3:13 p.m. (8.5 hours since race start)
A single slice of a banana is only 25 calories. With 15 miles to go, this should have been just enough to get me to the end of the course, I hoped. If my math was wrong, I was gonna be in trouble … but I wasn’t.
3:33 p.m. (8.75 hours since race start)
After powering through seamlessly unending inclines, I turned a corner and saw the final climb. That’s when I heard, “Coach!” Shimon came up behind me and snapped a selfie of us. I hadn’t seen him since we entered the water together at 6:43 a.m. that morning.
“How are you feeling?” I asked him.
“Good.”
“Have you seen Ruth?” I saw Ruth at the first bike aid station at mile 5 and that was seven hours ago. I was hoping that my other athlete was OK.
“No.”
Darn.
I stayed with Shimon as we pedaled up the last climb on the bike course. He pulled ahead of me and I congratulated him.
(Why would you do that?)
The greatest compliment to a teacher is when the student surpasses him.
(When you grab the pebble, you shall be the master.)
Shimon had worked hard to get to this point and I was proud of him. I just hoped that Ruth was still pedaling along on the bike course.
3:39 p.m. (8.95 hours since race start)
I was two miles from the end of the bike course and I was close to clocking 7.5 hours for 112 miles of biking. Could I cover two miles in five minutes? I didn’t know, but I was gonna try. There were a few sharp turns at the bottom of the hill, but the remainder of the course was downhill, or flat and I planned to “hammer it.”
3:44 p.m. (9.05 hours since race start)
Crossing the finish line at an Ironman is my second favorite triathlon experience. Making it to the bike dismount is my favorite. If you can cover the 112 miles and make it to the end of the bike course before the 5:30 p.m. cutoff, then you have a pretty good shot at becoming an Ironman. The marathon is hard, but it is not the hardest part of the race. If you can ride 112, then you can most likely walk 26.2.
(Most likely?)
I’ve seen people’s run collapse from the heat or the overexertion or poor nutritional planning. The closest I’ve come to failing was in the last six miles of Ironman Louisville in August 2014.
(You ran a marathon in Louisville Kentucky, in August?)
It became a death march and in the last six miles I started to black out.
(What happened?)
At that Ironman I willed myself not to give in to the flashing spots in front of me that said I was blacking out in 850F with 90% humidity. That’s the thing about doing an Ironman, you find that your body can do things you never imagined it could.
(Like refusing to pass out when you are severely dehydrated?)
Precisely. The one thing you cannot change is the clock.
I have seen videos on NBC Wide World of Sports where people rolled into “t2,” bike transition two, to run, seconds after the 5:30 cutoff. In those instances, no one was happy, not the athletes who were disqualified, not the officials who had to ask them for their timing chip. So, there are only two outcomes from rolling across that dismount line: The race official asking for your timing chip or the volunteer asking for your bike.
(Why your bike?)
The Ironman is the only triathlon where the volunteers “rack” your bike for you so you can grab the bag with your sneakers in it.
I slid my feet out of the bike shoes and threw my leg over the top tube of the bike.
With the bike in the volunteer’s hands, I ran down the narrow path between the barricades to my “run” bag.
I sat, pulled the sneakers out of the bag, helmet in the bag, sneakers on, backpack on and I was gone.
(Backpack?)
How else was I going to get my Ironman costume to the finish line?
(Your wife could have handed it to you?)
Nope. No outside assistance. It’s just you, what you bring and what they offer at the aid stations on the run course.
3:50 p.m. (9.2 hours since race start)
I exited the changing tent knowing that the sunlight was going to blind me. The changing tent is large, poorly illuminated and even worse, poorly ventilated. Sweaty changing athletes conjured up high school memories I’d rather not deal with right now. I finished the bike in 7:33:13, 45 minutes faster than last year. I was ahead of my schedule and now I was running a marathon. Spectators were on both sides of the road and I was feeling pretty good. My friend Gene Sobol came running up behind me.
“Hey.”
“Hey how are you doing Gene?“
“Undertrained and miserable. You?”
“Not undertrained and still … miserable.
“Why do we do this to ourselves?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because we are stupid?”
“Maybe … or we like the punishment?”
“There is that too. Catch ya later man.”
As Gene picked up his pace I focused on one thing, I was at the Ironman and I was running the marathon. It didn’t matter that others were passing me; I was pacing ahead of my best finish here. I had a shot at breaking my 2016 record of 15 hours, 37 minutes and 50 seconds.
4:17 p.m. (9.5 hours since race start)
David Roher is a USAT certified triathlon and marathon coach. He is a multi-Ironman finisher and veteran special education teacher. He is on Instagram @David Roher140.6. He can be reached at [email protected].
