Ironman Louisville – 2008 – Chuck’s Journey of Discovery
It is often said that Ironman isn’t about if, but when something goes wrong and how you deal with it. My 2006 Ironman Wisconsin journey was largely about the trials that preceded the race. The race itself was a pretty magical, amazing experience. Ironman Louisville was the opposite – with nothing terribly exciting happening before the race. Race day, however, well that is another story…
Thursday to Saturday of race week was filled with race preparation - we arrived in Louisville, got checked into our hotel, checked in for the race, participated in the pre-race swim, did a short run just to be sure the legs were feeling good, and wrapped up the preparation with an easy 10 mile ride to see the first and last 5 miles of the bike course and be sure the bike was working well. Friday night we enjoyed the pre-race dinner and Saturday spent a few minutes browsing the Expo.
Race morning always comes with an early wake-up call, and we were up and going well before 5. By 5:30 we were at the transition area, making sure the bike was ready to go, and then we walked the ¾ mile to the swim start. This race uses a unique time trial start (one person at a time, jumping off the dock), so while the race began at 7, my start time ended up being 7:38 as I was near the end of the line. The swim went well and I was back on dry land in 1:19. My goal time for the 2.4 mile swim was between 1:16 and 1:24, so I was pleased with the swim result.
The 112 mile bike course starts flat, for about 10 miles, and then begins to climb and the next 70 miles is made up of constant rolling hills and a good amount a head wind. At miles 38 and 68 I saw my family and my time splits were on target and I was feeling good – holding back even. My strategy was to be conservative through mile 80, knowing the last 30 miles would be more downhill and have a favorable wind, so at 68 miles I felt good at the prospect of having a fast final bike split, keeping me on track for my sub-12 hour race goal.
How quickly things change! From mile 70 to 80 I began to struggle with cramps in my hamstrings and quads. At this point, my strategy changed to try to push more fluids and just survive to the 80 mile mark – just needed to get to the favorable portion of the course. By mile 80, however, my cramping was getting serious and I couldn’t find any relief. At mile 87 I had to stop as I was unable to turn the pedals over and was close to falling over at one point on a climb. I spent 15 minutes sitting in some shade (of which there was little on the course), trying to stretch.
When the cramping subsided I got going again, but was in trouble as soon as I hit the next real climb. At the next aid station I stopped again and got some help – ice down my jersey, ice cold towels draped over my shoulders and wrapped around my legs. More electrolytes, water down the gullet and over my head and 10 minutes later I was on my way again. By now I was in survival mode and just focused on clicking off one mile at a time and at mile 110 was thankful to see the city skyline and used that to draw me into the finish of the bike. My legs were one big cramp and I had no idea how I’d manage a marathon after all of this.
The temperature, I’m told, was measured at 97 degrees on the bike course. Later, on the run, I would see a bank sign say it was 93. With the radiation from the road, 97 is a real likelihood. Obviously I had failed to adjust for the heat and humidity and was paying a serious price.
My wife and sister saw me getting off the bike and new I was in trouble. Fighting back tears of disappointment I told Pam to settle in for a long day before limping off to T2 (transition from bike to run). The second transition was nearly 15 minutes long, spent trying to stretch out enough that I could reach my feet to put on my shoes and walk out of there. And walk I did – for the first 2 miles or so. After that I found the will to begin a walk/jog regimen – partly because I knew I’d be seeing my support crew soon ☺ and managed to maintain that for most of the first 14 miles of the marathon, just trying to click off a half mile at a time. The aid stations were half-way between the mile markers, so every half mile I’d have either a mile marker or an aid station and simply worked my way to each and rewarded myself with a walk break. Even with this strategy I could only manage about a 13 minute mile pace.
Adding yet another level of challenge, at mile 14 I began to experience cramping in my shins which made foot placement difficult, and my mid-back, causing a spasm each time I tried to inhale deeply. So, at this point I could only manage a slow walk. It was during this next section of the race, however, that I walked and shared time with my good friend Jim, as well as others that came and went – John from my area (a 10 hour Ironman having a bad day), Jacob from Seattle doing his first IM, Shaun from Grand Rapids, a friendly woman from Cary N.C. and others.
