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Source: Paul Lieto
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Tossing and turning in my slightly slanted and very creaky Plaza Motel bed, anxiety for the activities that lie ahead began to build. I must have been up five or six times through the night, part due to nerves and part due to the amount of fluids I took in to be sure to avoid being under-hydrated as I went into the day. A few hours earlier Matt and I sat outside the motel room and gazed at the heavy haze that was coming toward us from the mountains. The winds had changed directions and the forest fires from the Washington border were sending smoke our way. Not a pleasant thought - to swim, ride, and run through a smoky Pentincton.

Morning finally arrived, 4:00 a.m. to be exact. Time to get up and start getting really nervous. I immediately went to the fridge and pulled out all my drinks for the day, placing them in the appropriate special needs bag. One for the bike and one for the run. The day before we had to take our Bikes, Swim-to-Bike bag, and Bike-to-Run bag to the transition area. So this morning there were fewer things to worry about forgetting. I was lucky to have Matt around, this morning, as well as the days prior. I just mimicked his routine and when he prepared something, I did as well. Following putting together my bags and getting my wetsuit and race gear ready, I ate some breakfast and we headed down Main St. toward the flickering lights.

All the participants enter the transition area through the same gate. A shoot of sorts set up a few hundred yards up Main St. Upon entering, I placed my special needs bags in the appropriate boxes on either side of the road. I then went to the designated line for my body marking. The organization of the race is very good. Very precise. You have your bib number (#587) and you place your bags, bikes, get marked, etc in the lines/sections marked with your number. Easy to follow and you know the day before the race where everything is going to be.

The transition for an Ironman race is quite different than other races. Most races you setup your area by your bike and that is home base so to speak. In an Ironman, it is very organized. Your bikes are racked by themselves, no clutter around them so you can just grab it and go. You have one line to grab you bike gear after the swim and one line to grab your run gear after the bike. You change in big tents with chairs, and the volunteers take your previously used gear for you. So you change, pack your disgarded gear in your now empty bag, and you're off.

Back to the preparation... After getting marked I went to my bike to make sure the tire pressure was still good and that everything looked ready to go. I also dropped a few more things into my transition bags. I realized while I was at my bike that i didn't have my timing chip on me. A moment of panic set in.

Where is my chip?

Did I leave it at the hotel?

Crap, don't panic relax, it's still very early, you have time to go back and get it...

But if I did forget it at the hotel, where in the room was it?

I made my way to my swim-to-bike transition bag and thankfully there I found my timing chip. I placed it in the bag so I wouldn't forget it, I just forgot that I placed it there. Panic completed.

Most of the morning I felt like a deer in headlights. Wandering around, looking at the water, wandering around, double checking my stuff, wandering around... I think it was apparent to others as well as more than one volunteer or Ironman staff took the time to ask how I was doing and to just have fun and have a good day.

The Swim

6:45 rolled around and it was time to get to the beach. The pros, and bigMatt, had just gone off and now it was a short 15 minutes until the remaining 2,200 athletes began the swim. I worked my way across the beach to the outside left end of the mob. The swim is a clockwise elongated triangle. My plan was to stay out of the washing machine and swim along the outer edge. So, there I stood in knee deep water periodically checking my watch and making sure I was ready to start my timer. My heart rate was in the 80's, not a great resting heart rate, but it certainly could have been higher.

Couples comforted one another in the sea of neoprene. It was clear several had engaged in this journey together and were about to bring it all to a close. The water was calm, a welcome contrast to the wind induced white caps that filled the Okanagan Lake just days before. Crowds lined the fenced-off beach. Queen's, I Want It All, filled the air. Moments later I found myself wading further into the Lake. The race had begun, but as I sit here trying to recall the day I can't recall how we got sent off. A count down? A gun shot? I don't remember...

I slowly waded in and tried to pick my spot. It was crowded to my right, all the way across, maybe 40 yards to the bouys. Over here on the left it wasn't too bad. There was some maneuvering necessary to find a fit and get a rhythm. It wasn't too unlike a carousel, things are going by and you're looking for an open horse to jump on and enjoy the ride. I found my horse and just started swimming, nice and easy. The sun was rising in the sky and to my breathing side. It was an awesome site from water level. With each breath I'd get a glimpse of the sun, and the silhouettes of thousands of swimmers would fill my view. It was unreal. The best swim of my life, not only because it was my fastest, but I felt at peace and calm. Yes, there were a few mini-panics were I swallowed some water or got caught up behind other swimmers, but for the most part it was very quiet, calm, and just exhilarating to be a part of this thing.

Swim: 1:09:32 Stoked!

T1
I wasn't too winded. I felt pretty good coming out of the water. I ran through the timing mats and into the transition area. Teams of strippers (no, not that kind - although that would have made for an interesting morning) lined the lawn. Teams of two.

