Ironman Wisconsin Race Report

[thndrmatt]

They say a person doesn’t sleep very well the night before their first Ironman. They are correct. Having gotten 10-12 hours the previous two nights, I knew I didn’t have to go to bed all that early and I’d still be wide awake when necessary. So we finally turned out the lights around 10pm and I actually slept pretty solidly as I had all week. I distinctly remember the act of waking up, and instantly rolling over while thinking “please be close to 5am, please be close to 5am.” Anddddd, 2:30, doh. Rolled around aimlessly til 3, then realized it was pointless and got on the computer. Downed the remainder of the kettle corn that was left over from the night before because I was starving, and continued to obsess about the weather. I’d signed up for Wisconsin hoping for cold temperatures to counteract the problems I had in China with the heat. What I ended up getting was a high of 83, with nary a cloud to be had for the first several hours. So I had reason to obsess. After surfing the net for a while I managed to catnap for at least a few minutes between 4 and 5am.

At 5am my alarm went off, and I started my routine. First I downed my two brown sugar cinnamon pop tarts. Not sure when that tradition started. They’re not all that healthy, but at least give me a bunch of carbs and sugar to get me goin through the morning and keep me from feeling starving. I’d been pretty religious with my lists throughout the trip, so I quickly went over the one I’d made up for race morning as to what to bring. On went my tri outfit, a Louis Garneau “Shark” number that is “atlantic blue” or basically teal and black. Heart rate monitor was underneath, it seems to survive being in the water without any issues. Decided at the last minute to put on a pair of jeans and t-shirt over it, as it was supposed to be in the low 50s for the early morning hours. Since most everything at full length Ironman races is done and dropped off over the previous few days, there wasn’t much else to do. Grabbed my special needs bags and swim bag, got Cheryl up and excited (not really) and we were soon headed out the door. Out hotel was only a few blocks from transition, so we made the quick walk in the eerie darkness. From all directions triathletes were approaching, all caught up in their own worlds. A monumental task had been set before them, and most seemed dazed.

At transition I dumped off my bike and run special needs bags, and headed towards my bike. Placed the Garmin Edge 705 in its place of honor between the handlebars, and glanced down at the stem sticker with my bib number, that I had oriented so the M-Dot was facing up at me. Any bit of motivation is helpful, of course. Had the mechanic pump up the tires one last time, then added the bottles of Infinit my preferred nutrition supplement to my seat, headtube, and rear cages, and checked the bag one more time for anything that needed to go on the bike. Not finding anything I thought I was set and headed back towards the other side of transition. I of course, thought wrong, but that comes later.

Body marking was a simple process: display bare skin, get branded. My “Sherpa” was with me throughout the morning, capturing a lot of the day on video and through pictures. My father and brother had also decided to make a surprise appearance the night before, and given they have more professional cameras and editing ability I may actually end up with a pretty nifty highlight reel at some point. Then came the walk down the “helix” towards the swim start. In a few short hours I hoped to be transiting this area in the other direction headed for transition. The sun had begun to come up now, and it was revealing near perfect swim conditions. Actually I don’t know how they could have gotten any more perfect, other than the water being a little cooler than the advertised 75 degrees. The wetsuit I was going to be wearing was the BlueSeventy “Helix”, conveniently, and has always assisted my terrible swims from being even more terrible. I recognized a chance for a nifty silhouetted shot by the water as I was taking off my jeans and Cheryl snapped a few pics of the sunrise behind me as I looked out over the course.

We grabbed a spot in the vicinity of the swim start and just hung out for a while. Everything was going according to schedule but I’d built in some extra time, so there was no need to get fitted up and overheated yet. I ended up hitting the portapotties like 3 times during this timeframe, mostly nervous energy, partially due to hydrating well over the previous day or two. Around 6:30 as transition was closing I finally started getting out my wetsuit and applying Bodyglide, and it was then I discovered a baggie of Infinit that was supposed to go in the bento box on the bike. I at first started walking back up there, but decided it was wasted energy, they had probably closed transition, and I could always sneakily get it later from someone out on the bike course. So that was my newb transition mistake for the day, a relatively minor one.

It was at this point that I’d say I was the most apprehensive. As I zipped up the wetsuit, got some good luck from Cheryl and headed into the water about 15 minutes before the start, I really had no idea what the day would bring. Almost all the “stressors” of the previous week when it came to getting stuff to Madison, getting set up, and staying illness and injury free were gone. All that was left was three things. Swim, bike, run. Swim, bike run. Swim, bike run.

I knew I had to focus my energy on individual tasks rather than the whole day because otherwise I’d get overwhelmed. The pros started, and then came the national anthem. I stayed where I could touch, as the deep water start meant athletes were spread across a few hundred meters of water. With about 8 minutes to go I started moving out, somewhere towards the middle just to the right of the ski ramp facing out down the course. I then did my best to relax, by just floating on my back. I was near the back so I wasn’t in anyone’s way, and given the wetsuit’s buoyancy it was actually quite refreshing to be just bobbing there. Mike Reilly’s voice was booming around the lake, pumping us up, getting us motivated, getting the crowd into it. The crowd was incredible. It was almost like a stadium, they were lining the shoreline and the Monona Terrace 3 or 4 deep, and crammed onto both of the helixes. When he would generate a response from them it felt as if the water itself was shaking.

I looked over at the big clock next to the swim finish, and it said 6:58:30. In 90 seconds I was starting an Ironman. I started flashing back through the entire process all at once. Graduating college over 200 pounds. August 2003, joining the USAF, and having to get in shape. January 2006, my first half marathon. I’d just wanted to see if I could run that far. September 2006, the inaugural Disneyland half marathon. A race inside my favorite place in the world, I certainly couldn’t miss that. It was also the place I first met the WISH team, a group I’ve stayed close to throughout this process. January 2007, my first marathon. Walt Disney World had been hot that year, and it was the first time I discovered the pain of cramping and how my body responds to heat. April 2007, my first triathlon. I’d seen them on TV, and three finish lines sounded like fun. May 2007, my first half IM. Jumping to that distance after only a few months with a bike isn’t recommended, but it was at Walt Disney World, and I wanted to challenge myself. Walking almost the whole half marathon due to cramps in the heat, I struggled, but finished. Over the next few years, I would complete a total of 18 half marathons, and 6 marathons. Around a dozen triathlons, including 3 half IMs. And it all helped prepare me for April 2009. It was then I attempted Ironman China, which was a failure of epic proportions. 115 degree temperatures and a ruthless river current ended my day before I even made it halfway through the bike. Months, even years of preparation seemed wasted. On an impulse, I decided to use a travel agency’s block of spots to gain entry to September 2009’s Ironman Wisconsin. I knew that the previous failure would weigh on me until I erased it. I trained through a deployment, came home on the 4th of July, and got in two more months of solid training. I thought I was ready. But I didn’t really know.

