2015 Ironman Wisconsin Race Report

2015 Ironman Wisconsin Race Report:

or “The wheels on the bus fell right off, fell right off, fell right off …”

Here’s the story of my, to-date, worst Ironman. You can look at my Garmin data for all the sad, gory details too, if you’d like.

Swim

Official time: 1:05:45 (PR 1:03:58 in 2012)

Place: Division 31, Gender 198, Overall 254

The group I was with met at 0600 in the Terrace, just outside the T1 room. We started heading for the water around 0630. I was anxious about leaving that late as I knew, from previous experience, that it takes a long while to get out of the building, up the parking ramp, down the helix, and through the crowds and the choke-point that’s the swim in/out arch to actually get into the water. I was walking in front of my group and was almost a full “helix” loop ahead of them by the time I got to the bottom, but then waited for them. We then dropped of morning bags and I said my, “Good lucks,” and “Goodbyes,” and proceeded to push my way through the crowd. I felt a bit like a git as I know everyone was trying to get to the same place. However, it is true that some people were content to stand there until the whole mass of people moved. As a result, my feet didn’t touch the water until 06:52, for a 07:00 start.

IMWI is a deep water swim start. In years past, I’ve been in the water for at least 5 minutes by this point and usually am treading water out next to the start buoy, right at the front. This time, I had to swim my way, weaving and dodging other water-treaders and swimmers, to make my way to that point. When I finally got there and settled into a position to tread water, I just barely heard Mike Riley say there was just under 2 minutes to the start! I quickly got my goggles set, got my watch (Garmin 920xt) in Triathlon mode, and started to visualize my race. Before I knew it, however, the cannon went off! I heard no count down. Maybe I was just totally in the zone with my visualization. Regardless, I immediately put my hand to my watch, hit the lap button, and … realized I’d made a mistake. I’d been repeating in my head, all morning, to make sure I hit the lap button each time, coming out of the water, getting on the bike, etc. so the watch would automatically track each leg of the event. With the watch in the Triathlon profile, hitting the lap button invokes the dual-function “Back” option, and my watch went back to showing time of day. So, right there at the front of the swim pack, surrounded by 1:00 or faster swimmers, I was treading water, being hit in the head, swam over, kicked, jostled, etc. as I frantically got my watch back into Triathlon mode and then hit start. With that done, my head was down and I was swimming.

It took me a few strokes to both find my groove and some open water, but it happened much quicker than I remembered it happening in previous events. The entire first leg (IMWI is a single loop, counter-clockwise, rectangular course) was almost perfectly open and clear, with just one situation where a body “magically” appeared in front of me, diagonal, with the swimmer heading off, away from the buoy line, and I had to swim over them. The first turn was crowded, as usual, but I was pleased that I’d swum a beautifully straight line, right down the buoys, to that point. The second leg was fine as well, but a bit harder to sight as the sun, which was only maybe 10° above the horizon, was right in front of us. The second turn was also crowded, but fine. In both cases, my left arm brushed the turn buoys -- I was right there on the inside line.

The third leg is the longest, as we over-shoot the starting point and add distance. Sighting was a bit better, but now I was breathing and looking right at the sun. As a result, I closed my eyes as I breathed and just looked in the water and when I would occasionally sight. I’m lucky enough to have a decently straight swim, so I still managed to go right down the buoy line, again, having my left arm brush them once in awhile. Things were feeling good and I was really in a strong zone when I got absolutely clobbered on the head. It felt like the guy was swimming with a closed fist. He was on my left side and must have somehow come right alongside and his right hand clocked my head. I kept swimming and mentally shook it off, but then I was distracted again as I had some seaweed that seemed trapped on my face. I kept wiggling my lips and trying to shake it off when I realized it was my goggle straps!

I use regular old racing Speedo goggles, with the double strap up over the back of the head. When the guy hit me, he must have knocked both straps up and over my head. As I stopped and treaded water, my left eye piece popped off. I managed to catch the goggles, clear the water, reseat them, re-strap them over my head, and stole a glance at my watch, just to get a sense of my pace and I saw … 7:29, the time of day. In a fit of frustration, I quickly got the watch back into Triathlon mode, hit start, and then realized my mistake before, back at the start. On the 920xt, when you hit start from a Profile screen, it takes you to your default screen for that sport, but it doesn’t start the watch. You need to hit start again to actually get the timer to start. I did that, this time, so I finally had a running watch. You’ll see my GPS tracking on Garmin, Strava, MapMyRun, Endomondo, etc. starting way out in the water, more than halfway through the course.

That whole situation took less than a minute, I’m guessing, but it was enough to throw things off a bit. I got back to swimming and put in a bit of time trying to power my way to a slightly faster pace, hoping to “catch up” to where I’d be otherwise. That’s when the leg cramps started appearing. First in the right calf, then in the left. The cramp would be more like the ghost of a cramp, starting high in the calf, usually just on the outside, and then it would start “rolling” down my leg and would even “cross over” into my soleus. It was really quite interesting, had it not been happening during my Ironman swim. I actually started visualizing magnesium dipped frozen bananas in an attempt to think about electrolytes and shake the cramps off. These ghost cramps were just shy of “real” cramps. None of them ever really seized up the muscles, but the threat was real and they kept alternating between my right and left legs. I would only half kick, trying to flex my toes and stretch out the muscles. Eventually that all died down and I was back to swimming strong about 300-500 meters from the third turn.