Mile 20 marks the final turn around and the long stretch that leads to the finish. By that time I just wanted to be done, so I began running again. I decided walking and running both felt terrible, so I would run, figuring I’d be shaving minutes off of my misery. I’d jog for a few minutes then walk and just kept repeating this – until mile 23. That is when the chills and nausea set it. Throughout the day I was pushing fluids, electrolytes, gels, and then began drinking the chicken broth (for the sodium) as well. Nothing worked. With this new development I tried some de-fizzed Coke. No help. Mentally I was checking out, experiencing some seriously fuzzy mental status and an
overwhelming desire to just go to sleep. I kept thinking, “just a little nap”, then I’d push those thoughts aside and press on. Left foot, right foot, repeat…
The miles from 23 to 25 are pretty fuzzy – don’t even remember marker 24, but do remember mile 25. Just past 25 there was a man sitting on a cement block on the side of the road and I asked if I could sit on it. He got up and I sat down and put my head into my hands. He asked if I was ok, and I said I was fine – just needed a short rest. When he said you’ve got just a few blocks to the next aid station I thought about making it there for some Coke so got up and moving again. I don’t know that I made it another block when I began to stagger and zigzag my way down the street for a bit, and then just like that, I fell into a heap on the side of the road. A spectator came over and asked if I was ok, and I remember telling him I just needed to rest a minute. It felt so good to lie down and close my eyes…
Not sure how long I was there, but remember the police talking to me, followed by the medic taking my blood pressure. They told me my pressure was low and I needed to get some fluids. I told them they could meet me at the finish line, just help me up please. They did, but I was unable to stand on my own. Somewhere along the line an ambulance showed up and they put my on a bed and into the back of the ambulance.
Through all of this, I can say I still planned to finish this race. I somehow thought I was going to get some fluid, get up and go. Silly me. Before I knew it, I was getting a free ambulance ride and then was being wheeled into the medical center where I’d spend the better part of the next two hours. When I started to feel better and realized what had happened, I convinced a medic to call my wife who had been walking the course trying to find me (Pam said she never even thought about the medical center). Once I was able to stand and walk on my own and my blood pressure was raised to an acceptable level, I was released, but my Ironman was over. I was an official DNF (Did Not Finish). Ouch.
So, what do I take away from such an experience? Well, here are a few thoughts…
- Never underestimate a race like Ironman. In extreme conditions like we had, you need to know things like your sweat rate and be ready to adjust your race day plans to compensate. I believe my preparation was sound; I was well fueled and well rested. Sometimes it is about the less obvious.
- Celebrate the entirety of an experience. Despite how the race ended, I am thankful for the people I met, the city of Louisville I got to experience, the support of so many friends and family.
- Volunteers make the race. Given everything that needs to come together for a race like this (which is much); it would never happen without the volunteers. They are amazing people, with so much energy to give and a selfless desire to make the race a success for you.
- I had three friends who pointed to me as their inspiration to do Louisville after I did Ironman Wisconsin in 2006. They all finished. While I am so sorry I wasn’t there for them at the finish, I am humbled by their gesture and super excited for them, and will always remember this race for their great accomplishment. Jim, Matt, Brian – YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!
- The other athletes I met were amazing:
- The Mexican contingent – nearly 100 strong were a sight, always smiling and laughing every time we saw them around town. They were super friendly and fun loving – a wonderful reminder about how special this experience is.
- The pros who were so humble in victory.
- People I mentioned before like Jacob, who happened to be sitting next to us at dinner on Monday, so we got to spend a few minutes talking more about our experience and Melinda who I met while in line for the swim start and then saw again at the post race photo viewing.
- So many stories, so little space…
Wishing to make the race about something bigger than myself, I had signed up as a Janus Charity Challenge Athlete, and raised money for the Flint Dream Center. Focusing on this in the later stages of the race, I believe, is largely responsible for me getting as far as I did in the race. Regardless of my lack of a finish time, The Flint Dream Center will receive about $2800 for our efforts. Thanks so much to everyone who supported me!
My daughter, my two grandsons, and my sister were there along with my wife. Despite the anticlimactic finish to my race I am hopeful that the effort will serve as statement of courage and (hopefully) grace in dealing with a difficult set of circumstances.
I am so grateful to have even had the opportunity to toe the line. My hope and prayer is that I get to do an Ironman again, but not to do it to “make up” for this finish. I mustn’t believe this was a failure, just another chapter in life’s journey. It is what it is, and I believe it’ll be used to teach me and mold my character. Any future Ironman will be a separate and distinct race with its own challenges and opportunities.
Pam and I took the scenic drive home and at one point stopped to walk around a small town and I saw in a store window a plate with the following inscription – “Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass; it is about learning to dance in the rain.” So, if the race is a circumstance that would be characterized as a storm, may I learn to dance in its rain!