The last 10 seconds before the cannon were bizarre. Only the athletes know what happened around them. Unknown to those standing on the shoreline, some athletes would scream “OH MY GOD!” with either glee, or terror, while others would pass around nervous “good lucks.” Still others would start thrashing about with excitement, while a few would bite their lower lips and try not to be overcome by fear. Some were jockeying for position near the front, others clung to the various lifeguard kayaks until the last possible second. But slowly, everyone’s head turned in unison toward the shoreline, the clock, and the cannon. Whether it’s a starter’s pistol, a stopwatch ticking, a green light, a green flag, or the mighty boom of a cannon, everyone knows what it means.

GO.

The following scene is familiar to all those who have watched an Ironman mass swim start. For those who haven’t, I recommend Youtube or something to get an idea. 2704 athletes, means a total of 10816 arms and legs all moving at the same time. You’ll hear stories from others about getting kicked in the face, dragged underwater, their goggles being punched off, and other such glorious situations. You won’t hear any of those here however. Being a back of the pack swimmer, it was only the first few hundred meters that felt like a groping session that I should have been charging for. After that, the vast majority were well on their way, and I was still just flapping along. Every time I breathed to the right I could see the crowds on the Terrace, and hear Mike Reilly going bonkers. I was staying slightly wider of the buoys than average, just sighting in on the furthest one, and was soon in an area of water mostly by myself. What does one think about during the swim leg of an Ironman? For me it’s left, right/breathe left, left , right/breathe left, left , right, left/breathe right, right, left/breathe right, right, and then back to left at the beginning of the pattern, over and over, and over. I actually use my legs minimally, as the wetsuit keeps them afloat and I need them for the later disciplines.

When I’d made it about halfway down the Terrace I decided to check my time status, since I’d swam this portion a few days before the event as my final practice swim and it had taken me about 7 minutes. I stole a glance at my watch, and was greeted with 00:00:00. Raise your hand if you’ve ever forgotten to start your watch at the beginning of a race. The rest of you will at some point. The clock time was 7:06 so I estimated I was pretty close to on time, if anything a little fast since I was caught up in the current generated by all the swimmers initially. This watch mistake actually had an interesting effect. Halfway through the first loop of the rectangular shaped course I rounded the second corner buoy and checked my time, expecting around 26 minutes. Seeing 19:30 I was elated. I swam the backstretch on a high, trying to figure out how I was swimming so well and figuring that the mass start must have surged me forward even better than expected. It was only when I neared the halfway point of the swim that it clicked that I had to add back in the 6 or 7 minutes due to starting the watch late. But I think it had a positive effect on what is normally the most mentally challenging portion of a triathlon discipline, that section right before you get to halfway, when you’re so tired but still have so far to go. It took me around 21 minutes to swim the long legs of the rectangle initially, and around 26 minutes on the second lap, as my arms fatigued. Once I began the second lap though the crowds had all but disappeared, as many had lapped me and were already finishing their swim. The lifeguards seemed more “attentive” the second lap, as they were able to get closer to the individual swimmers, and were trying to identify if the thrashing was part of my “normal” stroke or if I needed assistance. A relatively common situation during the swim leg of triathlon is me trying to thank a lifeguard between breaths, and them suddenly diving towards me screaming “DO YOU NEED ASSISTANCE? GRAB MY FLOTATION DEVICE!” I had a few quick conversations at the turnpoints, thanking them for coming out and letting them know that in fact I was having the time of my life out there. They always looked relieved, like they’d half expected me to ask to hang on to their kayak or jet ski for a while or that I was going to drop out or something. I might be slow, but luckily it doesn’t take a lot out of me, so I can just keep poking along.

I spent a lot of time doing the math, trying to figure out my final swim time, but it was clear by the end of the first loop that the cutoff of 2:20:00 would not be an issue. My first loop was about 52:00, which is conveniently usually my half IM split time, and goes to show I’m pretty much a one speed swimmer out there regardless of the distance I’m traveling. I eventually made the final turn for home, and branched out away from the rectangle course towards the swim exit. This made the second loop a little longer split wise as I traversed the rest of the way. I could see the volunteers all standing at the ready, and Mike Reilly holding the microphone underneath the banner. The water stays pretty deep until right up by the shoreline, and when I finally touched bottom I was pretty damn ecstatic.

1:53:49 turned out to be the split, good enough for 2347 out of 2397 who finished the swim, and 187th out of 189 in my age group, at an average pace of 3:00 per 100 meters. That’s slow any way you slice it, but in fact gave me about 26 minutes of buffer under the cutoff times that I wasn’t really expecting. Two volunteers grabbed my shoulders to help pull me about halfway out, and one more hand got me up and over the mat, generating a welcome “ding dee dee ding” as my chip was recognized. I was so caught up in the cheering and high fives that I nearly forgot I had to remove the top half of my wetsuit before getting to the wetsuit strippers a few yards away. The advantage of being so slow is there is a whole lot more personal attention paid to you. I was the only one in the wetsuit stripper area, so while two of them used their experience to tear off the top and then have me lie down and rip off the bottom in a matter of seconds, I was then jogging through a tunnel of volunteer love towards the helix.