Just as I came around that buoy, a major cramp set in on my right calf. When this happens, I keep “swimming,” but I completely stop using that leg, letting my foot flex upwards, toes pointing up towards my knees, to help stretch out the gastrocnemius and get the cramp out. Not at all effective for trying to swim fast. Just as I would clear the right leg, a cramp would form in the left leg. This happened, back and forth, several times until finally both legs were cramped. I was literally just pulling, not kicking at all, for almost the entire fourth leg, between turns 3 and 4, as I was stretching my legs as best I could. By the time I rounded the 4th turn buoy, heading in on the diagonal back to the swim in arch, the legs were finally OK. I managed to stay strong, and decently straight, into the finish.

Transition 1

Official time: 7:06 (PR 5:42 in 2013)

Since my watch was all sorts of messed up, I didn’t even glance at the time. Unfortunately, the swim timer was not actually facing out towards the lake, where the swimmers could see it, so I had no idea what my swim time was. I felt strong, but given the issues I had, I was assuming I’d swum ~1:07-1:10 and wasn’t too happy with myself. I did hit lap on the watch, though, as I crossed the pad, so that I’d have good timing on the transitions and the rest of the events. I managed to find a stripper crew (they help pull the wetsuits off you) right away, was stripped, and back on my feet running to the helix in no time. I managed to hold a decent running pace all the way up the helix, but could feel the heart rate creeping up into the “decently high” territory -- my Garmin data shows I hit 172, which is ~94% of my tested running maximum. Cresting the helix, I got a bit of rest heading down a bit of the ramp and into the Monona Terrace Convention Center. Down the hall, left turn into the transition bag room where there was a minor delay as a woman kept saying, “2562, right there” and was pointing at the 2582 bag. I kept saying, “No! 2562!” and she finally got out of my way so I could step backwards and grab my bag. Run to the other end of the room, right turn and headed into the “Get Naked” room.

My past experience at Ironman Wisconsin has been that there is incredible support in the transition areas, volunteers practically falling over each other to get to you so they can help. This time, at least in T1, not so much. There was nobody around. I grabbed the first chair that was open, dumped my stuff out of the transition bag, and started putting on my socks. As I was doing this, I realized that I wasn’t cold running up the helix. The morning was supposed to be cool, verging on cold, like 7°C for the previous night’s low, and only ~11°C for the first hour+ of the bike. I’d brought arm warmers and real gloves along, to keep warm, and had already put toe cups over my cycling shoes. I made a split-second decision that I didn’t need any of that and just shoved my rubberbanded-together nutrition into my tri top pockets, put on my helmet and sunglasses, then, after stuffing my cap, goggles, and wetsuit back into the bag, grabbed my shoes, and ran out of the room, down the hall, and outside. The sunscreen station was right there and I took the time to have them slather me up before running up the ramp and toward the bikes. I had the volunteer hold my bike while I quickly put on my shoes and then ran the bike to the Bike Out. It was at that point I saw a clock that indicated 1:12 had passed. Mentally I felt I had a decent transition, say 7 minutes, so I figured I’d managed a ~1:05 swim. Not a PR, but not too bad.

Bike

Official time: 6:02:19 (PR 5:57:43 in 2012)

Place: Division 51, Gender 320, Overall 352

There was a volunteer right at the mount line, at the top of the helix, reminding us all that there was no passing going down the helix. I wound up behind a very tentative woman who rode her brakes all the way down. When I finally got out onto John Nolen Drive, I settled in and started spinning the legs. I noticed two things right away: 1) my legs didn’t feel right, and 2) I was going too fast. I was easily cruising ~22-24 mph at the start and I purposefully slowed so that I was somewhere in the 19.5-20.5 range, just taking it easy. Regarding the legs, I wasn’t really sure what that was about, and have a hard time describing it now, but they just didn’t feel … right. I brushed it off as being in the race, the cramps I had while swimming, needing to get settled in on the bike more, etc. Perhaps I shouldn’t have brushed it off so quickly.

