C
Chronofish
Guest
I just posted a simple race report, but if you want to know what a first time Iron-distance
triathlete goes through, read on.
I wrote this letter for my family and friends - most of whom are not involved in Triahtlon. But the
response was positive I thought I would go ahead and share it with the "community". It is simply a
copy of that letter - I'm not going to re-edit it for you here - so please forgive my vanity.
I should warn you that it is 5 pages printed, and it seems I have some incorrect information. For
some reason I was under the impression that David Glover had won Vineman this year and that was
incorrect. I apologize to all who may be offended:
The story follows:
Many years ago I started telling friends and family a bazaar idea that I had. To compete in an
Ironman distance triathlon by the time I was
30. Even though when I came up with this idea I was a seasoned triathlete – predominantly in the
"sprint" distance – the notion of doing a "full iron" triathlon seemed even to me to be a bit
preposterous.
The idea that an individual would somehow swim 2.4 miles and then hop on a bike for 112 miles -
only to then run a full marathon - 26.2 miles is just crazy talk. Who in their right mind would do
such a thing?
Well as luck would have it, I've never been accused of being in the "right mind" and last December
I made the commitment to myself that I would fulfill my goal even if I was already 31. At this
point what I want to tell you about is the training. What you want to hear about is the race. But
it is the training where the story of the pain, the agony, and the glory resides. For the sake of
your sanity, I will give you what you want. But be aware that you reading the last pages of a very
long book...
**
Chapter 182 Episode 16: Day of the race
At 4:30am I woke in amazement – I not only was able to fall asleep the night before, but I was
actually able to sleep the entire night. 15 minutes later the warm shower was loosening my muscles –
there was only one thing on my mind – "I have got to eat food!"
I had dropped off my bike and my biking and running clothes at the transition area the night before.
The Duke Blue Devil Triathlon was extremely well organized from the beginning, and requiring
competitors to check in equipment the day before was a brilliant idea – as the mind is of nervous
triathlete is likely to forget something as trivial as "glide stick" to help prevent the wetsuit
from chaffing his neck to something more severe – like the front wheel to his bike.
Marcia, Lori, and I piled into the car, popped in the obligatory Beastie Boys for some inspirational
music and drove through the dark and the rain to Beaver Dam state park just outside Durham, North
Carolina. Yes the rain – I couldn't believe it. We missed the hurricane by 2 weeks but couldn't
escape the cold and the rain. I was thankful that most of my long runs, and 4 of my 5 90+ rides had
been in rain. Of course I hated it at the time, but now I was glad I had trained that way.
The portable stadium lighting in the park made for a very eerie site. If I hadn't known it was a
triathlon that was being held, I would have sworn that they were filming a movie about some alien
invasion. I grabbed my stuff out of the car and made my way to the transition area.
More food – I inhaled a yogurt and slipped on my wetsuit. "Unbelievable..." I exclaimed to Marcia. I
had forgotten my "glide stick". "Do you want me to get it? Is it in the car?" "No... It's at the
hotel". Thankfully it was the only the causality.
I made my way down to the beach. The water was dark and a cool 68 degrees. The air was the same and
almost as damp. "15 minutes" the announcer boomed.
I put on my goggles and realized that I couldn't see the first buoy of the 1.2 mile course. If the
sun was thinking about coming up, it wasn't letting anyone know about it. Oh well, nothing to do but
get in and swim a few strokes. "Burr..." Wetsuits are great – once the water that gets trapped
between your body and the suit warms up – but until then...
With my face in the water I can't see my hands at all. "Man, they have got to delay the swim until
the sun comes up a little." I thought to myself.
"The official sunrise is 7:20, we will be delaying the start of the race for at least 15 minutes."
"Thank god."
