Karen and I went out to Idaho recently. We had a great time. Feel free to read about our experience.
Never having adjusted to the Pacific time zone from East coast I was still operating under a 3 hour difference. I was able to stay up until 9 or 10pm, but I rose at 4:00-5:00 am every day which Karen called my ‘wandering time’. “You’re going to go wander now aren’t you?”, she’d say with a feeble lift of her head from the pillow through squinted eyes. “Yup!”, I shouted back enthusiastically. I’d go downstairs and check my personal and work e-mail accounts and then I’d read in the lobby area which had a nice, comfy sofa. First it was Angels & Demons until I finished that. Then I switched to The Gun Seller by Hugh Laurie. Intermittently I would also peck at the continental breakfast which had not yet been formally laid out. I never waited for everything to be placed on the counter. I knew where all the cereal, milk, and omelettes were hiding.
On the first day, we drove around town and especially the outskirts so Karen could see some of the countryside where my dad, me, and Ken Bougie had camped for a portion of the last time we had visited in 2003. Karen and I found a trail to check out also so we did a little hiking on the south side of Lake Coeur D’Alene. She was warming up to the area already. The next evening certainly didn’t hurt to find a special place in her heart for this lovely mountain town. That was the day I proposed to her at the end of the bike trail along the lake. The sun was slowly setting over the horizon as we stood under some old growth pines. The area is known for these trees. That and moose. They’re big on moose as our pictures will show. All sorts of moose statues. Never saw a live one though, unfortunately. I was lucky Karen was a trooper in walking the distance to the end without water. As memory served we didn’t have much more than 1.5-2 miles to go one way, but in reality it was 3 miles (6 roundtrip) and it was quite warm that day. We made it to the end and I was losing attention to anything she had been discussing at the time as we walked through switchbacks climbing the hill at the end of the trail. I kept turning to view the lake and check for the right spot to pop the question. I kept walking knowing there would be a better place. Karen found a trail leading away at one point and suggested we could take that route to return to the car. I motioned her onward which thankfully she was obliged to do. We got to the very top of the hill where it opened up into a tiny park. This looked like a good place, I thought, except for one thing. The scent of pines was quickly replaced with the odor of the park toilet, outhouse style. We were downwind of it and I had to get her out of there quick. If she passed out I wouldn’t be able to ask the big question! I coaxed her along the side of the park and moved over to a 3-way view of the lake. The sun was at a perfect level, illuminating the hill we were on but not blinding us. I stutter stepped because I wasn’t quite sure we were in the right spot. I’m kind of finicky at times and this was definitely one of those times. She commented on my maneuver and wondered what I was doing. I took about 3 full steps and found that “perfect” place I was looking for. Then I explained, “I was looking for the right spot” -- dropping to one knee – “to ask you to marry me”. I was unexpectedly teary-eyed and I was sure she saw that emotion sweep over me. Surely her knees were about to buckle and she’d throw her arms around me sobbing for joy, right? Well, not exactly… She looked at me as if I just suggested we hike another 20 miles without water before turning back to the car. “Are you serious?”, she demanded. I stayed on one knee and may have confirmed or maybe I didn’t need to… can’t remember exactly. But after that brief moment she had been taken aback, the emotion caught up with her also and she shed a rare tear saying YES!
It was a couple minutes later after enjoying the view with the sunset over the lake with no-one else around that we began to walk away from the spot. I started to let her in on another surprise while I patted my empty front pockets of my shorts and said, “ummm, I aint got a ring on me or nuthin’, but…” I was cut off by a roar of laughter. She didn’t care at all. She just commented on how cute I was by saying that. Wasn’t really the point I was getting at, I was thinking to myself.
A minute later I was able to break in again and mention that the only one in the world who knew I was going to do this was Doug Bushnell. I knew she’d recognize the name as the almighty master of boat building. Kayaks that is. Super fast, lightweight, amazingly high performance kayaks. This guy is the Soup Nazi of the kayak world. His website is designed as if he offers some sort of highly customizable service with options galore. And that is somewhat true. You can order boats in different types of material and he has a boat designed for just about any condition of water or size/ability of paddler. He gives you options for paint color and netting and different types of rudders or steering systems, etc. But basically you walk in and order a boat knowing exactly what you want. You allow him to adjust your mindset as to what you really need, accept his ‘suggestion’ with gratitude, sidestep to the cash register and pay the man and say you’re excited, but NOT in any hurry to get the boat. He will complete it when you fall into the schedule, not before. He will take his time to do the job right. He will not be rushed. You call him and check on status only when he suggests. (And I personally make sure I remind him I’m calling upon his suggestion to check on status). Then you wait to see what color he decided your boat would be and you begin heavy training to make sure you can do justice to the speed potential of the boat.