I’ll spare a lot of the details, but by mile 20, just starting the first loop the other side of Verona, I was feeling strong and was just 5 minutes shy of my 20 mph goal, at ~1:05 split time. I maintained that 5 minute deficit over the next 40 miles, crossing the mile 60 marker at 3:05. I was feeling (mostly) awesome at that point! I’d been spinning, not in the big ring, up all the hills, passing lots of people, and just coasting down the backsides, letting my legs stay rested. I’d ride my 20+ mph on the flats, but still nice and easy. Everything felt fine, … except my knees. I’d noticed them on the first “real” climb on the “stick” (the IMWI bike course is a lollipop, with a stick and two loops), but thought it might just be positioning. I continued to notice them on all subsequent climbs, sometimes more than others. There didn’t seem to be any correlation to effort, length of hill, my speed, etc., it was just a dull aching on the back side of the patella (knee cap). There’s a chronic condition called patellar chondromalacia where you repeatedly cause irritation, swelling, inflammation on the back of the patella, sometimes even grinding grooves into the bone. It’s very painful, or so I’ve read. I’ve never had issues with my knees in the 20+ years I’ve been racing bikes. I have no idea why I started noticing things now, but it was bothersome. Luckily, it was simply “noticing” my knees, and it wasn’t really painful.

That all changed, though, as things continued. I lost a full 5 minutes in the next 10 miles, crossing mile 70 at 3:40 and things continued to get worse from there. My knees were really bothering me on the second loop’s two big climbs. Perhaps as a result of that, I was adjusting my position, trying to find a way to not have that knee pain. This, I believe, caused pressure to shift to places I wasn’t used to feeling it. As a result, I started getting all sorts of body aches, back aches, foot aches, sit bone aches, that I have never really had to deal with in the past. It was amazing to me just how quickly everything seemed to unravel. By the time I crossed the 100 mile mark, I was SO ready to just get off my bike and throw it, in a rage, into a cornfield or something! I wanted to Get. Off. The. BIKE! That’s totally not me. I love cycling and have historically been a strong rider, though my Ironman times have never been what I feel they could be.

I was never so happy to find myself biking back up John Nolen Drive, heading back to the Terrace. I flew up the helix this time, passing several riders, spinning in my small gear. The moment the first micron of my tires touched the dismount line, I was off the bike!

Transition 2

Official time: 2:28 (new PR over 2:37 in 2013)

I ran in my biking shoes into the Terrace, down the hall, into the gear room, grabbed my bag, then zipped across the hall to the “Get Naked Room.” This time a volunteer was right there, as was a chair, right in the front. I sat right down and by the time I had my bike shoes off, my running shoes were on the floor, right at my feet. I slipped them on (gotta love speed laces!) and was able to take off my helmet and put it in the bag being held wide open by the volunteer. I put on my running cap and sunglasses, grabbed my race belt from the volunteer’s hand, and ran out of the room while securing the belt on my waist. A quick zig-zag out of the Terrace and I was back at the sunscreen station, where I paused to get another slathering. I’d stopped on the second loop of the bike at the aide station in Verona and had a quick pee, so I didn’t need to stop now. I ran up the parking ramp, turned left, and headed out of the Run Out arch to start the marathon.

Run

Official time: 5:18:30 (PR 4:08:39 in 2013)

Place: Division 103, Gender 618, Overall 742

Starting my run, I realized I felt good. I was very worried about my knees, but there was no pain at all in my running. My cadence was high and I was settling right in. I’d shifted my watch from sampling GPS every second to “Smart Sampling,” just to save battery and have no worries about it lasting the whole race. Well, … in Smart mode, your current and average paces take a while to settle in to what you’re actually running (I learned this the week before the race, doing some of our last intervals). As such, I really didn’t steal a glance at the watch until after the first aid station, just on the west side of the Capitol. I was running 7:55s. I purposefully eased back and tried to settle into that nice 8:00s pace that I wanted to run. I think things were going very well the first 4-5 miles, but then I noticed my HR was getting higher than it both should have been and where I wanted it, for that pace. There was a spot around mile 4 where my instantaneous pace was 9:15s and my HR was 150. In my training runs, even after an 18 miler, if I’m running 9:00+ pace, my HR is high 120s, maybe low 130s. I was 20 bpm faster than “normal.” Yes, I was in an Ironman, yes, I’d just finished the bike, but I didn’t think that should make such a large difference. That’s something you specifically train for, doing brick runs after your long rides. You condition the body to run in a tired, fatigued state.

I think the difference was heat. We had a beautiful race day. Blue skies, sunshine, and warm temperatures. Garmin says it was a whopping 20°C. I’m not sure if that’s the temp at the start of the activity or the average over the time. I’m guessing it got warmer than that on the run. And, I’m not used to that. We run in the mornings. In Minnesota. It’s dark, or the sun is just rising. It’s cool, like 12-15°C. There’s no direct sunshine. Believe it or not, I think that made a difference for me. I was feeling overheated. So, by about mile 5, I decided to walk through the aid station. I typically run through them, still taking my hydration and nutrition, but continuing to run pace. It was when I walked that I noticed my knee(s), specifically my right knee. It was a new pain, one I’d never experienced before. It was a somewhat sharp pain, on the inside of my right knee, just at the top of my lower leg. I felt it most when I was extending my leg forward. I walked through it at that aid station and decided to keep running and … the pain went away! I was happy with that. I only made it a few paces, though, and realized that I still wasn’t feeling right due to the heat. I walked half a mile and let my HR drop to the low 120s before running again. The knee pain was gone, but I only managed about a quarter of a mile and my HR was already pushing 140, though I was only running a 10:00 pace!!! I couldn’t believe it! I had just run a ~3:10 marathon back in April. My running form was spot on. I hit all my times in our interval training, using a 3:08 goal pace! Why the heck couldn’t I run pace and have my HR be in that nice zone, that I’d trained so hard to condition it to be in?!?!