Finally the sun started to lighten the horizon. It appeared that the rain had stopped and the fog
had lifted and began to break. As the buoys came into view I was able to gain full control over my
nerves - and then the "Star Spangled Banner" was sung. In a slow, deep voice the woman sang one of
the most beautiful renditions I had heard. Her voice echoed over the lake and reverberated off the
surrounding hills. I could not see her and so the effect was as if her voice was coming from the now
brightly backed low hanging clouds. It was too much. I had been fighting my nerves for two days, and
like a child being barraged by a relentless reporter, a chord had finally been struck and my eyes
let go of the emotion they tried so hard to hold back.
With that the count started "5, 4, 3, 2, 1" and we were off. The smooth as silk lake now began to
boil as our bodies slapped the water and each other. I could feel my suit glide with every stroke
and I quickly fell into a smooth pattern of breathing. Like minnows we keyed off of each other and
zoomed past each of the buoys. Halfway to the turn-around spot I started to hear myself breath.
"Damn... This is not the time for my asthma to kick in." The cold water and air was trying to have
an effect - I coughed as I exhaled underwater to clear my lungs. "Stay calm... relax...stroke,
glide, stroke, breathe..." the wheezing subsided.
"There's the shore, you're doing great, you're relaxed, you're strong, bring it in..." With the
shore in site I elongated my stroke to stay strong. Once the water was shallow enough to stand I
made an effort to get up - my right leg missed and quickly cramped up from over-extending. "Damn...
don't cramp now". I looked at my watch - "32 minutes! I'm cruising!" One more time around. As I ran
along the cheering crowd I looked for Marcia - "I doubt they'll recognize me
- we all look the same - black wetsuit, blue cap, goggles." Back in the water I went for another 1.2
mile swim.
By this time the field had stretched out pretty thin. There was less bumping, yet I still managed to
get a foot square in the chin. The cold was taking its toll as those who went out too fast were now
starting to do breast stroke. I started to slow as well as my bare arms found no warmth between the
water and the air of the same temperature. "Okay now bring it home..." I could feel that I was
fairly far up front and used this to stay strong as the shore came close to me. This time I made
sure my feet were planted firmly on the ground. I left the water 27th out of the 206 competitors
with a time of 1:08:03 - 5th fastest (of 36) in my age group.
Where as my swim was awesome, my transition to the bike left much to be desired. Even before the
race I had resigned to the fact that I was not going to rush through the transitions. I lost 5 spots
in my age group alone in the 9 minutes it took to get my wetsuit off and my cycling clothes on. But
I didn't care - I was enjoying every minute of the transition and still basking in my accomplishment
of the swim.
The bike course was described as "flat to rolling hills to moderately hilly with no climbs". I
claimed that if the course was like my training area or flatter, then we would be looking at 6 hours
on the bike given ideal conditions. Thankfully the rain was not coming back for the rest of the day,
but in its place was wind - which in my book is less than ideal conditions. The sun never did break
the clouds and so there was a constant energy drain from my legs. That's a hard lesson - I had
cycling tights with me that I choose to forgo because I anticipated getting too warm. I almost
didn't wear my long-sleeve jersey which in retrospect would have been the end of me. Thankfully
Marcia was there to help me reason and we agreed that I should wear the long sleeves even if I had
to ditch it later.
The course had flat spots - that's where the wind blew. There were some rolling hills - but mostly
just hilly. I had to stand up on few hills - so now I'm not sure what is considered a climb. They
weren't climbs like doing Vail Pass in Colorado - but I wouldn't term it "moderate" either. The
course was laid out like a lollypop with the circle part being done twice. So 8.5 miles to the 47.5
mile loop, loop again, and then 8.5 miles back.
The first 20 miles were extremely fast. I kept telling myself to "just let the pedals fall - this is
a long ride and you've got a long way to go". 20 miles is very significant. If you feel energized
after 20 miles you're going to finish the bike leg. If you don't - you won't. For me it is also my
first food break. It's not really a break - I mean it's not like I'm getting off the bike, but I do
let up a little as I focus on eating. The banana was gone in no time. Somehow my bike computer reset
itself at about mile 22. Thankfully my heart-rate monitor also doubles as bike computer so it
essentially operated as a backup - but it was still a bummer.