As I tried to catch my breath, I removed my goggles and swim cap, came under the toll booth area and looked up at the helix, spotting Cheryl for the first time. She was holding up her whiteboard that she’d purchased in order to be able to change the sign she was holding up throughout the day, and it said GO IRONMATT with the O being Mickey’s head and the M being an M-Dot. My Dad was there also, and as I started spiraling upwards they had the cameras going mad. Most everyone had moved on to the bike course, but there were still a diehard few waiting to cheer on their athletes. Finally reaching the top, I was directed over to a door that led inside the Monona Terrace where the transition bags and changing rooms were located. The person manning the exterior door had shouted my bib number down the hall to someone manning the interior one, so when I entered the room with the swim-to-bike bags I was greeted by a hurricane of noise created by dozens of volunteers screaming things like “ALRIGHT THREE ONE THREE YEAHHHH THREE ONE THREE!” Having an easy to say palindrome of a number was pretty convenient throughout the day.

It was easy to find my bag based on how few were left, and I was soon in the changing room being helped by yet another volunteer. They do their best to help out the athlete in any way they can, even to the point they pour out everything from your bag, arrange your socks and shoes where you can easily get to them, hand you the Bodyglide they’ve opened already, and so forth. On went my white halo headband to keep the sweat out of my eyes, my helmet, my Thorlos, my sunglasses, and into the bag via the volunteer went my wetsuit and everything from the swim. They really make things easy, which helped a tremendous amount. I also had a metal ring that was fit through about 40 long thin laminated strips of paper that easily fit in my jersey pocket that my various family members had added motivational sayings or quotes to, that I would be referring to throughout the day. Out the door I went and to the waiting gloved up volunteers with gobs of sunscreen. They’d definitely gotten their system down by then and again that took only a matter of seconds before I was jogging through transition in my socks. It was literally about 200 yards for me through all the other bike racks because I was near the end so I’d decided to just put my shoes on when I got there to avoid damaging my cleats or hurting myself running awkwardly. Almost every rack had only one bike left, and some had none. Bizarrely mine still had more than one, but they’d again been shouting my number down the rows and it was ready for me by the time I got there. I also spotted my brother high above transition on one of the walkway overpasses, well positioned for transition shots coming and going. I put on my shoes and turned on the Edge, and walked the bike over to the mount line. Cheryl had made her way up to that area and the sign now said “RIDE LIKE THE WIND!.” Into the bike I clipped, and rode the brakes all the way down the helix and out onto the bike course.
9:40 was my final T1 time, a lot of which involved all the jogging from the swim finish up the helix and then across the lengthy transition area. Even the pros at a full sprint still take a full 4 minutes.

I had this crazy stupid grin on for what was probably the first dozen miles on the bike, which shows in my first ASI picture with the capitol in the background soon after leaving transition. It would become a general theme that I just “couldn’t believe” that I was doing it, that I was in the Ironman. Initially the course was pretty deserted. Most everyone was well past this section, but as I blew past the lake and left downtown in my wake, I looked forward to what lie ahead. There isn’t a lot of “scenery” where I ride in the panhandle of Florida, just a lot of trees. The gulf is nice, but there aren’t a lot of safe roads near it. So fields, pastures, windmills, barns, silos, cows, it all sounded exciting to me. The course is set up as two 43 mile loops with a “stem” out and back portion from downtown out to Verona where the loops start. That first 13 miles or so went by in a flash, although I remember thinking on every downhill that ominous thought that I would have to be coming back up it very late in the race. The nutrition plan was simple. Every 10 minutes I took 9 swallows of Infinit, which for me is about 8 ounces. Every other time, I took 9 swallows of water. So altogether I was taking in 24 ounces of Infinit (300 calories, 500 sodium, 145 potassium, and 72 carbs, 3 protein if you really want to know my custom forumla) and 24 ounces of water every hour. A total of 48 ounces or close to 3 pounds of water for every hour is a lot for your average human, but unfortunately my sweat rate requires it. Thus the early portion of the race was just waiting for my Garmin to beep, drinking, and waiting for it to beep again.

I passed a lot of people in the early going, but I knew that didn’t really mean anything, as everyone is doing their own thing out there and executing their own strategy. I reached the town of Verona, and that’s where I first spotted my cheering section. They were set up on a turn and the whiteboard now said “CRANK IT!” That got me up out of the saddle and hammering, although shortly thereafter when I noticed the heart rate spike I realized that wasn’t an altogether smart move. I calmed down and got back into the high cadence, and motored on. Mt. Horeb was next up, and lay at the top of one of the larger hills on the course. It was on this hill that I first realized I probably should have invested the money in a different cassette for the race. Meaning more gears, “granny” ones if you will, to get up some of the steeper hills. My 11-23 ratio was not doing me any favors, as most riders on the course were spinning in 25, 27, or even larger in some cases. Basically higher number means more “teeth” on the gear, and the easier it is to spin on the steep stuff. It was a bit late to do anything about it then though, so I just took those periods as a chance to get out of the saddle a bit and stretch my legs. Passed a truckload of people on the hills during this section, although a lot of it was pretty remote, and it was some of the most deserted sections of the course. There were some pretty insane downhills coming out of town, but I knew for every sharp steep downhill I would just have to be grinding back up, so it was hard to get too excited. More welcome was the breeze they would bring, as it was starting to warm up pretty significantly a few hours in.
My first bike segment was 40 miles long in 2:14:59 at an avg speed of 17.78 mph. I was estimating about 17mph would be my average all day, so when I saw this I actually thought everything was going according to plan. The uphills had been offset by the downhills, and the roller coaster effect just meant using every single one of my gears, but my bike was behaving well. It was later in this section that the car with the big clock came by, signaling that I was about to be lapped by the professionals. The funny thing was it was on a hilly section, so although the leader passed me I was able to keep pretty good pace with him for a while. As we would both pass other riders they would initially look at me as if I was in 2nd place, and some of the spectators cheered me on as such, before they all would realize I was just a poser. Somewhere shortly thereafter I spotted my cheering section again, and was given the Infinit baggie I’d left in my swim bag prior to the race (outside assistance, I know). Karma came quick though, as I was rearranging the empty bottles on my bike to the rear bottle carrier, and managed to drop one of them, cursing as it skidded off the road. I made a left turn past the whiteboard again “YOUR SEAT IS TOO HIGH!” and within about 30 seconds a motorcycle came screaming up next to me and the referee shouted “313!!! PENALTY, LITTERING.” I nearly laughed out loud at my dumb luck, but he followed up with “313!!! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!” and I nodded and continued to face forward. Only when the pros were going by would anyone have caught my mistake, and it just so happened that’s when I made it. I would later have to stop at the “Penalty Tent” and sign in. No time penalty or waiting period was given, it was just my “first strike” and I had two more before I would be disqualified. It did mean they made a big line in black marker across my bib number that I wore for the rest of the race, messing up some of my pictures. Luckily they gave a second bib number with the race packet, so I still have one that isn’t mangled. Anyway. Then came the big hills.