The sad and honest truth is that, by that point, my mental game had completely crumbled. I had already devoted way too much mental energy thinking about how my race was changing from what I wanted it to be as my bike crumbled. I’d spent the past couple of miles on the run, still very much in the beginning of the run, mentally anguishing over what I was seeing my HR and how I was feeling physically.

To make matters worse, I then starting playing mental games with myself about how I was losing my mental game! That started a downward spiral and … it was over. Somewhere there, likely around mile 6-7, I was done and I knew it. I jogged and walked as best I could make myself do it to the half marathon point. Sadly, I was noticing my knee getting worse and worse and I was feeling it when I was running too. I had to run shorter and shorter segments before needing to walk and finally learned that if I took short little steps, the pain was much diminished. Along the way, though, I noticed, too, that the joint of my big toe on my right foot, where it meets the foot, was becoming acutely painful. I think I was adjusting my gait enough that it was putting extra pressure on that joint, which I’d injured in high school, effectively stepping on my own big toe by bending it completely over (ouch! -- the joint swelled to near baseball size and was a nasty black, blue, and purple for a long time).

I was infuriated with myself. I train with an awesome group of people. We all work incredibly hard in our workouts. Yet, I take a little pride in the fact that it seems I’m always (98% of the time, at least) able to push the hardest, suffer through the intervals or the tempo runs, make it to the top of the hill on our bikes first, etc. I definitely experience pain, discomfort, exhaustion, etc. in my training and have been able to continue to push myself. It made no sense to me, in the race, why I was giving up so easily. Yet, I couldn’t keep myself going, not running at least. I’d tried playing the mental game of re-evaluating my finishing time, figuring a way I could salvage a 10:anything finish, or even just setting a new PR, going anything faster than a 11:26. All to no avail. I’ve been in that dark, nasty place you end up in during an Ironman. When it’s not injury pain, but just the pain of unbelievable exhaustion and exertion. I can push through that (mostly). This was somehow different. I can’t say I’m injured, but that’s what the pain felt like in my toe joint and knee. I was sad, for myself and, frankly, for my group. We had all put so much into training to get PRs. I seriously had no doubt in my mind that I’d achieve a PR, my only question was by how much. And here it was all slipping away. It had slipped away already. Gone.

I alternated walking and … well, what can I call it? It certainly wasn’t running. It probably wasn’t even jogging, either. Let’s call it “shuffling.” I alternated walking and shuffling, pushing myself through the last half marathon to the finish. At one point, around mile 18 or so, I saw my partner and youngest son. I’d seen them all over the course throughout the day, cheering me on. As I was walking, and suffering, on the course, I held my son’s hand and he told me, “It’s alright dad, you’re doing great!” He also sang me some verses from a particular motivational song I like. My partner also, in a whispered voice, reminded me of the lesson in perseverance I was demonstrating to our son. Those things helped keep me going. By the time I made it to mile 20, I knew I’d finish, after all, how many bloody 10ks had I run up to that point in my training?! Still, I believe I walked nearly the entire last 4-5 miles. I managed to force myself to run the last half mile or so, slowly increasing the pace, though it was slightly uphill on State St to the Capitol. People said they saw me smiling. I thought I was gritting my teeth and grimacing. The pain was unbelievable, every step was a sharp pain in the knee as I extended my leg forward and then a shooting pain in my toe joint when I planted the foot. I felt on the verge of tears -- not of joy that I was almost done, but from the pain. Looking at Garmin, I see I managed a “sprint” down into the 7:30-ish range right at the end. I almost dread seeing my finisher’s photo, crossing the line. I’m not sure what my face will reveal.

Post Race

There were two catchers right at the line who guided me to a volunteer who removed my timing chip, another who put the finisher’s medal around my neck, another who handed me the finisher’s shirt and cap, and the last one who donned the thermal blanket on me. A training mate who’d signed-up to do the race, but DNS’d due to a leg injury, caught my eye and my handlers saw this, asking if that was my friend. When I answered yes, they felt confident in releasing me. I actually headed into the tent to find some chocolate milk, which they didn’t have!!! I put some pizza slices on a plate, though I never feel like eating right after a race. I connected with my friends and immediate family, though, sadly, didn’t connect with my brother and father who’d come up to cheer me on (I did see them multiple times throughout the day and really appreciated it). After some dithering over plans, and connecting with my other training mates as they crossed the finish line, family went home and we went to a nearby hotel to clean-up and head back out to grab a bit of food and watch the midnight finishers, which is always an awesome, inspirational experience. My knee and toe joint were still very sore, causing me to limp as I walked, but were tolerable. As I write this, a couple of days after the race, the pain in my knee is only a ghost of what it was. Sometimes I notice it, more and more I don’t. My toe joint was quite swollen, but that has receded and the pain is gone. I have some minor muscle soreness, but, truthfully, never really pushed it enough that I should be sore.