I started to think about the finish line and began to get choked with emotion. "Dude... you're not
even halfway through yet. Don't even start to think about the finish." And my concentration would
shift back to the task at hand.
I was really looking forward to mile 40 - my second food break - yum! Nectarines! The first signs of
fatigue came somewhere around mile 45. The anticipation of the second loop was killing me as I never
quite saw where the first loop started. Finally a large cheering section had gathered at the loop
entrance/exit and cheered as we rode past. This was great news because it meant that in 4 miles I
could eat lunch. At mile 59 I figured it was close enough and broke open my peanut butter and honey
sandwich as my legs kept turning. At mile 70 I snagged some "Hammer Gel" from the volunteers as my
powerbars were strangely not appealing. I love powerbars, but I just couldn't seem to get myself
motivated to open one up. The Hammer Gel did the trick. At mile 80 I was now ready for the bike to
be over. It was fun, mostly uneventful, fairly fast, beautiful scenery, wonderful volunteers. But
the wind was starting to push me back and the rolling hills just kept rolling. Finally after 5 hours
and 40 minutes on the bike mile 100 rolled by. With the wind packing it to me I was watching my goal
time of 11 hours slip by. The mathematics of velocity just was not on my side. I was averaging just
over 17.5 mph and that equated to another 40 minutes.
One of the depressing things about coming out of the water so fast is that everyone who is faster
than you on the bike will pass you. So I had 6 hours and 21 minutes of people passing me. About the
best you can do emotionally is to say: "These guys are really good - and you held them off for 3
hours" (or however long it took for them to pass you).
In the cover of the trees the last couple miles were extremely fast (25+mph) and it made for a huge
rush as the road was lined with a cheering crowd. At the transition area my fans were waving and
cheering me on. A volunteer took my bike from me as I found my bag of clothes and headed for the
changing tent. My transition to the run was more on par with everyone else - but still not a speedy
transition by any stretch of the imagination. I was now on the last quarter of the race.
A marathon is tough on its own - and to hold it on a rough course is almost an insult. Doing a
marathon on rough course after 7 1/2 hours of previous exertion is pure torture. The description of
this course was: "The profile of the course is best described as 'rolling' hills. There are four
significant hills - each short in length." I beg to differ. This course was "hilly" - period. There
was no cresting, rolling hills. You were either going up or down. My dreams of breaking 4 hours on
the run were dashed in the first mile. I had never felt so fatigued at the beginning of a run
before. I finished my first 5.2 mile loop in 1 hour - Yuk. I grabbed every piece of fruit and power
bar I could reach and shoved them in my mouth. The course had aid stations every 1.5 miles or so -
felt more like every 4 miles. But as I came towards the grand stands and saw my wife and friends
cheering and yelling I was suddenly energized. The second loop took less then 50 minutes. I threw my
sunglasses to Marcia as it was now starting to get dim. As I worked my way around the third loop, I
made a very conscious effort to purposefully walk the up-hills
- at this point there was no point in running them as that was actually going to cause me to
be slower.
I spilt water on my shoe. "Oh horrors" you mock me - well it was "horrors" because it took less than
a 30 seconds for the water to cause my sock to become drenched which in turn caused my toes to
blister within 3 miles. On lap 4 I forced myself to stop at an aid station for a bandage. This was
my slowest of the laps and the most nauseating. Considering how much I ate on the run I'm actually
surprised it wasn't worse.
