Ironman Florida 2004 Race Report
Tom Henderson
November 6, 2004
Introduction:
There's a tradition among the triathletes I've met online of writing
"race reports" when they've completed events that were significant to
them. I've had the opportunity to read many of them, and my eventual
decision to attempt an Ironman was at least partially prompted by those
stories. It is out of a sense of obligation to that online "support
group" that I am writing this one. I also want to share it with a few
friends and family as a feeble attempt to explain why anyone would
voluntarily try one of these events.
As a brief background, I became interested in triathlons because I
happened to find a flyer for one at a gym I had joined in an effort to
regain at least a little conditioning. I've never been much of an
athlete, but several years of sitting in front of a terminal as a
computer programmer had transformed me from a scrawny non-athlete to a
rather chubby non-athlete. The race was the 2nd annual Santa Rosa Island
Triathlon, which consisted of a 600-yard swim, an 18-mile bike, and a
3.1-mile run. All of the distances seemed at least remotely possible by
themselves, and since the race was 8 months away at the time, it was a
great fitness goal.
There are a lot of people who train so that they can race. That is, they
are using their training to hone themselves into the condition required
to win an event, achieve a certain ranking, get an age group trophy, or
something along those lines. I'm convinced that there are even more
people out there like me. These are the people who race so that they will
train. They need a goal sitting out there on the horizon to keep them
going. That's why I signed up for my first race, and it's been a big part
of the reason for signing up for every event since.
So eight months later, I had trained my way up to race day, and showed up
to attempt my first triathlon. The wind had been blowing for days, and
the surf was too treacherous to allow a swim. The race directors
substituted a 2-mile run for the swim, and my first triathlon became a
duathlon. It didn't really matter though; I was hooked as soon as I saw
that finish line. There's something special about finishing a multi-sport
event. It gives you a sense of accomplishment that's unlike anything
else. As soon as one event is complete, you find yourself pouring over
the statistics is the results and thinking "I bet I can do that just a
little faster." Or worse yet, "I bet I can do one that's just a little
farther."
It was this self-challenging spiral that led me through many sprint
races, triathlon club membership, training group participation, and
eventually through three half-iron distance races. Yet as recently as
three years ago, if you had suggested that I take on the combined
challenge of a 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, and 26.2 mile run that
comprise an Ironman race, I'd have told you there was no way I'd ever
reach that level of insanity. Then I went to Ironman Florida to volunteer
with our local tri club, Tri Gulf Coast. We had several members who were
attempting their first Ironman, and wanted to have a strong contingent of
supporters. We worked in the transition area, which meant that we got to
see each athlete as they left for the bike, and again when they handed us
their bike and headed out for the run. Being that close to those amazing
people and seeing the looks on their faces at various stages of such a
challenging event is one of the most inspiring experiences I've ever had.
After two years of volunteering, I decided I had to try the event from
the athlete's side. The next year when I went to volunteer, I stayed over
the next day to sign up.
Training:
With a whole year to go until the event, it's not easy to figure out how
to train properly. If you try to swim, bike, and run ironman distances
for a whole year, you'll end up injured, unemployed, flat broke, and
divorced long before race day arrives. Plus, a year is just to far away
to be a motivational goal for me. I decided to break the year up with
some intermediate goals.
I only had three triathlons on my 2004 schedule, the Abitaman Tri in
April to get the season started, my favorite Santa Rosa Island Tri in
September, and the big dance in Panama City Beach In November. In the
winter, I followed a marathon training program to build my running base.
I had run my first marathon the year before, and used the same program to
get up to about 18 miles before backing off again. When spring came
along, I trained for the Pensacola Bay Swim. This 3.6-mile swim is a
favorite fix for my accomplishment-junkie training style, and I hoped
that being able to swim that far would help me to cope with whatever I
might encounter during a 2.4-mile mass-start swim with 2000 other
participants. As the weather warmed up, I began paying more attention to
cycling, building up to 40-mile rides over time.
In what seemed like no time, I hit the beginning of my 18-week ironman
training program. Now I had a strict regiment of training to follow,
instead of my informal, flexible schedule I had been on. It turns out
that when you have a job that requires occasional travel, a family with
kids and dogs and a spouse who all deserve time and attention, and you
don't have superhuman resistance to allergies and sickness, strict,
regimented training schedules don't tend to fit all that well. I quickly
learned to be flexible with the schedule. I tried to anticipate when all
of the workouts wouldn't fit, and would pick out the key sessions and
make sure I did them first. When I started to feel allergies or a bug
coming on, I tried to be reasonable about when to push myself versus when
to back off. I had learned a few years back that attempting to push
through sickness only makes things worse.
Another thing I tried to do on a regular basis was to assess my readiness
for each portion of the event. I knew I was most prepared for the swim.
