2003 Ironman USA - Lane Lines, Headwinds, and Chicken Broth

Arriving in LP Wesnesday, I was immediately nurtured by 2002 finisher, grizzled veteran, and fellow SH'r Greg Drury, who stayed next door to me at the Alpine Inn. Greg suckled me at his teet for the whole visit, not unlike Luke and the Jedi master. He provided Yoda-esque advise about racing and post-race, such as, "Buffet at KFC in Middletown go you must" and "Gatorade Bars on Ebay that expired sell cheaper, bid you should."

Thursday and Friday mornings were spent with Greg doing a one-loop swim at Mirror Lake. That's when you start meeting people who discuss the swim start and recommend that you start on the right to avoid getting drowned. By my count, all 1800+ except Heather Fuhr were planning on starting way to the right Sunday to stay out of the crowd. During those swims, I actually felt guilty following the lane line, thinking that this is somehow not fair because I don't have to sight every 3 strokes like I do in races, since my stroke is really a stroke-and-a-half, which causes me to swim in the shape of a '7'.

Thursday Greg and I also rode out and did the last bike leg into town. Fearing overtraining, I kept wanting to stop and start back in, but Greg insisted we keep going, because he "wanted to show me something." Being from Jersey, I made sure to palm my mace during this show-me stage. That something was, in fact, a bunch of hills that I was going to intimately see on Sunday (twice). And as a perfect warmup, it poured for the ride back. What are the chances it could rain on the last 12 miles of an Ironman course? As Thursday, Friday, and Saturday moved on, the village filled with about a thousand guys with shaved legs that looked like they could race 40% faster than me, and about a thousand women with shaved legs that looked like they shave with the guys after their 40% faster workouts together.

On Sunday, Greg and I walked to the transition area around 5am. I wore bike shorts for the walk. Greg wore jeans, Timberlands, a Woolrich shirt and a fleece vest that said on the back, "No. 1 Chinese Buffet, Hazlet." I skipped the coffee at A-plus because coffee makes me pee. After stopping to pee once or three times during the long 6 minute walk, I got my stuff together, got in line at the toilets, and decided I might as well had the coffee. I walked to the lake, saw Cliff Grossi and Cliff Rigby, who both independently told me that the right side should be the perfect spot. As I swam over to the right side, I noticed that the right shoreline looked like the DDay scene in Saving Private Ryan. I filed in four deep amongst the soldiers and waited. This is just like starting in the Clydesdale group of 20 guys at other races, only different. It's go time.

Best Swim Ever - I have no idea how it happened, but the swim was comfortable. Sure, I was beaten like a stepchild, but after the first turnaround, a calm set in around me similar to Costanza on the back of the great whale. I was on the lane line! I guiltlessly rode the line back into shore, ran through and got back in for the second loop (36:00 ish). Now, that's my lane line, and I planted myself for another loop. Green buoy turned to yellow and turned to orange, and out we go. Strip away, volunteers! (1:14:00 ish). A nice run to the transition area (lotta spectators!), grabbed my bag, and ran to the tent. I briefly know how Deboom must feel running through, except the first 600 chairs aren't filled up. Pull the bike shirt on, drop every item out of the pockets, pick them up, on my bike, and out the door. Forgot the bike gloves..D'oh..and the vaseline..D'oh again.

Worst Bike Ever - After a quick snack, we climbed out of town passed the cheering people in the cars (would it kill somebody to crank the radio up?), and started the downhill. It was wet with a nice crosswind to remind you how fragile life is. I covered by bike computer beforehand so I could only see MPH and RPMs, not time or distance. I read somewhere that Lance climbs at 100 RPMs, so I like to look at it and think how he must use a different counter than mine. Top speed 49mph while hugging the brakes all the way. Once on the flats, it really opens up and I ate some more and got grooving. I did not use a stopwatch for the race either, but took Doug Rice's advice and set it for 30-minute intervals to remind me to eat. A female rider who was doing her second Ironman (previously did Florida, which I will address later) and I commented that so far, the course is moving along nicely and the bike course isn't bad. Stupid is what stupid does.

