The Ironman swim start is called “The Washing Machine” effect, from all the swimmers “making contact” while trying to get past each other. Swimming in the pack can make you faster since you are drafting off others, but I was worried about my arm. At Ironman Cozumel two year earlier, I had been kicked, elbowed and physically swum over.
This time I swam on the outside of the pack. I exited the water after almost 1 hour 53 minutes. This was 30 minutes longer than I had done two years before, but hey, I made the cut-off. On to the bike…
The 112-mile bike course had been described as “mostly flat,” three loops of 37 miles. Eight miles into each loop you started up a three-percent incline (mostly flat) that lasted 10 miles. Each time, the “mostly flat” section seemed to go on forever. When I trained on Cedar Lane or 9W, there was a reprieve 500 meters ahead, at the top. Not here, just more incline. For the first two loops, my concern had been hydration. In the dry Arizona heat, 90 degrees feels like 70. The danger is you can dehydrate without even feeling it. You must remember to drink even if you don’t feel thirsty. At the same time, the danger of taking in too much liquid is called “hyponatremia” and can result in all types of troubles that will end your Ironman race early.
By the beginning of the third loop I was beginning to slow down. I started to worry about missing the bike cut off. That is when I started doing math in my head. I had to be off the bike 10.5 hours after the swim start…and time was running away with the setting sun. My quads felt like they were on fire, but I peddled on. It took eight hours of biking, but I made the cut-off with 30 minutes to spare. As I rolled back into the bike drop-off (known as t2), I was all smiles.
My favorite part of the race is handing off my bike to the volunteers. I had always believed that if I could make the bike cut-off, I could walk 26.2 miles in seven hours. I was about to have my faith tested.
Starting a marathon run after 10 hours of perpetual motion is hard. (Really?)
Six miles into the marathon, I had to walk. I had developed blisters on both feet. (Oh, that sounds like fun. Remind me again, why you do this?) There were a few painful moments of running, but lots of walking. Walking past volunteer tables of food…(Tell me you snacked)…where I snacked.
Walking a marathon is a slow, boring process and you must finish by midnight. By 11:24 p.m. I still had 2.2 miles to go…and the cleanup crew descended upon me. These are the officials that pull athletes from the course, officially disqualifying the athletes.
“At this pace, you are not going to make it. You can make it if you run, but you have to run now.”
I started to run. Each step was like planting my foot on fire. The relief of lifting my foot from the ground was negated by the planting of the other foot in front of it. It hurt so much, but I told myself, “I’ve earned this and I will not be denied.”
My breathing became the focus that distracted me from the pain. The pain was still there, but I was willing my body to push past what it thought was its limitations.
Two miles is a long time to distract yourself from the pain receptors in your feet. The payoff was in the last 100 meters. As I entered the “finisher shoot” the crowd went crazy.
They were screaming and banging on the barricade that kept them from rushing onto the course. I couldn’t hear the announcer at first, but as I passed him, I got a high five and then I heard the words every triathlete lives to hear, “David Roher, You. Are. An. Ironman.”
By David Roher
