer to walk with me up the hill to where I knew you'd be.  I was really wobbly and dizzy.  I was stumbling.  She kept encouraging me.  Finally I saw you running toward me and I collapsed onto the sidewalk.  I knew you wouldn't let them pull me off the course.

I knew I had six hours left to finish.  I couldn't do the math but I thought I could make the cutoff if I could be moving again in an hour (laughs).  Clearly, my math was way off! 

Lying there I was so close to saying I was done, but I just couldn't say it.  I didn't get through that bike and swim for nothing.  I wanted that medal.  Not finishing at CDA in 2011 motivated me. 

The homeowner on who's curb I collapsed kept checking my vitals.  He brought me out a pillow and blanket.  He tried to get me to drink an electrolyte beverage.  But I was so tired, all I wanted to do was sleep.  I had reached my limit at mile 22 instead of the finish.  I could hear everything that was going on but I couldn't open my eyes.  The pillow felt good.  He kept checking my vitals and tried to put a camping mat underneath me but I couldn't move (laughs).  The sidewalk was just fine at that point. 

I knew I couldn't stay in this miserable state for the rest of my life so I forced myself to lift my head and grabbed the red solo cup of Emergen-C.  I guzzled it and didn't get instant cramps.  I laid back down and he covered me with blankets because I was getting cold.  He brought out some salted watermelon and another glass of Emergen-C which I drank.  I rolled onto my back.  Your cousin (PK) came by and I could hear the family talking.  You walked with him for a while.  By the time you got back I was able to sit up.  I knew I needed to start walking and get to the finish. 

I got up, shed my blankets and was pleasantly surprised to see that I had been lying in front of mile marker 23.  I told you that you had to walk with me and off we went.  I didn't feel great, but I was moving forward and felt better than I had on the side of the road.  At mile 24, PK caught up with us and we walked together to the top of Diagonal.  You encouraged him to run the downhill back to town, and I realized that he still had another loop to go.

We kept walking.  I wasn't going to gain anything by running and you had a big backpack on and I didn't want to leave you out there.  We passed mile 25 which was a beautiful thing.  You told me to try to run a little.  We started jogging.  It didn't take long for the sharp pain to return to my stomach but I just wanted to get it over.  We walked a little again and devised a plan to meet at the finish.  I took off your sweatshirt, zipped up my kit, and started running again.  I ran it in the rest of the way.  There was no sprint to the finish, but I crossed that line one more time.  I heard him call me an Ironman.  I got my medal and was very happy to be done. 

On a day when 13 hours really didn't seem so bad, the only word I can use to describe this is, Epic. 

Q:  Compare this accomplishment to your performance at Hawaii in '09, another hard day for you. 

A:  Every time you get to the finish line is an accomplishment.  An awesome thing.  Some days you're disappointed with your time.  Some days not.  Some days you get a Kona slot.  Some days not. 

The day felt similar to my mindset in Hawaii '09, just getting to the finish line no matter what.  This became more evident as the day went on.  Time became irrelevant other than 17 hours.  No one would have blamed me for quitting, or for letting medical pull me off course.  No one would have cared if I finished or not.  It was just something that I needed to do. 

Mike Reilly (the voice of IM) always says the only thing we can control is our attitude.  And I think that is what enabled me to get through the day.  I didn't have an expectation.  It was easy to change my mindset to survival mode and I controlled my attitude. 

Not saying that the 28% of people who dropped out didn't have a good reason.  I think we all had a good reason and you can't think any less of them for trying.  Just getting out of the water was an accomplishment. 

Q:  Are you just saying that to make me feel better because I dropped out (smiling)?

A:  (Laughs)  Definitely not!  Even Mike Reilly said that this was the hardest race he's ever witnessed.  Everyone made the same comment.

Q:  What lessons will you take from this experience?

A:  I don't think I needed reinforcement to know that I can do anything.  I already knew that.  But what I love about hard days is that I can file this into my memory bank and know that no matter what I encounter in training or racing from here on out, I have survived the hardest Ironman race, on the hardest day, with the slowest finish times, and the highest dropout rate.  In those key moments, I can look inside and say to myself, you have been through harder- suck it up and get through it.  (Pauses.)  So maybe it did make me stronger.

