Race Report: 2012 Ironman Florida (Part 3)

The Run.  A Marathon in 4:38:14

I've said it before: vomit is the fourth discipline.  Below is a line chart that tracks my mile pace for the marathon.  You may be asking, "Why does he speed up by 2 or 3 minutes per mile after mile 19?  Shouldn't he be slowing down by then?"  I'm glad you asked.  I've added an icon to show what happened at exactly the mile 19 marker (and a little bit on the 19 marker.  Sorry Ironman folks).

Besides being totally cooked after the bike, I had also collected an incredible amount of air or gas in my chest that made running very difficult.

As I got to the halfway point, I felt awful.  I tried the porta-john, I tried burping, I tried just about everything.  I couldn't get into a normal stride because I had a painful bubble in my chest.  I could have gagged myself, but I didn't want to risk losing all my nutrition and fluids too early in the race. 

Have I mentioned that I have the best wife ever?  Mile 13 was one of the most painful miles of the whole race, but I was so relieved and happy to see Alisha there.  I told her that I was planning on walking the rest of the race.  She was supportive and told me, "Whatever it takes."  I'm sure she thinks this is all a very bad idea, and probably more so when she watches me run like a zombie through the latter miles of the marathon.  But she sent me on my way to finish.

Here is Rob at the halfway point, feeling the pain of the marathon, and receiving similar encouragement from his wife.

I think the typical age-group triathlete knows that if they go too hard, there is a real risk of not finishing the race.  So although I watched my mile average creep up 30 seconds here, 30 seconds there, I decided not to do anything that would jeopardize a finish.  But I tried to run, even though it was a slow run.  At each aid station, about every mile, I had a routine.  Dump a cup of ice into my hat and put it back on my head.  Stick a fresh ice-cold sponge under my collar.  Drink either an Ironman Perform (yuck) or a cup of warm chicken broth (nectar of the triathlon gods), and wash it down with water.  Pour any excess water down my back.  I tried to only walk the length of the aid station before I started running again.

My perspective also changed significantly when I ran past a man who had removed his prosthetic leg to reapply a bandage.  There he was, quietly completing an Ironman with only one working leg.  It is an image I will never forget.  For as much as my thighs hurt, and my gut felt like exploding, I have two legs, two arms, and a healthy heart.  If that man can complete the race without complaining, why can't I?

Finally, when I hit the 3/4 mark of the run, after I purposely guzzled a bunch of coke at an aid station, I approached the mile 19 marker and vomited for 2 minutes.  I've been there before, and the result is always positive.  Within a few seconds, BOOM!  I felt like a new man.  My good friend Aaron Walker had given me a copy of the poem Invictus by William Ernest Henley, which apparently is one of Nelson Mandela's favorites.  I began quietly repeating the final lines of the poem to myself, over and over:  "I am the master of my fate;  I am the captain of my soul."  Whenever I felt like slowing down, I repeated these lines and pushed myself along.  I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul.  People around me probably thought I was getting space madness.
 
I rounded the turnaround at a good pace, and decided to finish strong.  I began passing dozens of people who had jogged or walked past me over the last two hours, and I knew I could beat 12 hours at this point.  At mile 22, I came across a guy my age who had just started walking.  I asked him,

"Hey, are you on your way to the finish?" 
"Yes, you?" 
"Yes.  Let's run together.  You aren't allowed to walk anymore until the finish." 

In my marathon days, I always tried to find someone running a similar pace, and teamed up with them to share motivation.  Marcus was from Georgia, had two kids, and was really interesting to talk to.  Whenever I felt like taking a walk, he said, "You wouldn't let me walk, so you don't get to."  And when he wanted to stop at the last water table, I said, "Nope, we're running this one home."  So our impromptu two-man team trotted along to the finish area.  Ironically, I ran my fastest 6.4 mile split (1/4 of the marathon) in the last 6.4 miles.  A negative split at the end of an Ironman is something I'll probably never repeat. 

As we approached the finish, we decided that we wanted to be in our finish photographs alone, so Marcus ran ahead and I high-fived about 100 people in the finish chute before crossing the line.  Here I am, already starting to ham it up with 200 meters to go.  Marcus is next to me.  It felt like we were running the fastest miles of our lives, but we were barely breaking 9:30/mi.

And here I am with Marcus after the finish.  Clearly he's on a better weights plan than I am.