It’s going to take me a while to process this race and figure out just what the heck happened. I really felt that I was in the best shape I’d been in for an Ironman to-date. I’d trained consistently, felt strong, had (mostly) avoided injuries, and truly thought a PR was the bare minimum I would achieve in this race. I wasn’t cocky, just … confidently trained. But it never came to pass. At some point, I’ll have analyzed the heck out of this. Maybe I’ll have some answers, even if I have to convince myself of them, maybe I won’t. Eventually I’ll bring closure to this. It’s hard, doing the worst you’ve ever done. Yet, I did finish. For now, I’ll hold on to that.

Historical Results

2012 IM Wisconsin: 11:59:47 (106, 512, 590) 1:03:58, 8:40, 5:57:43, 5:30, 4:43:56

2013 IM Wisconsin: 11:29:39 (48, 290, 326) 1:07:13, 5:42, 6:05:28, 2:37, 4:08:39

2014 IM Austria: 11:27:16 (196, 1104, 1180) 1:05:36, 5:36, 5:58:54, 3:53, 4:13:17

2015 IM Wisconsin: 12:36:08 (103, 618, 742) 1:05:45, 7:06, 6:02:19, 2:28, 5:18:30

2015 Run for the Lakes Marathon: Race Report

Preamble 

It's been a long while since I've actually posted anything on this blog, though I think I have my 2013 Wisconsin Ironman and 2014 Ironman Austria reports both about 66% done. I needed to write this particular race report, though, since it turns out: I won!

You might recall from earlier posts that I train with a great group of people, all of them endurance athletes. A set of six of us decided to sign up for the 2015 Ironman Wisconsin and wanted to also look at an early marathon, both as a test of our training for Ironman, but also so that some in the group could (re-)qualify for Boston in 2016 (Dave and I had already qualified and ran there and the others had it as a dream or stretch goal).

We recycled a plan that Dave had used as he prepared to run a sub-3:00 at Boston (he wound up with a 3:00:03) in 2013. I entered the plan into a spreadsheet and setup formulas for each of the workouts so the pacing data would adjust for whichever runner was looking at the plan. We might have an interval run like: "2 mile warmup/ 2 down + 6x 1 mile @ 06:25-06:30/mile with 2 minutes recovery between," which is pacing for me, but it would change to "07:51-07:57/mile" for Deb. We ran outside, up here in Minnesota, all winter long, and even fit in twice a week biking sessions, just because we're triathletes and still have our eyes on Septembers Ironman. A couple of the folks in the group even managed to get in their swims as well!

Lead-up

We collectively looked at races in the area in the early spring and settled on the "Run for the Lakes" marathon in Nisswa, MN. In it's eighth year, the race is a USATF certified course and a qualifier for Boston. We all trained hard and got stronger and faster, though there were some set-backs. Kristen developed some IT band issues and was out for several weeks. Mark had some knee issues and wasn't even sure if he was going to run at all. Dave pulled a hamstring playing soccer and was out for a couple weeks, traveled overseas and didn't run for a couple more, and then developed Achilles tendonitis that had him out for another couple weeks. Deb wound up with some knee issues and cut some long runs short. Mike felt like he was over-trained but kept plugging away. Chris started off wanting the BQ but then revised his plans based on what he was seeing in training. I even had a bit of a scare when, just four weeks before the event, I started noticing something in my left glute that I thought might be tendonitis. In spite of all this, we loaded up in cars and headed to Nisswa on Friday night and everyone planned to run at least part of the race.

Walking to the car at the hotel, carrying 40s for after the race

The two women in the training group, Deb and Kristen, needed 3:40s, to qualify for Boston. Given historic cut-offs, we figured everyone should be at least 2:00 faster, so they were training to run 3:35. Three of guys the training group, Dave, Mike, and Mark needed a 3:15 and they trained for a 3:13 to be safe. I'm older so only needed a 3:25, but planned on running the race with Dave, Mike, and Mark at 3:13. 

In the end, Kristen was going to run the half. Mark wasn't sure what he was going to do, leaning towards not running at all, but considering the half. Mike, Dave, and I were going for the 3:13 BQ. Deb was going for her 3:35 and a BQ and Chris was going to run with her. Matt was going to run the half for a PR. We had a group meal at an Olive Garden in Brainerd, then were back to the hotel in Baxter to get race bibs fastened and strategies discussed. We then headed out about 07:15 for the quick drive up to Nisswa.