I also felt really proud of myself in the area where I know I need the most work- the bike.  It sounds absurd when you look at my 17.4 mph that I biked (laughing) but compared to the rest of the field and looking back, I think I am absolutely stronger on the bike than I was 6 months ago.  The swim was impossible to gauge.  Was 1:17 a good time?  I'm not sure.  I've never beat (too many) pros out of the water before.  I also beat a few off the bike.  I have absolute confidence in my run, as bad of a situation as it became.  I will continue to work on my nutritional issues. 

Note:  DB finished in 13 hours, 25 minutes.  His slowest of 10 IM finishes, and also his most proud accomplishment. 


Athlete #4:  My interview with my cousin, PK, a 28 year old male competing in his second Ironman.

Q:  What were you thinking about during the swim?

A:  I thought we were filming (movie) The Guardian.  Only I've never wanted to be a rescue swimmer so I didn't know why I was here.  I thought it was a joke. 

I vomited once during the swim after swallowing a bunch of water.  I kept getting smacked in the face by the waves.  I remember when I came past the rock and saw the red buoy, there was another athlete motoring by me.  I grabbed hold of his ankle and yanked.  He came up like he wanted to hit me, but I yelled, "Dude!  We gotta turn (toward shore)!"  He thanked me profusely.  No one wanted to be out there any longer.   

Q:  How did you feel getting on the bike?

A:  I don't really remember T1.  I was pedaling my ass off to go 12 mph out of transition.  There was no way to ease yourself into this one.  The advice I had received about going one gear less than you think you can hold for the first 80 miles was useless.  Even in the easiest gear we were working. 

Normally, you are attacking an Ironman.  Today Ironman attacked us. 

I was worried about the cutoff time when I bonked at mile 85.  I had vomited once on the bike.  I sat in a port-a-potty for about 20 minutes (at mile 85) and for no reason, was crying.  I think I was just so exhausted and hypoglycemic, and that was my body's reaction.

Q:  Did you ever think about quitting on the bike?

A:  In the first loop, I thought about quitting.  Once my mindset changed from expectations to survival I was OK with what was happening.

Q:  Walk me through T2.

A:  In T2, I realized that I had survived the toughest bike ride ever.  All anyone could talk about was the swim!

PK's Mom adds:  When we were spectating the run course, every athlete that was running or walking by was talking about the swim.  It was all anyone could talk about.  It was that bad. 

Q:  How did you feel on the run?

A:  I had set little goals.  You have to break it up or you'll never get there.  But each little goal was so much more of a battle.  My strategy changed from run, to run the downhills, to run when I feel good, to pretty much walking.  It really screws with your psyche.

Q:  Compare this accomplishment to your last Ironman event.

A:  This accomplishment stands alone with anything I've ever done in my life.  On par with getting into PA school.  I did over 5 rides of over 100 miles in training and still came within an hour of the bike cutoff!   This was an epic experience.

Note:  PK finished in 15 hours, 45 minutes.  A PR for Ironman distance. 

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Sigh.  That's a lot to process and that's all I've pretty much done for the last 48 hours is process what happened on Saturday.  I'd be lying if I said I didn't regret my decision.  But after talking it over ad nauseum with my husband who, thankfully, is an amazing listener and a great communicator, I feel OK about my decision.  I need to use what I learned about myself during this event to become stronger.  Mentally.  Physically. 

I need to learn how to dampen my fears and doubts.  I need to learn how not to over-react, but to process information with a rational and calm mind.  This will not be my last Ironman.  It will be the last DNF that I have a choice about.  I've been pulled out of races before due to injury.  I couldn't control those DNFs.  This was entirely my choice, and it was entirely mental.  I never want to be this weak again.  To cave at first sign that things aren't going to be exactly how I want them to be.  I tell others that you can't worry about things that you can't control.  I need to practice what I preach.  I can't control Mother Nature.  I might have a bone to pick with her now, but I am at her mercy.  What I can control is how I react to challenges. 

I haven't shed any tears, though I've been close.  I feel a little guilty crying as (again) this was my decision to make.  But I'm going to pick myself up by my bootstraps and move on.  Starting now.