I’d heard about them, the “three *****es” as they are sometimes affectionately referred to as. I’d seen some short clips of riders making their way up, with large crowds on either side. I had even simulated that feel in training, with my mini-cheering section yelling and running alongside me with a cowbell on some climbs. But it was still like nothing I’ve ever ridden before. They were steep alright, and my gears were wildly inadequate. That first time around though, I am proud to say I plowed my way up every one of them. With packed crowds leaning into the road, hooting and hollering and waving flags and cowbells, wearing capes and carrying tridents, clapping and blasting music, it made for an amazing section of the course. Soon after the first two hills I saw my cheering section for the 3rd and last time on the first loop, and the whiteboard says “DOES YOUR *** HURT BECAUSE YOU’RE KICKIN IT!” I distinctly recall shouting at Cheryl that I had now gone further than I did in China, which was a significant accomplishment. It was literally night and day compared to the way I felt when I was at the same point on the course during my first attempt. This was the high point of the whole day for me really, as I truly felt my training and hard work were coming together. The adrenaline surged, and even though the last hill was in fact the toughest, I was just blowing by people. It was at the top of the 3rd and final “*****” that I felt it the first time.

A twinge in both my quads, just above the kneecap. A sign of the beginnings of a cramp, and even moreso the first stop on the road to seizing up. The flashback came instantly. Both my legs seizing up, falling off my bike, laying on the hot Chinese asphalt, and being scalded and unable to do anything about it. The ambulance rolling up, being helped inside, being asked three times if I wanted to quit, each time having to confirm the answer was yes, driving the long lonely road back to transition, turning in my chip to the referee, going back to the hotel, never even seeing the finish line. I shook off the bad memories as I coasted down the other side and I immediately started evaluating the situation. I’d been taking in everything I was supposed to, and didn’t feel thirsty, or short of salt or anything. There was really nothing cosmic going on besides one thing. Florida is flat, and the bike course wasn’t. I was having to tax my legs more on the hills than I ever had in training, and it was starting to take its toll. On the way back through Verona the downtown section had been blocked off as if it was a professional road race, and the crowds were huge. People going crazy for their riders, and just a ton of noise in all directions spurring us forward. I made the right turn back onto the loop to start my second lap, and again started pondering. Within a mile or two was the special needs bags, where I had stashed the second half of my Infinit, and Cheryl had included a few surprises including a large stuffed Hershey’s Kiss, and a candy bar. I was past halfway, but thinking about the hills that were yet to come I was at a pretty low point. I just wasn’t sure how my legs would respond.

Over the next few dozen miles there wasn’t a lot of significant terrain, and the cramps went away, so I thought that maybe I’d gotten past the rough patch, as I watched the miles tick upward. Around mile 63 is when my Edge started squawking at me, as I’d forgotten to clear the history before the start, and I was now “out of laps.” I screwed with it for what seemed like forever, deleting old stuff, but it just kept continuously giving me the same error message. I finally had to just delete the entire history, which unfortunately lost all my data up to that point for the bike course as well. This was really deflating, as I would now look down and see like 8 or 12 miles instead of 71 or 75. I’d also been enjoying watching the elevation climbed total increase every time I conquered a hill, and now I was back to zero. I still needed it for the heart rate and cadence sensors though, so I pressed on. It at least gave me a little math to do in order to figure out how much distance I had actually travelled. Anything to stay busy. I made it up to Mt Horeb again and was still feeling pretty decent, but nearly every minute I was thinking about the three *****es.

My second bike segment was 43 miles long in 2:59:08 at an avg speed of 14.40 mph. Obviously the hills had slowed me down, but I was still trucking along at a pace that was nothing to be worried about. As long as I was moving forward I’d make it through. It was actually, ironically, a pretty small hill that caused me to seize up the first time. When it happens, my legs flex solid, to the point I can’t bend my knee. As you can imagine this makes it impossible to stay clipped in to the bike, and the trick is to identify that it’s about to happen just before it does, so that you can unclip and lay the bike down real fast before collapsing into the grass/bushes/shrubbery/gravel. Looking at the course map it was about at mile 76. Since this had happened before, I knew I needed to do some extensively quad stretching, take in some more Infinit, and shake it out before continuing. I did all that and within a few minutes was back on the road, and a lengthy downhill followed. But it was like the energy in my legs was slowly draining like an hourglass, and I was going to be powerless to stop it. With still 36 miles left to ride, that was multiple hours, which might as well have been an eternity.

The *****es came on the second lap at mile 88 or so. I rode approximately a third of the way up the first one, and fell over in a heap. At that point I made what suddenly became a really obvious decision. After I stopped seizing and was able to stand, I tilted my bike back upright, and started walking. Taking large, purposely steps, I walked my bike all the way up that hill. After what seemed like an eternity I neared the top and turned around to find a surprise behind me. Others, walking. Several cyclists in fact, all in similar situations. I was not alone. I was not the only one not strong enough to ride the hills the second time around. In fact I overheard one of them saying he had to walk them the first time around too. It suddenly occurred to me that walking your bike up a hill wasn’t “cheating” as it had been in my mind just a few hours before, and it was in fact going to be the only way I was going to complete the bike portion of the Ironman.

At the top, I received some encouragement from those spectator still left, and pedaled about a half a mile to the next *****. Without even trying to climb it, just pedaling slightly on the way there I began to seize up again. Suddenly, the math was relevant. My seemingly perfectly fine pace was taking a huge hit, and suddenly it wasn’t such a given that I would make the cutoff. I hadn’t even considered the word cutoff, but suddenly I was walking my bike at a pace of a few miles an hour, and I had over 20 miles to go. Every time I stopped to stretch, I would redo the math. And it kept getting more and more ominous.