The Race

The weather was perfect: it was cool and cloudy and while there was some wind, I never really thought it was an issue on course. After hitting the bathrooms and getting a great group picture

Clockwise from back left: Chris, Dave, me, Mike, Deb, Kristen, Matt and Mark

in the Community Center, Dave, Mike and I jogged for about 5 minutes and then headed to the starting line just in time for the National Anthem. We wiggled our way to the front, did a group five second count-down, and the gun went off. Mike took off fast, but Dave and I did our best to just run pace. A 3:13 finishing time means a 7:22 per mile pace. We agreed to run 7:20s. Of course, we never hit that exactly, and were running a touch fast, but we were close. Within a mile, we'd caught up to Mike who then ran alongside for another couple miles. Mike then started to fade back a bit, but that was his M.O.: he'd run about 20 yards behind and be attached by an invisible rope. We were used to it in training, so didn't think anything of it during the race. Somewhere around mile 6, I think, we realized Mike was falling a bit more behind. Dave and I decided to stick with our plan and just kept on pace.

The first half marathon was really quite nice.

Course map

Dave and I were chatting, a bit, hitting the aid stations, taking note of significant points for the next lap, etc. We were cruising and feeling good. As we came to the half marathon point, we were curious to see how many of the people in front of us would disappear. It turns out that "all" of them did. We took our full marathon detour and suddenly there was nobody in front of us, as we wound our way around the finish and back onto the main loop. As we came around a corner just past mile 14, one of the volunteers shouted to us, "Go get her!" We looked up ahead and saw a lone figure running a ways up the road. We kept on our pace and were slowly gaining on her. At mile 14.6, there was a left turn so we could go up 0.2 miles, turn around in the road, and then come back down again to add the 0.4 needed because of how our course differed from those running the half, but allowing us all to finish in the same place. As we were running to the turn around, two things happened: 1) we finally got a chance to see the woman ahead of us as she came running past us after she'd made the turn; and 2) Dave started having issues.

At the time, what I heard was, "Uh, ... not feeling so good ... go get 'em," or something like that. What I found out later was that he noticed his HR had spiked up in the 180s and that his gut was bothering him. He said it was the first time he really thought he was going to puke in a race! I continued running pace, but kept one eye behind me, thinking and hoping he'd recover and rejoin me. The other eye was on the woman in front of me, growing steadily closer. I passed her just after mile 16. I heard from Dave afterwards that when he saw me catch her he thought, "Oh no!..." because when you pass someone, you don't want them to linger just behind you - you want to pass them and make sure they don't stick there, so you pick up the pace a bit. I don't think I did that, but all Dave knew was that he'd need to run even faster to catch. 

It turns out he was doing some very low 7:00s trying to catch me. At one point I heard him just behind me, maybe 10 meters. He'd passed the woman too and seemed to be rallying so I gave him a thumbs up and some encouraging words. Unfortunately, that was the end for Dave and he faded quickly thereafter. Later I learned that he kept running to about mile 18, then walked and ran to about mile 23, looking for the medical tent, and then DNF'd. They put ice on his Achilles and he got a ride back to the finish.

On My Own

I, however, was now running on my own. I'd passed the woman, but had no idea how many others were in front of me. Rather than think about that, I kept focus on my pace. I was surprised to see mile 19 pop up. The previous couple of miles just sort of flowed. I was in a good place and was enjoying the feel of the run - it was quiet in the woods. All I heard were my own footfalls and breathing. Even the aid stations were quiet, people just standing there with water or Powerade in their outstretched hand. 

Regarding nutrition, I'd decided to make a big change heading into this race. I've gotten myself to the point where I can do a 12-14 mile training run without water or food. I do pre-hydrate by drinking a water bottle of electrolyte beforehand and maybe munching on some sort of bar or popping a GU. During my long runs, I've been doing water in two bottles and a carb drink in the other two, plus some blocks or chomps and a GU. This is very different from my carb drink heavy approach of years past, where I was also trying to do a GU every 45 minutes or so. I've had two recent races where my gut prevented me from a better time (the Boston marathon and Ironman Austria) and I really didn't want that to happen again. For this race, I drank my electrolyte water bottle just after waking up and munched down a Bonk Breaker bar. I packed a bar and some chomps for the run. I started the chomps around mile 6, just two at a time, slowly dissolving and chewing them. I would alternate that with nibbling on the bar. I also alternated just drinking water and then Powerade at each support station. In addition, I brought along a GU Roctane, but was only going to use it if I really thought I needed it. 

Miles 19-~23 got a bit hard. I'd lost my "zen" feeling and realized it was different and a bit lonely up front. I've done most of my running with my training group, though have done enough solo running, usually longer runs, that it wasn't entirely new to me. The terrain was rolling and, for the first time, I found that I needed to put in some effort to keep pace up the hills. Mentally, I pulled out some of my first-use Ironman mantras, including a new one my partner had gifted me in an email just that morning when she said, "Run like the wind, Bullseye!" Somewhere in there I decided to do the Roctane. I'm glad I did. By mile 24, I was feeling strong again. Of course, by this point the rollers were done and there was an ever so gradual uphill slope left to the finish. As I came around a corner just past mile 24, I zipped to the aid station to grab a handful of oranges and asked the volunteers there how many were ahead of me. Their answered shouts came to my back as, "Uh, ... I don't know, ... maybe a couple?"  I looked up the road and, sure enough, saw someone off in the distance.

