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