David Glover, last year's and this year's winner lapped me early on the run. I felt extremely
privileged to even be on the same course as this champion. He won the Vineman in California earlier
this year, and he is in his 8th year of surviving cancer. I have never seen anyone during such a
grueling race look so calm and nonchalant. And even though he ended up 30 minutes slower on this new
tougher run course - he didn't seem to mind. I took great comfort in watching him go by. The point
of all this is that in the few minutes that I shared space on the course with him, not only did he
encourage me "good job you're doing great", but he unknowingly shared with me a bit of a secret as
we ran through an aid station. I heard him call out "water, coke". Water was totally understandable
- Gatorade was too. But coke? I was shocked when I read that flat coke was going to be offered at
each of the aid stations. Who drinks coke while they run? I didn't mimic David right away, but on
lap 4 I was desperate. I couldn't take any more power gels, they where just too thick. I had already
been switching between Gatorade, water, oranges, and occasionally bits of powerbars. It then
occurred to me that coke does sometimes settle an upset stomach. So I took it. The sugar and
caffeine kicked in almost immediately. My pace instantly went up a notch and the nausea was no more.
I coasted down to the stands and happily grabbed my black band which indicated that I was on my last
lap. Right in front of me was my cheering section led by my lovely wife. She held up a large sign
that simply read
Last lap
That combined with her great smile was all that I needed. I had the power of her support and the
secret of the flat coke - I was making this one count. I pushed my legs again and again as I now
began to overtake those that had been running near me for the last 4 hours. I rounded an aid station
leaving the last of the big hills behind me. "Yeah - that's the way to do it! Kick it in - finish
strong" a woman yelled at me. The fact that she could perceive my new found strength was even more
invigorating. Carefully I rounded the turn-around that was now as dark as when we first got there in
the morning. I ran the entire length of the dirt section - a small uphill - and I knew I was home
free. The crowd seemed to roar even more and my fans cheered as I rounded them - this time headed
for the finish line. The final 75 yards felt much like running for an touchdown after an
interception - knowing that all of my opponents were lying on the turf. I crossed the finish line
still showing off my new-found energy... "beep, beep beep" the computer had registered my finish -
it was official.
Swim 1:08:03 T1 0:09:31 Bike 6:21:24 T2 0:07:51 Run 4:48:15 Total 12:35:03
Age Group Rank 18/36 Overall Rank 68/206
You can see my pictures at http://triathlon.chronofish.net
(copyright Christopher Fowler 2003 - feel free to duplicate but please don't claim it as your own)
triathlete goes through, read on.
I wrote this letter for my family and friends - most of whom are not involved in Triahtlon. But the
response was positive I thought I would go ahead and share it with the "community". It is simply a
copy of that letter - I'm not going to re-edit it for you here - so please forgive my vanity.
I should warn you that it is 5 pages printed, and it seems I have some incorrect information. For
some reason I was under the impression that David Glover had won Vineman this year and that was
incorrect. I apologize to all who may be offended:
The story follows:
Many years ago I started telling friends and family a bazaar idea that I had. To compete in an
Ironman distance triathlon by the time I was
30. Even though when I came up with this idea I was a seasoned triathlete – predominantly in the
"sprint" distance – the notion of doing a "full iron" triathlon seemed even to me to be a bit
preposterous.
The idea that an individual would somehow swim 2.4 miles and then hop on a bike for 112 miles -
only to then run a full marathon - 26.2 miles is just crazy talk. Who in their right mind would do
such a thing?
Well as luck would have it, I've never been accused of being in the "right mind" and last December
I made the commitment to myself that I would fulfill my goal even if I was already 31. At this
point what I want to tell you about is the training. What you want to hear about is the race. But
it is the training where the story of the pain, the agony, and the glory resides. For the sake of
your sanity, I will give you what you want. But be aware that you reading the last pages of a very
long book...
**
Chapter 182 Episode 16: Day of the race
At 4:30am I woke in amazement – I not only was able to fall asleep the night before, but I was
actually able to sleep the entire night. 15 minutes later the warm shower was loosening my muscles –
there was only one thing on my mind – "I have got to eat food!"
I had dropped off my bike and my biking and running clothes at the transition area the night before.
The Duke Blue Devil Triathlon was extremely well organized from the beginning, and requiring
competitors to check in equipment the day before was a brilliant idea – as the mind is of nervous
triathlete is likely to forget something as trivial as "glide stick" to help prevent the wetsuit
from chaffing his neck to something more severe – like the front wheel to his bike.