Unfortunately my cheering section had missed me at one of the stops they tried for on the second loop, so I didn’t see them again until this point, before the last *****. I wasn’t even seizing at that point in time, but I still took the time to pull over and talk to Cheryl, hoping to get any kind of encouragement or cheerful thought that would somehow recharge my depleted energy stores. The white board had a simple saying this time. “YOU’RE DOIN IT!” Sometimes that’s all it takes. I was at mile 90+ of an Ironman bike leg. News flash. It’s supposed to suck. It’s supposed to be hard. Damn hard. They don’t just give you the finish line. You have to take it. I mean, seriously, what was I expecting? I wanted a challenge. I got a challenge.

I walked up the last ***** with a renewed sense of purpose. The math was still working, even if things got worse. I probably shouldn’t have been surprised when they did. I made it back into Verona ok, although what was previously a tunnel of noise was now a lot of leftover trash and empty barricades. I did see Cheryl one more time, and was actually still moving at a good clip when I finally made the left turn off the loop back towards Madison. Then came those first downhills of the day, which were now uphills. There were many of us walking them, shaking our heads at our misfortune. Some weren’t even that big, or steep, but when your legs are shot, they’re shot. I could have forced myself up some of them, but no one was kidding themselves into thinking that any of these particular hills were the last thing we had to do that day.

I had to stop more and more often, before and after just about every hill, and was walking a good portion of it, but thankfully my strong swim was giving me some cushion under the cutoff time. Finally, at long last, the lake and downtown area came into site. I became almost gleeful. I was pounding my fist on my handlebar, saying things like “HOLY SH@!#, I MADE IT!” “I FINISHED THE BIKE LEG!” If you’d asked me my odds when lying in a heap at mile 76, I would have said 10 to 1. I was failing, again, and my body just didn’t seem cut out for what I was asking of it. But I was looking at my watch, and I had room to spare. The Monona Terrace came into view, and the spiral upwards became very apparent to me. I didn’t want to walk it though. I knew the finish line was at the top of that damn thing, and I was going to ride across the finish line. I saw my Dad halfway up, and he passed on one of his textbook lines, taken from his book of “what not to say during an endurance event to a competing athlete” that he is probably having published at some time in the future. I saw my brother and Cheryl at the top, and just began shaking my head in disbelief. There it was, the BIKE IN banner, and the dismount line. At least a dozen volunteers were there, as I was the only one coming through at that time, and they were all applauding.
I went to get off the bike, and not surprisingly, couldn’t bend my legs. This time it was worse though, as I think my body mentally now knew it was done, and was shutting down. It took two grown men to essentially carry my body weight off my bike, and start dragging me towards transition. It was not the most pleasant of feelings, being entirely incapacitated below the waist. Interestingly, all cameras had moved on towards the area I would exit transition to await my appearance, and thus there is no visual evidence of what happened at the dismount line. I’m curious though, as to what I looked like when my body was at the weakest physical state that I can remember in my lifetime.

My third and final bike segment was 39 miles long in 2:33:58 at an avg speed of 11.30 mph. I was actually surprised I was even that fast, but I guess if you average 18mph on the bike while riding with about 4mph walking it, you get 11mph.

7:48:05 was my final bike split, good enough for 2147 out of 2308 who got off the bike and 177 out of 184 in my age group who made it, for an avg speed of 14.36 mph. I’d passed 131 people on the bike, some of whom (and most likely, almost all) had dropped out. Unknown is the number of people I passed during the first few segments, who then probably took great glee in passing me back as I struggled later. Most importantly, 9:51:34 was my total time, and the cutoff was 10:30:00. I had a little over 38 minutes to spare at that point in time. But transition was not going to be fast.

They dragged me in, snagged my bike to run bag for me, and sat me down in the changing room, and I had at least two doctors in my face almost instantly. T2 wasn’t exactly “crowded” at that point in time, and having someone come in with the amount of crystallized salt on my body that I had, and clearly unable to bend their legs, was cause for concern. I immediately started downing everything they were handing me, which was a lot of fluids containing salt. There was a lot of “do you know where you are” type questions initially as they tried to evaluate my condition. Within a minute or two my right leg was bending, and to me that just meant I could now get my damn bike cleat off. While working on getting my running shoe on they started changing their line of questions. They will never use the Q word at these events. They instead ask questions like “So what’s your gameplan now?” or “So what are you thinkin?” and “How you feelin?” or make statements like “Still got about 7 hours, lots of time…” I made sure to make it abundantly clear that I was continuing this race. That they would have to physically prevent me from continuing. Putting my running shoes on gave me a whole nother kick from who knows where. I certainly have no idea. How does one go from unable to walk to striding out the door in mere minutes? I just knew that it was my sport now. Never in my life have I dropped out of a footrace. I may have finished slower than I expected, or had to walk for extended periods, but I’ve never quit, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to now. Only a marathon stood between me and my dreams. Only.

15:16 was my final T2 time. It certainly didn’t seem that long, but it was definitely time well spent. I actually felt pretty good coming out the door, and I ran right into some WISH supporters from the online forum I’m a part of, whose enthusiasm was contagious. Many of the members of that forum are walkers, and I realized that I would be channeling their energy from every corner of the country for the next several hours. Right around the corner at the transition exit Cheryl was waiting, and if she was surprised to see me, she didn’t show it. It’s a tough thing having to contain one’s energy all day and then release it in about 30 second bursts without doing too much. I reaffirmed to her that my cheering section had better get comfortable, because it was going to be a long night, and I trotted off.

Yeah, I know. Trotted? What happened to not being able to walk? Well, I’d told myself before the race started that one of my “mini” goals was to run the first mile of the marathon. Even if I had to walk the rest, I wanted to feel what it was like to run the first mile of a full marathon after riding the distance required for the bike course. Needless to say, my legs felt a little heavy. I wasn’t exactly feeling “spry.” My Garmin hadn’t even found its satellites yet, and running between the tall buildings of downtown wasn’t helping. It’s an interesting run course, in that you make a couple turns out of transition and then go literally right past the finish chute, paralleling it. Essentially go out on a 13 mile out and back, return to said finishing chute, make a u-turn about 30 yards in front of it, and go out on the same 13 mile out and back. The 13 miles in themselves are a bit more complicated than just a simple out and back but you do retrace nearly every inch of your steps for each loop.