I briefly allowed myself to think that, "Wow, I might be able to podium in this," thinking third place would be pretty darned cool! I quickly re-centered and focused on pace again and was surprised when I zipped past the person who had been so far up the road. It turns out to have been a half marathoner who I'd just lapped. That also helped explain why the volunteers really weren't sure how many were ahead of me. Another corner revealed several clusters of half marathon joggers / walkers. I did my best to maintain my pace catching up to and running past these groups. I had my pace and I was going to stick to it.

When I saw the sign for mile 25, I was really happy. I was feeling good and knew that even if I totally blew up, for whatever strange reason, I could still walk it in and meet my real qualifying time. Earlier on, while still running with Dave, he'd asked how far ahead we were. I paged down on my Garmin screens to my Virtual Pacer, set for 7:20s, and saw that we were about 1:45 ahead of pace at that point. I figured I might be something over 2:00 minutes ahead and did the quick mental math and realized that I had a chance of doing a 3:10:something. Again, though, I put that out of my mind and just focused on pace and form. The wall I'd hit two years earlier in the Minneapolis marathon never appeared. It seemed the worst I'd faced in this race was a little bit of extra effort needed to get over the rolling hills 8 miles back. Things were looking and feeling good.

As I came up the biking trail they had us running on into town, I shouted out to a volunteer, "Where's the finish?" and she indicated, with a big smile, "It's just up there, keep going then turn left." So, I did. I covered that last third of a mile and came to a cluster of people cheering at a corner. One of them was Matt, from our group who'd done the half marathon. I'm hoping it was a smile I gave him as I came around the corner. That's when I saw the race clock and it read 3:09:19, or something like that. I know I smiled then as I realized I was going to make it under 3:10! Still, though, I just kept running what felt like pace (I didn't look at my watch) and ran myself under that finishing banner.

Done! (with a chomp block in each cheek still)

I stopped my watch, took a few steps, then put my hands on my knees and just rested a bit. I wasn't really all that tired and wasn't sore, though I had noticed my hips talking to me a bit the previous 4 miles or so. I stood up and started walking again when I realized I likely should be getting a finisher's medal and turned around. A volunteer sort of awkwardly walked up and draped one around my neck then silently offered me some water.

Post Race

As I was opening the water bottle, a man walked up to the barricade and asked my name and some other basic information. I thought he was the race director, just wanting to make sure things matched with my bib number. Then I saw Matt and he was beaming a smile at me. He said something like, "Great job!" I thanked him for that and then he said, "You won!!!" I didn't believe him, and said as much. I think I said, "You're kidding, right?" but he insisted that I'd won. He said that another runner had come through before me, but he was the last member of the winning relay team. Matt assured me that I was the first solo marathon runner to cross the line. I was totally surprised! I really thought there were "a couple" of people in front of me. The man who had asked me my name then reappeared, though I think he'd been watching Matt and I the whole time. He asked a few more questions and then said he'd like to talk with me some more after I'd had a break. I still wasn't clear on who this guy was, but I indicated I'd likely just be "around."

Matt and I got my thermal blanket wrapped around me, though I really wasn't cold. We talked some more about his claim that I'd really won the event, with me still disbelieving, but coming around to the idea. Eventually the question-asking guy came up to us again. This time Matt walked off and the guy pulled out a tape recorder. He asked a lot of questions, which I answered, though I still didn't really know who this guy was. I still thought he was a race director. Cutting this bit of the story to it's conclusion, he turned out to be a reporter who wrote this story the next day.

Matt and I reconnected and then I mentioned that, "Dave should've been right behind me." As we waited, though, it became clear that he wasn't. We then watched the next person come in and cross the line. I wandered back toward the finish and shook his hand. He said his name was Lon Anderson, that he was 50, and that this was his first marathon. I was quite impressed. His time was 3:20:something which is quite fast for a first event. Matt and I kept watching the clock and expecting when the next members of our group would be coming through. We kept hoping to see Dave, but never did. Next to come through was Mike, who ran an awesome race and PR'd by 25 minutes, placed 10th overall, and took 3rd in his age group! Then we saw Deb, who made her BQ by 57 seconds, also PR'd, won her age group and took 2nd overall for women! Excellent performances!

In talking to Mike, and then Deb, Matt and I learned that Dave had DNF'd, as I mentioned above. That was sad news to hear as he and I were really having a great race together up until his issues at mile 15. I then decided to walk to the car and get my phone, only a block away. I'd turned it off to save battery and when I turned it back on, it started beeping with all sorts of notifications. The first thing I did, though, was called home and talked to my partner. Her first words were, "Oh Brian, what happened?" Her voice was full of compassion and concern. I was really confused at this point. I told her that I'd just run a 3:09, that I'd set a new PR, and that I thought I'd won the race. She said, "Hon, I've been watching the results page. They have some guy named Lon as the winner with a 3:20. I can see Mike's and Deb's finishes, but I don't see you or ... oh wait, there's Dave." I told her again that I was fine, had finished well, and that I really did run a 3:09. With that, she was quite happy! She congratulated me and then let me go.