Red Rover, Red Rover, Send Paul on Over

o.k. my turn, here I come, now what... Drop to the ground and they pull off your wetsuits... Ah, cool

They then chased after me to give me back my wetsuit. Not sure what I was thinking. I wasn't sure what was going on even though I've seen this ritual done several times while spectating my brothers races. Certainly one thing I learned from the whole experience is things just happen very quickly, you get caught up in the momentum and don't necessarily have time to stop and think, it's all instinctual and with more races to come I'll get more comfortable with some of these rituals.

So, now with wetsuit in hand I run toward my swim-to-bike transition bag. Another volunteer yells out my number and someone else grabs my bag and hands it to me. I'm then shuffled into the changing tent. I take a seat and begin a leisurely change into my bike shoes and helmet (which I put on my head immediately, but soon thereafter lost track of where my helmet was and tried to steal another's).

T1: 7:17

The Bike

My legs were a little heavy to start the bike, but I was looking forward to a good ride. I tried to spin a higher cadence to get the blood pumping through the legs and work my way into and past the crowds of cyclists. The roads were very packed for the first 10 miles and then still somewhat through maybe 30. By the time we hit the first hills, Richter Pass, things began thinning out. I tried to stay in my targeted zone for the race, mid 140's, but found I had to make several harder efforts to make passes and work my way to some more open roads. I didn't think drafting was a big issue, in some sections it was inevitable, but for the most part it seemed riders were very conscious of staying the required distance from the cyclist in front of them and making passes when possible. I found myself jumping forward and then sliding into an opening to recover, then jumping forward again. In some areas I had to try to ride with some type of staggering to not take advantage of riders ahead. But again, once we hit the hills things spread out quite a bit. It only got a little cluttered again through portions of the out-and-back at around mile seventy-five.

I felt really good during most of the ride. My cadence was good, my heart rate was controlled (aside from a few spikes while overtaking riders), and I felt I was following my hydration and nutrition plan well. There were only a couple sections where I felt some fatigue setting in and maybe some slight signs of pre-bonking. At those times I would just slow up my pace slightly and take in some fuel to recover.

The hills were tough, even though I trained for them and found them to be less severe than some of climbs I trained on, in a racing situation, and after an hour+ swim, I found them difficult. Especially the last 2km of Yellow Lake, the grade tips up and roads are peppered on both sides with supportive spectators. I felt some slight cramps working their way into my quads. I kept pedaling and trying to keep an even cadence, all the while praying under my breath.

Just get up over this hill and then you can recover and hope for a moderate run. Please... You've come so far you have to make it the rest of the journey.

I took those miles after the out-and-back and through Yellow Lake very cautiously. I didn't want to leave my race on the bike course. I focused on getting in more fluids as I believed that to be the issue. I certainly had some unplanned efforts, but I didn't feel I was out of my overall race plan or targeted efforts.

The last 10 miles or so were all down hill. So I focused on a high cadence to try and work out any cramping that might come. I cruised into the transition in under six hours, I surpased my goal for the bike and was very pleased. My legs felt o.k. and I was looking forward to a good run.

Bike: 5:56:54 Stoked!

T2
I dismounted and handed my bike to another fantastic volunteer. These guys were great, really doing a great job to keep us going and everything running smoothly. I ran over to my transition bag, with a very forward heavy stride. I felt like I was carrying a weight around my neck, very top heavy. Once in the changing tent I slowly began working off my cycling gear and sifting through my run stuff. I noticed I was missing a bottle I had planned to run with. It had salt tablets in a pocket on the side. Bummed, but I did have some back-up tabs in the bag and took those with me. Just before getting up to leave, my left hammy sent a jolt through my body that caused it to salute straight across the row and almost trip another athlete on his way out.

Son-of-a-$&*#, that stings. Come on, work your way out, we're not done yet, not by a long shot.

Maybe I wasn't that firm, maybe I sounded like a six-year-old begging mother to buy the Lucky Charms.

Come on... I want to finish... Please, please, please.

Perhaps I had this exchange outloud as two volunteers came over to ask how I was doing.

Just my leg, I told them, it'll be o.k.

Do you feel light-headed?

Nope.

Did I sound light-headed? No, I sounded fine. I gotta go. Off I went, to the out-house to have a little time to myself.

T2: 11:18 Ouch, but fine.

The Run

I'm out on the course. I'm feeling pretty good, despite the leg cramp. My clip is slow, but I'm a slow runner so this is to be expected. I just wanted to target 10 minute miles going into this and so far I'm on target. The miles started ticking by and I was feeling like I can handle this, I'm not fresh and comfortable, but my heart rate is in my target and I'm moving forward. I'm a little pre-occupied with trying to spot Matt coming the other direction. My goal was to be off the bike before he finished so I could see him on the course. I accomplished that goal and was now spotting the pros coming the other direction and hoping to soon see the bro.