I did in fact jog the whole first mile. Working my way around the capitol for the first time the energy level of the crowd was mighty high, as some people were already finishing, some were about to start their second loop, and then there were the few of us that were just getting started. All the streets along the route were narrower than average, so you’d really get whipped along by the crowd during the sections where they were packing it in. For the second mile I alternated walking five minutes with running five minutes, but after a few intervals could tell that the cramps were still lingering, and if I wanted to make sure that I was going to keep moving forward and not have long stopping or stretching periods, I’d better keep to a constant pace. So I started doing the math. I’d built up a bit of a cushion for the first couple of miles, so I basically needed to walk around 16 minute miles and I’d finish. So I got to walking. Purposeful, focused, walking.

Have you ever walked more than 25 miles in a day? I’ve never worn a pedometer at Disneyland, but I bet I’ve never walked more than half that. Needless to say, it takes a while. After a few miles came Camp Randall stadium at the University of Wisconsin, which we entered, did a loop of the football field, and came back out. It was empty, and eerily quiet. From all the noise and cowbells and hubbub, to just a few of us circling the field in peace, footsteps falling silent on the grass. The vastness and emptiness of the place was such a change from the craziness of State Street. It was a great portion of the course, and I was sad that we only went through it on the way out and not the way back. The largest hills on the course were coming back to the East through campus towards the State Street turnaround, but after power walking up those I decided to jog down the long steep downhill onto State Street itself. I think I picked up a lot of time doing that each lap, and if anything taking those big long strides actually felt like it helped stretch out my legs and thrash some of the cramping out of them. About halfway down State Street towards the capitol was the first turnaround and timing mat.

My first run segment was 6.35 miles long in 1:29:22 at an avg pace of 14:04/mile. I knew I’d made up some time by running the first mile and half of the second, and that big downhill. But I was encouraged with how I felt. What worried me, was the fact I had about 20 miles to go, and looking around at the people walking their second loop was pretty intimidating. They looked like hell. The one’s I talked to would always say something encouraging like “we’re almost there, we’ll make it, a few more miles” thinking I was also on my second loop. Occasionally I found someone who was still on their first, but they were usually jogging, would pass me, and disappear into the distance. I saw my cheering section at that first turnaround, and the sign said “THIS SIGN CAN’T BEGIN TO TELL YOU HOW AWESOME YOU ARE.” They also did their best to try to pass me a slice of mac-n-cheese pizza (yeah, it’s pretty bizarre) from one of the local eateries. But based on my previous penalty I wasn’t taking any chances and declined. Not that downing a bunch of cheese sounded like the greatest idea to me anyway at the time. I was taking a gel every three miles per my prerace plan, but given that was now 45 minutes between or whatnot I was starting to just grab stuff at random from the aid stations as well.

Bizarrely I never dumped ice water on my head for the entire race. It just never occurred to me to use that technique to cool myself down, which certainly would have helped on the bike. I did take some of the ice cold sponges from the aid stations during the run and squeeze them over me, and that felt mighty good. There was really a truckload of stuff they were supplying, from cookies and Gatorade to water and pretzels.

The sun had begun to set. It was getting pretty dark, but I was still wearing my sunglasses. I’d assumed I’d reach the halfway point of the run before dark and could place them in my special needs bag, but I was still miles away. Thankfully, I soon crossed into the “motivational mile” where they had set up all the signs people had created in the days leading up to the race, as well as the electronic board that showed messages people had input into the computer. I had put one in the computer myself, and thought I was the only one who had done so, so I was surprised when I ran past that screen the first time. “313 M. WILSON WISHING YOU THE BEST” Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that members of the WISH group that I’ve been with throughout my training experience had taken the time to send me some love. That really got my mind goin for the next several miles as I headed back to finish my first loop. I thought about how many of them have always walked their races, and set their goals individually, not for place or glory, but challenge and bling. How the mental challenge for each individual person is always the same. Get. Across. That. Damn. Line. And for many of them, the only outside challenge is the clock. Not how long it takes them, but the time they have been given to complete the course. To be official, to finish. The concern of being “swept” and picked up and taken off the course is very real for many. And here I was, almost halfway through the race, but doing the same mental math I know they do every time they run a marathon. And the clock, doesn’t, stop.

Coming back around the capitol towards the turnaround certainly wasn’t the high point of the race. Literally 99 out of every 100 racers were on their way to the finish. People would be trying to high five me, or shouting out that I’d done it, or was amazing, but none of them had any idea I was only halfway there. Rounding the bend right before the turnaround, there was a resounding cheer and thunderous applause from the crowd, rising in volume until they saw me sway towards the timing mat, and the cone. As I came around it and headed back into purgatory, there was a collective “ohh…” and the cheering stopped. There was a distinct pause, as everyone tried to wrap their heads around the fact I wasn’t in fact finishing. I saw almost all of them look at their watch, and do the math. So I looked at my watch, and did it too.

My second run segment was 6.65 miles long in 1:44:32 at an avg pace of 15:43/mile. I had done the first half in about 3:15. I had about 3:38 left on the clock. Everyone around me seemed to come to the same realization I did there at the turnaround. I could still do this. Their cheers came back, although the verbage was now “You can do this! You’ve got plenty of time! Still lookin strong!” But based on the crazy amount of hydration I’d been doing during the run, I was forced to make a couple stops at the port-a-potties, and that had cost me some time. I was a little concerned now. Although I had continued to tick off the miles, I’d continued to feel like I was teetering on the edge between walking strongly, and seizing up and having to stop. It was a matter of walking that tightrope as close to the edge for as long as possible.

My special needs bag was right around the corner from the turnaround. In it I’d placed another pair of socks, which seemed like heaven. I’d also put in some body glide, which was great because my right heel had a doozie of a blister goin, from walking a long distance in shoes I normally run in. Cheryl had snuck in some white chocolate cookies and a Pepsi, and although I definitely downed a couple of the cookies I wasn’t sure how Pepsi that wasn’t flat was going to go down so I passed. I also finally removed my sunglasses and tossed them in, although it had long since been dark. Cheryl and my brother were right there, and I said something to tell along the lines of “it is going to be DESERTED out there.” Back up out of the chair after a couple minute stay changing socks and getting recharged, and out I went onto the course.