Marcia, Lori, and I piled into the car, popped in the obligatory Beastie Boys for some inspirational
music and drove through the dark and the rain to Beaver Dam state park just outside Durham, North
Carolina. Yes the rain – I couldn't believe it. We missed the hurricane by 2 weeks but couldn't
escape the cold and the rain. I was thankful that most of my long runs, and 4 of my 5 90+ rides had
been in rain. Of course I hated it at the time, but now I was glad I had trained that way.
The portable stadium lighting in the park made for a very eerie site. If I hadn't known it was a
triathlon that was being held, I would have sworn that they were filming a movie about some alien
invasion. I grabbed my stuff out of the car and made my way to the transition area.
More food – I inhaled a yogurt and slipped on my wetsuit. "Unbelievable..." I exclaimed to Marcia. I
had forgotten my "glide stick". "Do you want me to get it? Is it in the car?" "No... It's at the
hotel". Thankfully it was the only the causality.
I made my way down to the beach. The water was dark and a cool 68 degrees. The air was the same and
almost as damp. "15 minutes" the announcer boomed.
I put on my goggles and realized that I couldn't see the first buoy of the 1.2 mile course. If the
sun was thinking about coming up, it wasn't letting anyone know about it. Oh well, nothing to do but
get in and swim a few strokes. "Burr..." Wetsuits are great – once the water that gets trapped
between your body and the suit warms up – but until then...
With my face in the water I can't see my hands at all. "Man, they have got to delay the swim until
the sun comes up a little." I thought to myself.
"The official sunrise is 7:20, we will be delaying the start of the race for at least 15 minutes."
"Thank god."
Finally the sun started to lighten the horizon. It appeared that the rain had stopped and the fog
had lifted and began to break. As the buoys came into view I was able to gain full control over my
nerves - and then the "Star Spangled Banner" was sung. In a slow, deep voice the woman sang one of
the most beautiful renditions I had heard. Her voice echoed over the lake and reverberated off the
surrounding hills. I could not see her and so the effect was as if her voice was coming from the now
brightly backed low hanging clouds. It was too much. I had been fighting my nerves for two days, and
like a child being barraged by a relentless reporter, a chord had finally been struck and my eyes
let go of the emotion they tried so hard to hold back.
With that the count started "5, 4, 3, 2, 1" and we were off. The smooth as silk lake now began to
boil as our bodies slapped the water and each other. I could feel my suit glide with every stroke
and I quickly fell into a smooth pattern of breathing. Like minnows we keyed off of each other and
zoomed past each of the buoys. Halfway to the turn-around spot I started to hear myself breath.
"Damn... This is not the time for my asthma to kick in." The cold water and air was trying to have
an effect - I coughed as I exhaled underwater to clear my lungs. "Stay calm... relax...stroke,
glide, stroke, breathe..." the wheezing subsided.
"There's the shore, you're doing great, you're relaxed, you're strong, bring it in..." With the
shore in site I elongated my stroke to stay strong. Once the water was shallow enough to stand I
made an effort to get up - my right leg missed and quickly cramped up from over-extending. "Damn...
don't cramp now". I looked at my watch - "32 minutes! I'm cruising!" One more time around. As I ran
along the cheering crowd I looked for Marcia - "I doubt they'll recognize me
- we all look the same - black wetsuit, blue cap, goggles." Back in the water I went for another 1.2
mile swim.
By this time the field had stretched out pretty thin. There was less bumping, yet I still managed to
get a foot square in the chin. The cold was taking its toll as those who went out too fast were now
starting to do breast stroke. I started to slow as well as my bare arms found no warmth between the
water and the air of the same temperature. "Okay now bring it home..." I could feel that I was
fairly far up front and used this to stay strong as the shore came close to me. This time I made
sure my feet were planted firmly on the ground. I left the water 27th out of the 206 competitors
with a time of 1:08:03 - 5th fastest (of 36) in my age group.