A few tidbits about the run that I found interesting:

1. Running with the Pros.  It is not every day that you get to run with the greats.  Because the run is a two-loop course, when I was halfway through my first loop, the professional women were halfway through their second loop.  So I got to run a few strides next to Yvonne Van Vlerken, Mirinda Carfrae, and Meredith Kessler.  (The men were already running to the finish by the time I started, so I didn't see as many of them.)  This is the equivalent of a pro basketball fan getting to play pick-up ball with Lebron James for a few seconds.  I actually ran next to World Champion Mirinda for about ten steps and blurted out, "You're incredible.  I have a major crush on you."  Obviously, I'm a bit nervous around celebrities.  She laughed and ran by.  (She ran her marathon in 3:03:26.)

2.  Your Best Plans Sometimes Fall Through.    I had accidentally dumped a whole cup of ice water on my right foot, so I could feel the water sloshing around for about 6 or 7 miles.  I had the good sense to change my socks halfway through the run. I had a dry pair of socks in my "Run Special Needs" bag.  To avoid blisters, I put on the new socks.  But I tried multi-tasking -- I put on the new socks while I was sitting on a porta-john to save a few seconds.  As soon as I was done, I stepped out of the john without looking ... and right into a puddle up to my ankle.  So I finished the race with a completely soaked right foot.  I luckily did not get any serious blisters.

3. The Crowds near the Finish.  Within two miles of the start and finish line, various groups and families had set up motivational signs and other creative things to keep us moving.  One group of scantily-clad women and their scantily-clad boyfriends had set up "The Girl Zone," complete with loud music and a disco ball, and where one woman actually hit runners on the behind with her belt.  There was a "Beer Stop" and plenty of other funny signs that made that section really fun.  The runners couldn't help smiling around their loved ones and supporters.

4. The Suffering Away from the Finish.  Outside of that two mile zone, it was really bleak.  You have not seen suffering until you see the last half of an Iron marathon.  Athletes are sprawled out in front yards, lying on a random flatbed trailer, or curled up in a ball crying.  Most are walking or shuffling, completely unaware of how near-death they all look.  Crouched over, arms curled in front of them, looking through other runners to the next aid station.  One time, in the porta-john next to me I could hear a man alternately sobbing and vomiting.  At a couple of aid stations, there were runners who had completely collapsed and would be taken away in an ambulance.  When they say that the last half of the marathon is all mental, it is not just a cliche. 

5.  My Miraculous Knee.  Remember my achy-breaky knee?  I was more worried about this than anything else in the race.  I figured I had about 3 or 4 miles of running before the knee would become unbearably painful.  In fact, the day before the race, Rob and I did a very short practice run, and the knee already felt tender.  So I took two Aleve in the morning and two Aleve at the end of the bike, and waited for the hurt.  And waited.  And waited.  Through the end of the race, my knee never hurt.  It was nothing short of a miracle.  Here it is, just a footnote to my blog entry, and not the big thing that killed my race.  Between the many prayers, the cortisone shot, and the Aleve, something worked, and it likely saved my race.  For that I am very grateful.

6.  My First Trip to the Medical Area.  After you cross the finish line, a personal "finisher" volunteer wraps your arm around him and holds you up, and walks you through the finishing routine.  They get you a shirt, a hat, and a space blanket, then walk you to the photo area.  Then they ask your name, where you are from, and try to figure out whether you are coherent.  He asked whether I needed to go to the medical area.  I was on cloud nine at that point, so I told him I was fine.  When I tried to sit down and eat about 20 minutes later, I started to pass out.  So I had to stagger into the medical area, shivering cold and talking nonsense, where they wrapped me up in a blanket and kept feeding me broth and checking my blood pressure.  I was fine the whole time, though I couldn't feel my hands or my face.  Alisha posted a picture of me on Facebook for the sake of posterity, but I was really okay.  The whole thing is quite embarrassing, but I was definitely one of the luckier people in the medical area.  A woman two chairs away from me was on oxygen, and the guy to the right kept passing out in his chair.  You know, some people collect coins for a hobby.

Alisha and I sat down on the curb and soaked in the finish atmosphere.  It was so inspiring and exciting to watch people come across the finish line, one by one earning the title of Ironman.  The crowd cheered for every single one as if they were the champion.  We were apparently enjoying it so much that we missed Rob coming across the finish line.  But we met up afterward and snapped some victorious photos.  This event was over a year in the making, and it was all worth it.