This portion was where it suddenly became obvious how few people had traveled the same distance as you. Coming the other direction were hundreds, a continuous stream on their way to glory. But on my side of the road, only a few plodded ever onward. It was basically nighttime now, and they began passing out glow bracelets. Most of the course was pretty well lit, but some sections along the trail near the river were pretty blacked out, so you would just see the circles of light bobbing in the distance as runners would come and go. I say runners as if there was much of that going on.
Chicken broth. That my friends, is some damn good stuff late in a race of over 140 miles. I think I first started taking it before the halfway point, but by mile 15 I was literally living off the stuff. The salt content, the warmth, the hydrating properties, to me that stuff was gold. I’m pretty sure at one point during the race I took nothing but chicken broth for 10 miles. And I was continuing to have to stop occasionally to use the restroom, so it was obviously working. My cramps had all but disappeared, and I wasn’t losing much bounce in my step. The halfway point and then the halfway point of the second lap were both “cutoffs” in that you had to make it there by a certain time in order to continue. Each time I made one of those turnarounds, on the way back after a while I would see people going the other way who I knew wouldn’t make it. It was really a sad sight, but I couldn’t dwell on it, because I knew there was always another cutoff which might affect me.
Breathe in left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, breathe out left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, breathe in. I was over 13 hours into my day, and yet my focus was the same as it had been forever earlier in the swim. Breathe, move forward. And don’t, ever, stop. The stadium the second time around was a welcome respite, and my cheering section had come out to that section of the course to try to motivate me, as they’d probably done some of the math themselves and realized that it was not a done deal by any means. By the time I hit the State Street turnaround the second time there was a marked decline in spectators. The ones that were still there were diehards though. Across that timing mat again, and it was time for more math.

My third run segment was 6.23 miles long in 1:40:40 at an avg pace of 16:09/mile. Clearly I’d slowed again. But I still had time. I had about 7 miles remaining, and 1:59 to do them in. 119 minutes, which meant 17 minutes per mile. As long as I kept moving, I was fine. So easy to say. So impossible to explain what is actually required to keep moving 133 miles into a race. But I knew right at that time, my Facebook was probably exploding with support. People had been following me all day, tracking the live feed, watching the live video. Some were staying up way past their bedtime, others couldn’t even sleep without finding out what was going to happen.

Out at the motivational mile my cheering section appeared one more time. Cowbelled me on the way out to that last turnaround, and cowbelled me on the way back. I’d made it past the last cutoff point. This was a big deal. It meant that I’d be allowed to complete the course, it was just a matter of if I’d be under the time limit. I was going to travel the full distance, under my own power, minus the distance I got dragged into T2. As I passed mile 22, Cheryl said “ok, we’ll see you at the finish.” Initially this floored me, as to me the last 4 miles might as well have been 400, and I felt like I was going to need a ton of support to make it through. But then, I realized that they clearly weren’t worried about if I was going to finish, they knew it was a matter of when. I’d kept my pace up, I was looking strong enough, and they wanted to get a prime spot to see it happen.

Every mile I did the math. But mile 23 was huge for me. I hit it pretty close to the 16 hour point. The math had gotten easier. A 5k to go, and an hour to do it. The pain in my legs was evaporating, and I was eating up chunks of pavement with every step. Holy sh@&, I yelled out loud. I’m going to do this. I’m going to make it.

The last few miles felt like a victory lap. Although every spectator I passed would look at their watch and do the math, they’d all then smile when they realized I had it “made in the shade” as one referred to it. There were a lot of people preemptively giving me the title I was going to earn in a few short miles, or giving me an early congratulations. But I wasn’t done.

I saw my Dad as I was turning onto State Street one final time. I tossed him my hydration belt, no need for gels or endurolytes anymore, it was empty. I even took the time to arrange my bib number. Have to look good for the finish, no one knows if it will happen again. The brightly lit dome of the capitol loomed above me, something I’d seen in so many videos by so many people. Up the hill, and around the square I strided. Through the last aid station, one more gulp of Gatorade. Thank you volunteers, thank you for still being here just before midnight. You couldn’t have wiped the smile off my face if you tried. And I could tell it was having an effect on people, as there were ear to ear grins on everyone I passed. And suddenly, I could hear it.
The music. The crowd. And Mike Reilly. This is what a triathlete thinks about at the end of every hard workout, for the last mile of every long run. What that last .6 miles will feel like. I’m very thankful that I had the support I had at the race, because they were able to capture some of what that finish line experience is like. The chute is lined with short chain link fences, with cardboard signs hanging on them. The crowd is lined up three deep against them, and those in the front are banging their fists against the signs to the rhythm of the music. Bleachers are stacked up behind the fences, and are jam packed. Even the pros, some of whom had finished several hours earlier, are back to watch the final finishers. The place is a madhouse. It’s insane. They’re going completely bonkers. It is a level of energy I’ve never before witnessed. The place is literally SHAKING. And I was about to make the final turn.

One ninety degree left turn via a bunch of high fives along the railing, and there it was. In the distance, the Ironman finish line. Mile 140.6. It’s actually a gradual downhill for the last few hundred yards on that course, but with that amount of energy, I would have jogged up the Matterhorn. My hands went to the top of my head to shake it in disbelief, and I found the two glow necklaces I’d been wearing as a crown for the majority of the run. As I came through the big inflatable Ironman logo archway, I threw them a mile into the air and yelled. Mike Reilly saw it and read my lips, and said “Look at him! He can’t believe it! He can’t believe it!” I couldn’t. I had been planning to walk it in, just like I had for 90% of the marathon, and like so many of my WISH friends do every time they race. But I’m tellin ya, the energy was ASTOUNDING. I started to run. It was impossible not to. The noise was building, and building. Everyone was going bananas.

All those hours of training, all those miles. Through heat, and cold, alone and unafraid, when I wanted to, and when I didn’t, I had trained.
And with one last step, and a hundred flash bulbs, it was over.