The last 19 miles of the loop were in a headwind and a downpour that made me question God and my sanity. The section of road is worse than the Cross Bronx and should be banned. Had a spectator on a bike carrying either the flag of Luxemburg or the Food Lion logo next to me. It was a joy to finally climb Papa Bear and see my wife and son and Greg's family cheering. Transition bag, PB&J, thank you very much Grossi, and into the second loop. (3:15:00 ish)

Second loop, long climb, no-music-cheering-so-and-so's in their cars again, downhill, and flats. No more talking about the ride. Trying to eat, begin dreading the alarm beeping. Discovering that I'm hiccuping and burping alot, which is taking the fun out of riding, eating, and drinking, three things I'm kinda committed to for the next few hours. Headed toward the latter half, I've started a rumor in the peloton that the wind stopped, which now I've come to believe. Into the last 19, hey the wind's picked up good now, and boy it's coming down hard. And I'm hiccuping the theme song to Knight Rider. Gritting and peeing along, I've settled into a group of about 6 riders - Andrews, Bach, Finizio. FINIZIO!! I would yell when she passed, because I figured it was a good-luck Italian cycling thing. No one yelled REILLY!! as I passed, because I think an Irishman on a bike is somewhat unnatural.

Where do these 11th hour superstars come from? I'm riding with my little group 90 miles in and here comes Hed Deep Rim Guy or Kestral Boy whooshing by. Hey tough guy, where you been for the past 8 hours, huh? Not qualifying for Kona, that's where, so settle in, and let me see your name so I can call it out if it sounds cool. Ah, but I digress. Up Papa Bear, turn right, a little Springsteen playing, One More Mile! Two more miles (I'll find you, One More Mile guy, so help me God) and I'm into transition. (3:45:00 ish) I inexplicably run to the transition tent because I'm concerned about my transition time, of course. Confer with my neighbors and decide the bike shorts stay on in lieu of running shorts, put on dry socks and shoes, carry my shirt, burp and hiccup, and run through a puddle into the rain again. See the wife, see the kid, give the kid a drink of my coke/water bottle for good luck. Kid smiles, must be safe to drink, and off I go.

As I'm running down the hill, two spectators tell me that I need to put my shirt on or I'll get DQ'd. Glad they were listening at the race meeting Saturday. On it goes, sans vaseline for my tender spots. I'm running a nice pace, probably 9:30, and actually feel fine. At mile 3 I hit the best aid station, where the Florida church group girls that we met at McDonald's on Wednesday are working. I'm greeted like a rock star from a 1/4 mile out, and have people around me wondering who is this guy. BBBOOOBBBBBB, WWEEEE LLLLLOOOOVVVEEEE UUUUUUU!!! Chat with a few people, most did Florida previously. I begin to mentally laugh at Florida.

Can't stop stomach from doing backflips. Want to know what it's like running a marathon while ready to vomit on cue? Just ask. The first loop wasn't bad otherwise. Came into town, WWEEE LLLOOVVEEEEE UUUUUU!!!, up the hill, do I really need Degree reminding me it's uphill? See the wife, kid, Greg's family, hit the turnaround, decide to eat a PB&J bagel because I couldn't resist. Hey is that a portojohn? Be right back. Halfway home. (2:00:00 ish).

I reach the point where simple water is giving me indigestion. Then I discover CHICKEN BROTH. CHICKEN BROTH is like manna from the heavens. CHICKEN BROTH keeps me from losing touch between aid stations. Out of CHICKEN BROTH Bureau of Prisons aid station? Curse you all!! See some faces on the way either out or back. Doug is moving along, Rigby and Grossi are moving too. Have a couple of pro women pass me, ouch, you're still out here? The last six miles are the hardest miles ever, with or without CHICKEN BROTH. I decide that Ironman Florida is just like a long Sea Bright sprint and refuse to acknowledge that accomplishment for the rest of my life. Up the hill on the last 4 miles, hey it's pouring rain, that's good. BBBBBBOOOOOBBBBB!!! I love those girls. Into town, thinking about 10 fish filets at McDonald's and trying to figure out way to drive around race to get there. Up the hill, decide to never use Degree deodorant, around the turnaround, one mile to go! It's spraypainted on the ground, so I believe it this time. Start running with 1/2 mile left, look at all these people! Into the oval, find my wife, she hands me my son, crowd goes nuts, I hear my name announced, can't feel the ground, and I carry him through across the finish line. Touchdown Irish, I'm an Ironman.

13:25:50.

Fuhr called it "brutal, worst conditions I've ever raced. I wanted to quit on the bike" and Chris Lieto said it was "windiest bike ride ever." Fuhr won, and she wanted to quit. I concur.

The only piece of advice I could ever give those who plan to attempt their first Ironman (or have done Florida) is to listen to those who have been there before. What I learned from Doug, Cliff1 and Cliff2, and Greg saved me time and energy that is immeasurable. I thank everyone that helped me achieve this. And I especially thank my wife, couldn't have done it without you, baby!