Where as my swim was awesome, my transition to the bike left much to be desired. Even before the
race I had resigned to the fact that I was not going to rush through the transitions. I lost 5 spots
in my age group alone in the 9 minutes it took to get my wetsuit off and my cycling clothes on. But
I didn't care - I was enjoying every minute of the transition and still basking in my accomplishment
of the swim.
The bike course was described as "flat to rolling hills to moderately hilly with no climbs". I
claimed that if the course was like my training area or flatter, then we would be looking at 6 hours
on the bike given ideal conditions. Thankfully the rain was not coming back for the rest of the day,
but in its place was wind - which in my book is less than ideal conditions. The sun never did break
the clouds and so there was a constant energy drain from my legs. That's a hard lesson - I had
cycling tights with me that I choose to forgo because I anticipated getting too warm. I almost
didn't wear my long-sleeve jersey which in retrospect would have been the end of me. Thankfully
Marcia was there to help me reason and we agreed that I should wear the long sleeves even if I had
to ditch it later.
The course had flat spots - that's where the wind blew. There were some rolling hills - but mostly
just hilly. I had to stand up on few hills - so now I'm not sure what is considered a climb. They
weren't climbs like doing Vail Pass in Colorado - but I wouldn't term it "moderate" either. The
course was laid out like a lollypop with the circle part being done twice. So 8.5 miles to the 47.5
mile loop, loop again, and then 8.5 miles back.
The first 20 miles were extremely fast. I kept telling myself to "just let the pedals fall - this is
a long ride and you've got a long way to go". 20 miles is very significant. If you feel energized
after 20 miles you're going to finish the bike leg. If you don't - you won't. For me it is also my
first food break. It's not really a break - I mean it's not like I'm getting off the bike, but I do
let up a little as I focus on eating. The banana was gone in no time. Somehow my bike computer reset
itself at about mile 22. Thankfully my heart-rate monitor also doubles as bike computer so it
essentially operated as a backup - but it was still a bummer.
I started to think about the finish line and began to get choked with emotion. "Dude... you're not
even halfway through yet. Don't even start to think about the finish." And my concentration would
shift back to the task at hand.
I was really looking forward to mile 40 - my second food break - yum! Nectarines! The first signs of
fatigue came somewhere around mile 45. The anticipation of the second loop was killing me as I never
quite saw where the first loop started. Finally a large cheering section had gathered at the loop
entrance/exit and cheered as we rode past. This was great news because it meant that in 4 miles I
could eat lunch. At mile 59 I figured it was close enough and broke open my peanut butter and honey
sandwich as my legs kept turning. At mile 70 I snagged some "Hammer Gel" from the volunteers as my
powerbars were strangely not appealing. I love powerbars, but I just couldn't seem to get myself
motivated to open one up. The Hammer Gel did the trick. At mile 80 I was now ready for the bike to
be over. It was fun, mostly uneventful, fairly fast, beautiful scenery, wonderful volunteers. But
the wind was starting to push me back and the rolling hills just kept rolling. Finally after 5 hours
and 40 minutes on the bike mile 100 rolled by. With the wind packing it to me I was watching my goal
time of 11 hours slip by. The mathematics of velocity just was not on my side. I was averaging just
over 17.5 mph and that equated to another 40 minutes.
One of the depressing things about coming out of the water so fast is that everyone who is faster
than you on the bike will pass you. So I had 6 hours and 21 minutes of people passing me. About the
best you can do emotionally is to say: "These guys are really good - and you held them off for 3
hours" (or however long it took for them to pass you).
In the cover of the trees the last couple miles were extremely fast (25+mph) and it made for a huge
rush as the road was lined with a cheering crowd. At the transition area my fans were waving and
cheering me on. A volunteer took my bike from me as I found my bag of clothes and headed for the
changing tent. My transition to the run was more on par with everyone else - but still not a speedy
transition by any stretch of the imagination. I was now on the last quarter of the race.