Cheryl had made good on her promise, and smuggled her way into the finish line area. She didn’t even complain when I squeezed her, although I can guess what the feel and scent must have been like. I had a volunteer “catcher” moving around with me making sure I wasn’t going to pass out, but that wasn’t going to happen. I had the medal placed around my neck, and was given the finisher’s hat and t-shirt. I took the finish photo and reunited with my father and brother. At that point I basically just did a lot of head shaking. I kept repeating “I cannot believe it.”

My fourth and final run segment was 6.97 miles long in 1:45:47 at an avg pace of 15:10/mile. 6:40:22 was my final run split, good enough for 2052 out of the 2175 overall and 173 out of 178 in my age group who finished the run, for an avg mile pace of 15:17. I’d passed 59 more people on the run, some of whom had dropped out.

16:47:10 will forever be the time it took me to finish my first, and possibly only, Ironman. I was 2157th overall, and 178 out of 189 in my age group, although none of the others finished. A whopping 18 people came across the line after me to be part of the 2175 official finishers.

It was by far the most fantastic race experience of my life. The magnitude of the accomplishment will take a while to sink in. As I write the end of this nearly three weeks after the race, I still haven’t really figured it out. I placed the 140.6 sticker in the place of honor on my rear bumper, and threw a huge M-dot magnet up on the fridge. I went back and bought an IM Wisconsin jersey and bike shorts, and when I got home I pulled the IM China stuff out of the corner of my closet. I could wear it all now, I deserved it.

I, am, and will forever be, an Ironman.

 

[WDWFAN9]

Oh my.....what a wonderful report Matt. Thanks for sharing your amazing experience.

 

[dsnyfan21]

I commented over on FB, but just wanted to add, "WOW". You are awesome and such an inspiring story, thanks for sharing!!!

GO IronMATT!!!

-Tracy

 

[wfloyd]

Great report Matt, wear that M dot with pride.

Knowing you, the question of ever doing another ironman is "When" and not "If".

Bill

 

[TEK224]

Great report Matt! Congratulations! I had tears running down my face as I finished reading. It must have been so awesome!

As Mike Reilly would say, "ThndrMatt, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!"

Terri

 

[jmasgat]

Matt I'm practically bawling here! Your story is phenomenal. We WISH-ers have always been proud of you, for many reasons. You've just given us one more to add to the list.

Congrats, Ironman Matt!

Maura

 

[escape]

*sniff* *sniff*. What a great report, Matt. Your words made me feel like I was there. I'm so happy for you. As "they" say...what doesn't kill you will only make you stronger. The China experience made you more determined to reach your goal and you did.

CONGRATULATIONS!

You are an IRONMAN!

On a side note, I, too, eat brown sugar cinnamon pop tarts before a race. They may not be good for you but they have the carbs and the sodium and I like them better than the nutrional bars I should be eating.

 

[jbucci]

CONGRATS MATT

It is tough to type through the tears... what an awe inspiring race. You deserve to wear every ironman garment you can find and plaster the stickers everywhere. Congrats on your sheer grit and determination and awesome accomplishment.

You have helped so many WISHers through their own tough races-- me included. Hopefully you know how proud we are to have you as part of the team. Congrats again-- looking forward to seeing you at Race for the Taste.

 

[Duanerice]

Wow Matt! Such an inspiring race. I was there with you every step of the way, without the actual pain mind you

I can't really imagine how you feel. But ,that will be me some day. A few years from now but that will be me.

Thanks for the inspiration and taking the time to tell your story.

Duane

 

[Optimator]

Matt - That is the grandaddy of all race reports! Fabulous!

Very inspiring and you have so much to be proud of.

 

[VernRDH]

Congrats IronMatt!!

I had to wait to respond after reading because I was crying so. What a wonderful experience for you, and it will be in the back of my mind everytime I run a race.

I truly admire those who can do IronMan, I am not a swimmer, and really the tri thing doesn't appeal to me. But I am always in awe of those who can do it. Congrats again, and wear all your M dot gear with pride. YOU EARNED IT, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!!!

 

[twoWDWfools]

Matt - great report and YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!!

Patrick and I were so happy to see you come out from T2 after watching you come in from the bike. BTW, we have pics of you being assisted off the bike and taken into T2 so there is evidence.

This past Jan during my first full you walked with me from just outside the studios to the back of the Boardwalk telling me I had it and just keeping me company for a bit. It was so appreciated at that point. I'm so glad that we were able to give you some of the energy and support you give all of us.

 

[MouseDogMom]

CONGRATULATIONS!!!! Not only are you an Ironman, you are without a doubt the best writer of race reports EVER!

Jackie

 

[Hockeychic]

WTG IronMatt!!! I hope you where feeling the cheering and support coming all the way from Canada, Mike and I where following the live reports and everytime a new split was posted we where cheering....I am sure you heard us. As you have stood at the over pass and cheered us all on, it was a honour and priveledge to cheer you on to becoming a Ironman!!!!. Wow I can say I knew you when

Kim

 

[Cindylou]

Matt,

Such a wonderful race report. Thanks so much for letting us share your experience. If it was easy everyone would do it. You are amazing for continuing when it was so tough.

Congratulations.
Cindy

 

[Mooshu]

Congratulations Ironman Matt! You are an inspiration to all of us!

 

[mkymsehi]

Bravo to Team Wilson. Three weeks later, I'm still applauding your achievement Matt.

 

[timmac]

Both an awesome achievement and an awesome report!!!

 

[wtpclc]

Matt - I can't even begin to tell you how amazxing you are. You are the one who does everything fr oso many others. One who knows it's a struggle whther you are a 7 mpm pace or a 15:59 mpm. Your report is a tribute to that. Count Scott adn I as those who thought of you all day, echecked when we could and stayed up beyond our bedtime, as we oucld not go to sleep without seeing you cross the line. Our exccitement even strectched ot my mom who was then froced to stay up and watch. You are so much more than an Ironman. You are an inspiration to us all. Thank you for the amazing report.

 

[JimB.]

Great Job & Great report Matt!!!!

ESPECIALLY for an Air Force guy (Go Navy!! ). You are my hero!!

BTW, next race, try the S'mores flavored Pop Tarts. That's my "Pre-race" vice.

Again, a truly great job!!