Rev3 Cedar Point

September 09, 2013

“First you feel like dying. Then you feel reborn.”

That was, without question, the hardest thing I have ever done.

On little sleep, I headed to the park. I noticed other athletes already wearing their wetsuits, and that’s when I realized I had forgotten mine. I didn’t panic. I knew I could handle the swim without it. Then I noticed the timing chips.

Holy hell. I forgot my timing chip.

My timing chip was back at the hotel, sitting on top of my wetsuit. It would take me 20 minutes to get back to the hotel, and transition closed in 45. Still wearing my sandals, I ran to the car. On the way there I realized something else: my keycard and driver’s license were in my transition bag. Either the desk clerk would let me into my room or I was completely hosed.

Apparently I have an honest face. I got into the room, grabbed my wetsuit, strapped the timing chip to my ankle, and raced back to the park. Once there, I coated myself in sunscreen and body glide. Another participant joked that I must be optimistic about the sun.

He was right.

I was about to start a half Ironman. You don’t attempt something like that with anything less than optimism and preparation.

Before the race I had set three goals for myself: gold at 6:30, silver at 7:00, and bronze at 7:30. In my previous Olympic distance triathlons I completed the 1500 meter swim in about 30 minutes, so I hoped to finish the 1.2 mile swim in 40 to 45 minutes. I knew I could push over 19 miles per hour on the bike, but I intentionally planned a conservative ride so I would have something left for the run, targeting about three and a half hours. My half marathon PR is 2:14:02, and I hoped for around 2:30, though given the circumstances I would have been happy with anything under three hours.

The swim was not what I had planned. With the time trial start, I couldn’t position myself to draft, and I was unfamiliar with the revised course. I eventually found my way to the canal, though it wasn’t a straight shot getting there. Once I exited the canal, I could feel the swells lifting me up and setting me back down. Several times I had to stop just to sight and figure out where I should be heading.

So I fell back on the basics: relax, stay smooth, keep moving. I told myself that if I could finish the swim, I would finish the race. Eventually, I climbed out of the water.

The run from the marina to transition was about half a mile. I dried off my feet, put on my socks and helmet, grabbed my bike, and went. My shoes went on once the bike was moving. On the course I played leapfrog with a few riders. I knew how to take advantage of the hills and took the corners with intent, but many of my competitors seemed better able to ride through the wind.

My strategy was simple: conserve my legs on the bike so I would have something left for the run. I had 56 miles to ride and a half marathon waiting afterward. Unfortunately, Mother Nature had other plans. Seventeen mile per hour winds slowly took their toll. The rain wasn’t so bad. It was more of a cooling mist. I broke the ride into manageable pieces, focusing on ten miles at a time until, eventually, the bike leg was done.

I left transition to start my run feeling surprisingly good. I could not believe I had just ridden my bike 56 miles.

About half a mile later, the cramping started.

I slowed to a walk and began to wonder if this would end in a DNF. If I stopped, it would not be by choice. They would have to pull me off the course, because I was not quitting. I would “find a way” and continue with “relentless forward progress,” knowing that “glory doesn’t tickle.”

I walked most of the next mile and a half and encouraged a few other participants who were suffering the same fate. Then my friend Beth showed up. It was about time for me to try running again, so we ran together. She had her watch set to beep every half mile, and we settled into a simple rhythm: walk one tenth of a mile and run four tenths. We repeated that pattern for several miles.

My heart and lungs were willing. My spirit even more so. My legs fought me the whole way. But we kept moving. With about a mile to go, Beth surged ahead toward the finish while I saved what I had left and kicked the final half mile.

The finish line was glorious. I felt victorious.

My biggest problem during the race was nutrition. I finished the nutrition bottle on my bike but only made it through two bottles of Osmo. By the run, nothing was settling well, and I had to experiment just to keep moving. The aid stations offered salt, water, Coke, and ice, and I took advantage of all of it. The salt helped reduce the cramping, and the Coke gave me small bursts of energy that helped me keep running.

Given the wind, I was surprised to meet my goal on the bike. The swim and run both suffered more than I expected, but in the end I still crossed the line under my bronze target: 7:23:41.

I am glad for the experience. It was a long, hard road getting to the starting line. The course was a celebration of the work I had put in over the months leading up to this day. I wonder whether I could do better, if I could achieve more. I do want more, but I can say my “more” is not in triathlon. If this journey has taught me anything, it is that I can achieve the goals I set for myself.