A marathon is tough on its own - and to hold it on a rough course is almost an insult. Doing a
marathon on rough course after 7 1/2 hours of previous exertion is pure torture. The description of
this course was: "The profile of the course is best described as 'rolling' hills. There are four
significant hills - each short in length." I beg to differ. This course was "hilly" - period. There
was no cresting, rolling hills. You were either going up or down. My dreams of breaking 4 hours on
the run were dashed in the first mile. I had never felt so fatigued at the beginning of a run
before. I finished my first 5.2 mile loop in 1 hour - Yuk. I grabbed every piece of fruit and power
bar I could reach and shoved them in my mouth. The course had aid stations every 1.5 miles or so -
felt more like every 4 miles. But as I came towards the grand stands and saw my wife and friends
cheering and yelling I was suddenly energized. The second loop took less then 50 minutes. I threw my
sunglasses to Marcia as it was now starting to get dim. As I worked my way around the third loop, I
made a very conscious effort to purposefully walk the up-hills
- at this point there was no point in running them as that was actually going to cause me to
be slower.
I spilt water on my shoe. "Oh horrors" you mock me - well it was "horrors" because it took less than
a 30 seconds for the water to cause my sock to become drenched which in turn caused my toes to
blister within 3 miles. On lap 4 I forced myself to stop at an aid station for a bandage. This was
my slowest of the laps and the most nauseating. Considering how much I ate on the run I'm actually
surprised it wasn't worse.
David Glover, last year's and this year's winner lapped me early on the run. I felt extremely
privileged to even be on the same course as this champion. He won the Vineman in California earlier
this year, and he is in his 8th year of surviving cancer. I have never seen anyone during such a
grueling race look so calm and nonchalant. And even though he ended up 30 minutes slower on this new
tougher run course - he didn't seem to mind. I took great comfort in watching him go by. The point
of all this is that in the few minutes that I shared space on the course with him, not only did he
encourage me "good job you're doing great", but he unknowingly shared with me a bit of a secret as
we ran through an aid station. I heard him call out "water, coke". Water was totally understandable
- Gatorade was too. But coke? I was shocked when I read that flat coke was going to be offered at
each of the aid stations. Who drinks coke while they run? I didn't mimic David right away, but on
lap 4 I was desperate. I couldn't take any more power gels, they where just too thick. I had already
been switching between Gatorade, water, oranges, and occasionally bits of powerbars. It then
occurred to me that coke does sometimes settle an upset stomach. So I took it. The sugar and
caffeine kicked in almost immediately. My pace instantly went up a notch and the nausea was no more.
I coasted down to the stands and happily grabbed my black band which indicated that I was on my last
lap. Right in front of me was my cheering section led by my lovely wife. She held up a large sign
that simply read
Last lap
That combined with her great smile was all that I needed. I had the power of her support and the
secret of the flat coke - I was making this one count. I pushed my legs again and again as I now
began to overtake those that had been running near me for the last 4 hours. I rounded an aid station
leaving the last of the big hills behind me. "Yeah - that's the way to do it! Kick it in - finish
strong" a woman yelled at me. The fact that she could perceive my new found strength was even more
invigorating. Carefully I rounded the turn-around that was now as dark as when we first got there in
the morning. I ran the entire length of the dirt section - a small uphill - and I knew I was home
free. The crowd seemed to roar even more and my fans cheered as I rounded them - this time headed
for the finish line. The final 75 yards felt much like running for an touchdown after an
interception - knowing that all of my opponents were lying on the turf. I crossed the finish line
still showing off my new-found energy... "beep, beep beep" the computer had registered my finish -
it was official.
Swim 1:08:03 T1 0:09:31 Bike 6:21:24 T2 0:07:51 Run 4:48:15 Total 12:35:03
Age Group Rank 18/36 Overall Rank 68/206
You can see my pictures at http://triathlon.chronofish.net
(copyright Christopher Fowler 2003 - feel free to duplicate but please don't claim it as your own)