I checked on some of those many notifications and one of them was a text, from a training mate who's running a later marathon, saying, "Mike is that a PR!! Brian what happened???" By now I understood the confusion and what he was asking, so I texted back, "My watch had me at 3:09:44. I think I won. I was interviewed by the race director" The response came back, "Yes!!! You are not on the results page tho! They hv winner at 3:20" After hearing that news twice now, I headed over to the results tent. They had a really nice large-screen display showing the results and, sure enough, Lon Anderson was listed as the winner with his 3:20:02 time. The had a computer there where you could put in your bib number and get your timing ticket printed. I did so and was pleased to see that I had an official time of 3:09:37! With that in hand, I then walked to the timing tent. I mentioned to them that their on-line page showed Lon as the winner with a 3:20:02. They looked at their phones and said, "Yup." I then held out my finishers ticket and said, "I ran a 3:09." One guy grabbed the ticket, seemed surprised, and dashed for a computer and started clicking away. The other one had a clipboard that he started flipping through. He quickly said, "Sure enough, we have you here as the first finisher and the backup stopwatch time matches. You got first. We'll get it corrected."

Clockwise: Deb, Mark, Matt, me, Mike, Kristen, and Dave

The whole experience was a really weird way to find out I'd won -- it didn't show that to people watching on-line and no race official actually did or said anything when I finished. Still, it eventually sank in and was a pretty neat feeling. Somewhere in there Kristen, who'd run the half and had no knee issues, joined Matt and I and gave me a big hug. Mark started the race to do the half, felt good, and just kept going and finished with a PR! Chris finished with a smile on his face as well. Dave came hobbling over with an ice back taped to his swollen Achilles, all smiles and happy for the whole crew. Those 40s I'd lugged to the car were found and opened by Mike and Dave. We all headed into the Community Center and took turns getting our free, post-race massages. I was pulled aside and interviewed by another reporter (I never have found that article). We all had some beer, ate some donut holes, and had a great time talking about the race, getting each person's perspectives on the various stories and experiences we'd all had. It was a really fun time.

Awards

Me, Mike, and Deb with Awards

We all hung out in the Community Center and waited for the 13:30 awards ceremony. It was pretty neat that three of us, in the group of eight, managed to place in our age groups, two of us took podiums in our gender, and that I somehow snagged the overall win. We all had a great day and everyone left happy. I don't think you can ask for much more than that. We drove home shortly afterwards and headed to Mike's where we'd planned a party for the runners, spouses, and children. What Dave didn't know is that his wife had also planned to use that party for his birthday party: he would turn 40 the next Tuesday. We all had a great time, ate too much food, drank too much alcohol, and probably stood on legs that could have used a rest. Everyone had an awesome time!

Post-Race Analysis

I've taken a peek at my splits in Garmin and on Strava, specifically looking at Grade Adjusted Pacing (GAP) and found that Dave and I, then just myself, did a great job at keeping pace. It wasn't as robotically perfect as Dave managed when running Boston, but I was quite happy with what I saw. My average HR was just 155. When I BQ'd in the Minneapolis marathon in June 2013, my average was 161. As I look back on the race, I realize that it was more like a training run. I was never out on the edge or worried about whether I'd "make" it. I did have to work that one section to stay on pace, but things never faltered. I also realized that I negative split my second half-marathon, running a 1:34:49 for the first half and a 1:34:48 for the second half -- a one second difference. NOTE: I just downloaded my "official" finishers' certificate and they are listing my official time as 3:09:48, so the two half-marathon times are exactly the same.

I think that if I'd thought more about my mental math when I realized I could go a 3:10-ish around mile 25, I believe I was still far enough away from the "edge" to be able to bump the pace by 10-15 seconds per mile. In my day-dreams, I'd have been able to drop the pace to 6:50s for those last two miles and that would have put me into the 3:08 range that I really felt I could have run at Boston in 2014 if I hadn't blown-up due to meds and GI issues. That's awesome validation of where my training is at as I look forward to Ironman Wisconsin in just over four months. It also has me thinking about what I want to set my goals for at Boston in 2016. Maybe a 3:05? Maybe shoot for that magical "Rule of 6" and go for a 3:02:57!? We'll see what the future holds.

Thanks

I really, really, really need to thank my running group for all the help and support they've provided over the years. Besides the folks who were at the race with me, this includes Johnny, Jen, Evan, and even folks like Andrew who have influenced me from afar. Having a group of folks like they all are is invaluable. You know they're getting up when you're feeling tired and questioning wanting to get out of bed. You know that they'll be at your side pushing harder when you want to falter on the interval run. You know that, while there is always some friendly competition and ribbing going on, they have your best interests in mind with helpful and critical thoughts on nutrition, overtraining, stretching, injuries, and the like. I'm a far better runner today than I was when I met the first of these folks and started training with them. I really and truly owe them the majority of my success. Thanks to you all!!!!

Finisher's medal, overall trophy (it's a water tower), and the age group winner's medal