It was the only event I felt I could walk out my front door on any given
day and accomplish. I had done one marathon, but was by no means a strong
runner. I also knew that after swimming and biking the distances
required, there was no way I was going to be able to run the whole
marathon. I hadn't even accomplished that in my half-ironman races. The
goal was to be strong enough after the bike to walk-run the marathon. To
do that, I needed to get better at biking long distances.
My longest bike ride ever prior to this training had been 60 miles. I
built my way up to 80 before attempting my first century (cycle-speak for
a 100 mile ride) as part of an informal group. Most of them were much
stronger riders than I, but the ride organizer, Mike, was nice enough to
hang back with me. Early in the ride, I had pushed a little to try to
hang with the group. I was feeling the effects of that early push by the
time we hit the turnaround point. That was the first valuable lesson I
learned that day: Always ride conservatively early on. Lesson two came
just two miles later: Never buy the cheap tires to save money. My front
tire was punctured by a small piece of metal and came off the rim,
stopping the front wheel and slamming me to the road in front of traffic.
Fortunately the nice man in the minivan was attentive (thank you,
wherever you are!) and I was able to call it a day with damages limited
to skin loss and minor bicycle damage. It was over a month later before I
finally rode my first century, a solo ride to my brother's house in Gulf
Shores and back.
Another major setback in my training occurred in the middle of September.
Northwest Florida is normally a wonderful place to live and to train, but
we do pay a price for our moderate climate-- the risk of hurricanes. This
summer our card was finally up after dodging the first two bullets, which
had hit the Florida peninsula. Hurricane Ivan destroyed thousands of
homes in our area. Several of my friends were left without homes. My
parents' house, which had ridden out several hurricanes without damage,
was flooded with 18 inches of water. Training went out the window while
we all spent time digging out. Even when training started to seem like a
possibility again, the roads were littered with debris. Many of my
favorite routes, including the one I took for my first century, were
completely washed away. After two weeks, I attempted a short ride and cut
my tire on debris after only 15 miles. I lost the better part of three
weeks of training due to the storm. I was left with three more weeks to
train and two to taper. I managed a 75-mile ride and another century in
those last two weekends before the taper. On the 75-mile ride, I thought
I wasn't going to be able to finish. For whatever reason, I felt better
after completing the century ride the next weekend than I had on the 75-
miler.
I considered dropping out. My training was definitely off track. Several
of my friends had decided not to go, but all of them had completed an
ironman at least once before. I finally decided that I had to at least
give it a shot. The other first timers I spoke with seemed to feel the
same way. The Northwest Florida first timers, Meri, Vicky, Bill, the
other Tom and I were committed to the starting line. The race was paid
for, the hotel reservations were made, and I knew I wasn't over-trained!
Besides, if I bailed out this year, I would HAVE to try again next year,
so I might as well be at the race site to sign up!
The Race:
What race? I know it's a race for a bunch of people, but for me, and I
suspect for many like me, it's an objective to be accomplished. The race
is on Saturday, but you have to register on site by Thursday, and put
your bike in transition on Friday. It seems like a long time to have to
be there before the race, but I would imagine it takes a while to process
over 2000 athletes. My plan was to carefully inventory and pack
everything I'd need on Wednesday, and then drive over on Thursday to
check in. It's very convenient to have an Ironman race just 2 ½ hours
from home!
I knew the atmosphere was going to be full of energy. It's been like that
every time I've come as a volunteer. Everywhere you turn, people are
squeezing in one last bike, run or swim, and their anticipation is
contagious. It turns out that the effect is amplified when you're one of
the people who are about to toe the line! The day was filled with "Oh my
God, I'm doing an Ironman!" moments. The first one was seeing my name on
the transition rack, and they just kept on coming. Getting the race
number and timing chip, attending the pre-race dinner, seeing last year's
female winner in the transition area, all of these made me even more
aware of what I was about to attempt. The nerves were definitely starting
to kick in!
Meri, one of the triathletes from the tri club, caught up with me late
Thursday and we planned a very short brick (a bike ride followed by a
run) for Friday morning. At least that would keep me busy until it was
time to check in my bike! Friday morning I ran out for a few supplies. On
the way back into the hotel parking lot, I saw Michellie Jones out for a
run. That was another one of those "this is for real" moments. The ride
and run went well, and after that I stayed busy preparing to check in my
bikes and transition bags. It's amazing how obsessive you can get over
the contents of a transition bag. I guess it's driven by the fear of
discovering you've forgotten something in the middle of the race and
trying to bike 112 miles with just one shoe, or perhaps without
prescription sunglasses. Finally, everything was checked in and we
attended the pre-race meeting. The race organizers go to great lengths to
make sure everyone is well informed, and even manage to make the meeting
entertaining.