Tighten the bow string and kick it out. What? The right leg has just contracted creating a significant ball in my hamstring, kick it out, straighten the leg, ouch - now it's stuck there.

Do you need a chair?, asked a spectator

I couldn't talk. As I reflect on that moment, everything is in slow motion. As if my whole race was flashing before my eyes. Did I not drink enough? Not enough salt tablets? This is painful and it sucks, but keep moving. It took what seemed like several minutes for my right leg to release itself from the clutches of rigor mortis and rejoin the living somewhere between mile five and six of the marathon. I began walking up the hill in front of me and Matt peaked his head over the hill coming in the opposite direction. When he finally came in full view and started down toward me I began running again and moved toward the middle of the road to cheer him on. He wasn't having a good day and had fallen back to 13th place, cramps had plagued him early on, but he was determined to finish.

O.K. there is no way I'm not gonna finish this thing. I briefly had dreams of a high 11 - low 12 hour race as I left T2 with around 7 hours 30 on my watch. I was excited to have a great race. Now I had to be excited to finish this thing and go back to my original, more realistic, goal of around 13 hours when I signed up for this Ironman a year ago.

It took many miles, salt tablets, pretzels, gatorade, and water to work out the cramping in my legs. Thankfully the two hamstring cramps were isolated incidents. I was now battling quad cramps, side stitches, and some serious gas. Excuse me... and I apologize if you were anywhere near me on the course. It may not be p.c. to speak of this, but someone has too, I wasn't the only one out there. Anyway, my leg cramps were subsiding so I decided to fall back to plan B of my run. Walk through the aid stations and then run to the next. I almost did that. I'd run to the next mile marker, walk some, recover, then run to an aid station that was usually another .2 down the road. I still had other sections where I was forced to walk. All in all I probably walked 50% of the course, and got to the point where my run wasn't too much faster than my walk. I had to adopt a short, stiff legged stride to keep the legs cooperating.

The last few miles were tough, really tough. My feet, ankles, and calves were aching something fierce. It felt as if they might snap off at any moment. I'd rub my quads, knees, and calves with ice at the last few aid stations, this numbed the pain momentarily and allowed me to carry on.

As I started down Main St. I may have tried to pick my pace up with the excitement building inside me. I had more energy on the inside than my body could use. My head, lungs, heart, were all shouting go, you've done it, you've reached your goal! But my body was in a world of it's own, cursing the inner me.

Slow down you jackass, I can't keep up! Contain youself until we get to the finish.

So, I put my head down and focused. On short strides, on long training days, on a great swim, a great bike, and on the knowledge that I can do this. That we'll take this 36-year-old machine back to the shop and work some more on it and next time, that's right at mile 25 I'm already thinking about next time, we'll get the run down.

Moments later, well not really moments. That last mile was the longest mile I've ever run, it just kept going, like an old Hitchcock movie where the hallway keeps getting longer and longer. Until finally I'm there, a bright light shining in my face and when I can see again, there is Bigmatt at the finish line holding my medal. I did it.

Run: 5:49:51 Ouch!

Total Time: 13:14:52

I still have that Dear in the headlights look... photo courtesy of Libor

Epilogue

While it was painful out there, I never felt like giving up or questioned why I was doing this. I knew why I was doing this, and although I flirted briefly with a potentially great race for me, I was happy with how things were going and that I'd still reach my goal of finishing an Ironman in-around my initial goal.

Disappointed with my run? Most certainly. But I think the accomplishment of covering a distance I never thought possible overshadows the failures of the day. This was a journey that lasted much longer than the 13-plus hours on this course, this day. It was a journey that started long before I signed up for the race one year ago. And a journey I'll continue for years to come.

Thanks to so many of you for your support. I thought of other Trifuelers on the course and courses past and that kept me going. And a big thanks to the Trifuelers that volunteered at the race and were there to catch me and make sure I was o.k. as I came to the finish. It was great meeting you all in person and I'm certain we'll meet again.

Training Thoughts
I need to work a lot harder on my running and continue to build my bike base. I need to do more long rides in the bars and on the front of the saddle. I need to train for those unexpected efforts when you need to make a pass. And, I need to continue working on my nutrition, I didn't have things right for the last portion of this race. While I'm not certain if that would have cured my cramping, I believe it would have made some impact in being able to run a little longer and with a bit of consistancy. But, I think mostly I need to put more miles under my feet and spend more time trying to simulate some of these race conditions.

All-in-all a great experience, and huge base building day for future events :)

Paul Lieto (tribro) is a middle pack age group athlete who started triathlons about 8 years ago. He is the Founder and Editor of this site, Trifuel, and currently resides in Bend, Oregon with his younger brother Matt. Occasionally I try to post in my blog. You can contact me here.