Becoming An Ironman

After my second race, I had read about an Ironman-distance event that was taking place just outside of Orlando in October. It was the same distance as the one they show on t.v. from Hawaii. 2.4 mi. swim. 112 mi. bike and a 26.2 mi. run. In order to complete the race, you just needed to make it to the next part before the cutoff times. You had to be out of the water by 2hrs and 20 min. You had to finish the bike ride by 10 hours and 30 mins. And you had to cross the finish line before 17 hours to be considered an official finisher. Seeing as how I had only been doing this for a short time, my goals were simple: FINISH.

I continued to work part-time, living at my parents place and training for this race. It was great to actually have a goal. I still had no idea what I was going to do after that as far as a career or anything. I was pretty sure I didn’t want to stick around in Wisconsin, especially once winter rolled around. But in the meantime I was having fun travelling to races on the weekends. Smoking all day long and dreaming about doing this race in Florida.

Just before it was time for me to drive down to Orlando for the race, my buddy Paul decided to move down to Tampa to live with his brother. We figured it would be a lot of fun if we made the trip down together. We had to take two cars because I was going to be heading back up to Wisconsin after the race.

The day to leave had finally come. Just as I was finishing up packing my bike and everything into the car, my mom had some last minute advice for me.

“Why in the world are you going to drive all that way if you aren’t even going to be able to finish the race?”

I didn’t respond. I just walked out and got in the car. If that wasn’t a little bit of extra motivation for me to make it across the finish line, I don’t know what is!

I still had a couple of days before the race, so I drove all the way to Tampa with Paul. We had a blast hanging out with his brother. I hit the bicycle shop and picked up some last minute things for the race. New bicycle tubes, bike shorts and some other stuff.

It was finally time for me to head to the race. I wasn’t very good about planning this thing out. After picking up my race number, I still needed to go find a hotel to stay in for the night before the race. I found a little hole-in-the-wall type of place before going to get some dinner. I was up nearly the whole night smoking and thinking about the swim. For me, the swim was the part I was the most nervous about. 2.4miles is a long way. What if I didn’t get out of the water before the cutoff? My mom would right. That would suck. How would I get myself to drive all the way back to Wisconsin and have to tell all those people that I had failed? The more I stressed about it, the more I smoked.

The next morning I drove to the start of the race and sat in my car. I kept smoking until I finally had to head over to the beach for the swim start. Just like my first race, I did whatever stroke I needed to just so I could finish. I was one of the last three people to finish the swim (out of 400!). I was out of the water in 2hrs 10mins. Just 10 minutes to spare, but I made it! I could hardly believe it! I jumped on my bike and really started to believe that I could finish this thing.

After about ten miles on the bike, I had a flat tire. This was my first flat tire in a race. Luckily I had a spare tube with me and a little hand pump. I got it changed after about 10 minutes sitting on the side of the road. You can’t really get the tire fully pumped with one of those little things, but it was going to have to work. I kept on riding. Right around the 100 mile point, I had my second flat tire. This time I didn’t have another spare tube. I was stuck on the side of the road watching the minutes, and the race slip out of my hands. It was getting close to the cutoff time. Just then one of the race support vehicles came by and gave me a new tube. I was on my way again, but still worried about the time.

I pulled into the transition area. It was 10 hours and 25 minutes since the start of the race. I had race officials yelling at me that I had to get onto the run course in the next five minutes, or I wouldn’t be allowed to continue. I barely made it.

All that was left was 26.2 miles of running and walking. I needed to do that in 6 and a ½ hours to be an official finisher. I had already done the math in my head. As long as I walked each mile in under 15 minutes, I would be o.k. That is exactly what I did. I didn’t run a single step. I walked as fast as I could. I knew that if I had started to run and burned out, that I wouldn’t be able to keep up a fast enough pace to finish. I just kept clicking off mile after mile, looking at my watch the whole time.

When all was said and done, I crossed the finish line in 16 hours and 40 minutes. I was officially an Ironman Triathlete! It was the most incredible feeling of accomplishment I had ever experienced.

I got back to my car and called my parents to tell them I had done it. They were so proud of me. They even said that they would pay for my hotel that night. I hadn’t thought far enough ahead to even get a hotel room. I didn’t really think it was going to take the whole time to finish.

It was after midnight and I was disgusting. I had just been out in the sun sweating since 7a.m. Finally the third hotel I went to had a room available…on the second floor. The next morning, walking down the steps was one of the most painful experiences of my life.

I went back to the race area to pick up my bike and my “finisher’s t-shirt.” They also had some pictures already developed from the race. A swim shot, bike shot and a finish line photo. I got in the car for the long drive back to Wisconsin. Those pictures were laid out on the passenger seat next to me the whole time.

The first day I didn’t drive very far. I ended up spending the night at a campground in another part of Florida. I woke up the next morning in my tent wearing just my boxer shorts. By the end of the night I was in Chicago filling my car with gas and freezing my butt off. I called Paul and told him that if he hasn’t found a place to live yet, “make it a two-bedroom and I’ll be there next week.”

Once I got home, I let my parents know that I was moving to Tampa. I wasn’t sure exactly what I was going to do there, but I knew I wanted to keep training for triathlons, and that I hated the cold weather.