| Ironman Florida 2001 Race Report Panama City Beach, Florida November 10, 2001 After a year of obsessing over this day, time is up: Ironman Florida is here! A 2.4-mile ocean swim, 112-mile bike and 26.2-mile run lay ahead. By any measure, it's going to be a long day. But despite never having biked that far, not running that far in over four years, and swimming that distance only one time, somehow I still think I'll put this one in the bag. Clad in my wetsuit, swim cap and goggles, I get down to the beach about fifteen minutes before start time. It's a brilliantly sunny morning and Will Smith's "Getting' Giggy Wit It" is blasting on the stereo, which I take as a sign that I'll have a good day. I sport a big grin, and scan the crowd looking for my Dad and Peter, who are in the sea of spectators somewhere. I can't find them, so I focus my attention on trying to get a good starting spot. I settle on the most direct route and decide I won't get upset if the other 1800 racers pummel me on the way to the first buoy. I have no real strategy for the swim other than to not expend too much energy and to remember to pull hard with my arms - I won't need them much the rest of the day. The cannon booms and we all lunge into the sea. It's a two-loop course that requires getting out of the water in the middle and running through a large gate on the beach. The congestion is not quite as bad as I feared, though it never really clears out either. My friend and fellow racer Jimmy later remarks the swim was like being in a washing machine. Coming out onto the beach in the middle is a nice boost - both for the chance to breathe normally and the cheers of the crowd. By the end of the second loop I am eager for the swim to be over - I'm tired of getting slapped in the face with seawater and knocked around by the other racers. I manage to clock a decent split (1:03:45) and expend relatively little energy. I emerge from the water still grinning -- now the real race is about to begin. I run up the beach to the transition area, now seeing my Dad and Peter and giving them the thumbs up. My transition goes smoothly, and the clock stands at just over 1:08 when I head out on the bike. I pedal the first twenty miles without a hitch - covering the only noticeable hill on the course (a large bridge over the Intracoastal Waterway) and getting out to the roads with less traffic. I'm just getting into a good rhythm when a sharp twinge of pain flares up right where my left hamstring connects with my butt. I stand up on the bike to try and stretch the offending kink, but have no luck. It hurts to pedal, but I have no choice but to ignore it and hope it goes away. Scores of racers speed past me as my pace slows to around 17 mph due to my aching leg/butt. I'm still not that worried, figuring there's a chance the pain will work itself out. And luckily enough, that's exactly what happens. Around mile 45 I get off my bike to retrieve my "Special Needs" bag - a bag of food you turn in before the start of the race that race coordinators bring out to the course. I have no appetite for anything in the bag, but getting off the bike manages to work out the kink. I get another boost from my Dad cheering out at mile 60, and by now I'm feeling great. I'm revved up on Gu and Gatorade and my pace has increased to 19-20 mph. I'm passing many of the folks on fancy bikes that left me in the dust earlier. The miles now tick by without much effort - I slow down only at the aid stations to secure more liquids. The only solid food I manage to get down is one Power Bar and a Kellogg's Nutri-Grain bar -the rest of the food with me goes uneaten. At the end of the race I calculate my fluid intake on the bike is at least fifteen 20-oz jugs of Gatorade, Endurox sports drink and water, along with about eight packs of Gu. (And like the other racers out there, getting rid of all that liquid entails nothing more than standing up on the bike.) I hit the magical 100 mile mark still feeling great. By this point I can taste the end of the bike and am pleasantly surprised the ride has felt this easy - going into the race it was the part I worried about the most, since it's the longest leg, I have only a year of cycling experience and have only cycled 100 miles one other time. I pull into the transition area after a 5:52:21 bike split (19.1 mph average) - a great leg for me and ahead of plan. I see Peter, my Dad and friend Jamie who yell more words of encouragement. Another transition to my run gear, and I'm off on the run at just past 2:00 in the afternoon. The run course is a two-loop course, starting and ending in the parking lot of the race hotel. I start at a comfortable clip -- around 8:30 miles. Generally I am most comfortable with the run leg, having the most experience there. But of course I have yet to try running a marathon after seven hours of intense physical activity. Nonetheless, I float through the first ten miles, waving to tons of spectators and still having a great time. But by the time I hit the halfway mark, the good feelings that have propelled me through the first nine hours and 127 miles of the race have evaporated. That "easy" bike ride and my relatively light running regimen (~35 miles/week) leading up to the race have now come back to haunt me. My quads are burning, my toes are rubbing raw, and I have 13 miles to go. It's clear that if I try and continue at my current pace I might totally bonk and not make it at all! I walk most of the next 6 miles - interspersing some shuffling with walking, quads burning with every step. But the walking improves my mood and I'm back to feeling good mentally, even if my body is toast. By the time I get to the far turnaround, it's 5:30 in the evening and completely dark out -ten and a half hours into the race. I have ninety minutes to cover the last 6-1/2 miles and still break 12 hours. So I start shuffling- counting out steps (aiming to cover 50) before walking again. I'm still sucking down the liquids, and the aid stations have now brought out warm, salty chicken broth, which really hits the spot. With some notable exceptions, most of the racers around me have also slowed to absurdly slow shuffles or walks. I continue to alternate walking/shuffling until I have three miles left to go, at which point I figure I have nothing to lose and start to push again towards the finish at an honest pace. My adrenaline returns, and within minutes I have made the turn into the hotel parking lot. People are cheering and yelling, and the announcer is going crazy for each finisher that crosses the line. I surge the final loop -- beyond ecstatic that the race is nearly complete (!) -- and spiral my arms like a giant windmill down the final stretch. I cross the line in 11:47:56, half way between my "aggressive" time goal of 11:30 and my "attainable" goal of 12:00. I finish 702nd out of 1718 finishers, and 18th out of the 62 people in my "Female 25-29" age group. Overall I am pleased with what I deem a solid, yet not quite spectacular, first effort. Immediately after the race, Peter and my Dad walk me over to the massage tent and I swear I will never do an Ironman again. But two leg massages and a few good meals later, I'm thinking I'll probably give it another try at some point. Though it's unlikely the next one will be quite as thrilling as the first... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ See a small selection of race photos here: http://amazon.ofoto.com/I.jsp?m=68737985203&n=578847760 Inside Triathlon coverage of the race: http://www.insidetriathlon.com/news/fea/652.0.html |