Just about the time I would have started getting nervous again, my wife
Jo and kids Steven and Carole Anne arrived. It was wonderful to have a
nice dinner out with them before the big day. When we got back, they were
all very supportive of their crazy dad/husband, and kept the TV volume
low so I could get to bed early. I actually managed to get some sleep!
In the days leading up to the race it had been warm and windy. The south
wind had kicked up red-flag surf, and everyone was nervous about the swim
being canceled. Fortunately, the weather channel was right! Saturday
morning was cool and dry, with temps in the 40's, and the front that had
come through Friday had turned the Gulf into a mirror-flat swimming pool.
I walked down to transition, got my race number written on both arms and
one leg (I guess in case I lost a limb or two during the race?) and put
my sunglasses in the swim-to-bike bag and regular glasses in the bike-to-
run bag. I knew I wouldn't need sunglasses for the run, since I expected
to finish the bike about 4:30, or 30 minutes before sunset.
When I walked by my bike, I realized with horror that I had forgotten to
get my jug of Gatorade from the hotel room to fill the bike bottles. This
was not according to plan, and even though it might seem minor to you, I
was terror-stricken! OK, no problem, there's still time. I was planning
to go back to the room and chill for a few minutes, then put on my
wetsuit and take a leisurely walk to the start. I'll just revise the plan
to include a mad dash to the room and back with a jug of Gatorade! No big
deal, it's good to get your heart rate up before a 140.6-mile funfest!
I made the extra trip with time to spare, and aside from one more brief
panic session when the zipper on my wetsuit didn't seem to want to
cooperate, I made it to the beach in plenty of time for a short warm-up
swim before I got into the start corral. The announcer kept giving us a
countdown of the number of minutes to the start, and speakers blared out
music designed to build everyone up for the start. HA!! Like we needed a
buildup! At ten minutes to 7:00, the cannon went off for the pro start.
Just ten minutes left before I get to find out if I can do this or not!
Finally the cannon for our start went off. I've watched this from the
beach before, and all you can see is water and thousands of arms flying
about. There's a lot of talk among triathletes about the beating you can
take in a mass-start swim. My strategy was to start way to the outside
and not to work my way in until the crowd thinned out a bit. All in all,
it worked pretty well. The swim was two rectangular loops of 1.2 miles,
about ½ mile out, 200 yards east, and ½ mile back to shore. Before I knew
it, I was approaching the first turn, and the crown was beginning to
thin. By the time we were headed back to shore, I was beginning to think
all that talk about the brutal swim was just-- THONK!! Ouch! I took a
hard elbow to the right eye from the guy next to me. I stopped for a
second to straighten my goggles and felt the swimmers behind me start to
plow over me. I quickly got the goggles straightened out and sprinted
just long enough to get out of the crowd, then resumed my normal swim
pace. Hmm, that wasn't so bad, as long as it doesn't happen again.
As we hit the shore at the end of the first lap, I was surprised to find
I was ahead of schedule, with a 33 minute first lap. Was I swimming too
hard? I was beginning to discover that my day would be full of worrying
whether I was going too fast, too, slow, eating too much, too little, and
a million other things that might keep me from completing my first
Ironman. The second lap went well, and before I knew it I was standing in
from of a stripper on the beach.
No, no, not that kind of stripper! A wetsuit stripper! You walk up and
flop yourself down on the carpet, and they whisk off your wetsuit and
send you on the way to the changing area. The changing area was a large
section of the hotel ballroom partitioned off into men's and women's
sections. The men's section had about 200 chairs in it, and 400 guys
trying to change clothes and start their bike in as little time as
possible. Pure chaos would be an understatement. I forced myself to
remain calm, reminding myself that it's much better to take a couple of
minutes extra in transition than to forget something. I went through the
mental checklist as I got ready for the bike. Helmet, bike shorts,
jersey, arm warmers, sunglasses, socks, bike shoes, heart rate monitor,
race number, and away we go! A race volunteer helped me get my bike out
of the rack and I trotted to the transition exit and hopped on the bike.
2.4-mile swim done in an hour and 12 minutes, followed by a very slow 14
minute transition, now just 138.2 miles to go!
I was still getting used to being on the bike in the first couple of
miles when I heard a strange beeping noise. What was that? My heart rate
monitor? Ack! My heart rate monitor was set to beep when I got to 165, to
warn me to take it easy. My plan was to keep my heart rate below 150 for
the majority of the bike ride. What in the world was going on? I finally
realized that my body was on overload trying to move blood from my upper
body, which had done most of the work on the swim, to my lower body,
which would be taking over for the remainder of the day. Calm down and
take it easy, Tom, it will be OK in a few miles. Fortunately, I was
right. My heart rate finally dropped into the high 140's and I managed to