My first conversation with Doug lasted over an hour. We talked about all things paddling – how he used to drink straight from rivers in the old days, various races and their history, paddling technique, other makes and models of boats, PFD’s, etc, -- but mostly about how great his boats are and how much I heard about his reputation as a fine boat builder. I left out the horror stories about how he’s hung up on customers who upset him. And the story about how he threatened to take a chainsaw through a boat he heard someone was going to modify. He couldn’t stand to hear anyone was going to change a beloved creation of his. I believe that was a Thunderbolt, one of his most popular models. No, we left that gossip out. Instead he told me about the old days of paddling and about the evolution of his models. How the Bullitt K2 I was ordering had come out of the EFT (extra fast tourer) design mold. He just extended that to allow for an additional cockpit. Wise idea. The EFT has won its class at the USCA Nationals so many times that they’ve decided to outlaw it for that division and move it up a class.
When I told Karen Doug knew about this proposal idea, which he was touched, but not overly surprised by, she hesitated a couple of seconds while the implications sunk in. Then she swung her palm to cover her palpitating heart and NOW her knees finally buckled. She really looked like she may fall to the ground. That was a humbling experience. Apparently the engagement thing didn’t do it in itself. J I had followed up on a comment she had made about showing my commitment to her by some day buying us a tandem kayak. Correction, THE tandem kayak. We will be unstoppable with it. And the point is that we will spend lots of time on the water together.
Luckily by then I had already moved our lodging accommodations to a Super 8 just north of town. We had been in a little place called the Budget Saver which was much closer to the event, and honestly for the name it wasn’t such a bad place. It was small but not bad other than the bed. It appeared as though the bed had been used by a 500 pound man. There was a depression in the middle. And their garbage can in the bathroom was apparently ripped off from the Best Western. Plus, it was just down the road from the Bates Motel. No joke. I have pictures to prove it.
The day before my race Karen had a hyperacidity issue and we had to take her to urgent care. She was not doing well at all. It was at that point I was really sorry no one made the trip with us. What would happen while I was on the course and couldn’t check on her? Should I even do the race? We thought it was an ulcer at first. They gave her some cocktail of meds that looked like toxic waste and judging from her reaction it must have tasted like it too. We waited the customary 30 minutes or so for the doc to return as we talked, paced, and played with medical tools. You know, the usual stuff. In that time she began to feel better. When she finally had to pee (who wouldn’t eventually during a typical 2 hour visit?) they analyzed her urine and did a blood test to rule out an infection. All was good on that front and they gave her Protonix for the hyperacidity.
The other issue going on that day was my rear tire. That damn tire! Actually it was the version of extend valve I can’t stand. I’ll never use it again. I use sew-up tires which are also called tubulars. You glue them right on the rim instead of using tubes with tires separately. Works fine unless you need to do a quick change. You should really scrape off the old glue from the rim and have another tubular ready to go with 2 coats of glue for good tack. You don’t play around with this stuff too much ‘cause your life can be on the line if you’re heading downhill and hit a curve at 50 mph. Or if you’re doing a criterium and encounter all sorts of centripetal force while hanging on the wheel in front of you around a tight bend. But luckily, I’m an absolute incurable wimp on the downhills, and I didn’t see the need for hitting tight corners. Thus, I applied two coats of glue to a good tire I had along for the trip and only allowed 3 hours total for it to dry before I applied the tire to the rim and dropped my bike off in the TA before the deadline the evening before the race.
I woke up before the event plenty early. I had been slightly nervous leading up to that day unlike normal. I knew I had never been in this kind of shape for the bike or run before. Swimming fitness was about the same or maybe slightly better than normal. I certainly put more distance in for the swim than ever before and plenty of intensity. But the bike had me pumping 300 watts for a benchmark test instead of just the 280 I would normally hit at peak fitness. And I could run 6 minute miles for a sprint or sub-8 min/mile for 20 miles through rolling terrain. I SO wanted to use that fitness! My biggest fear was that I’d have a mechanical issue on the bike. I felt as though I had my nutrition plan down after multiple long training sessions where everything went fine. I knew not to fall behind in calories and I knew which food sat well in my stomach. I knew the breakfast of oatmeal always served me well in the past and I would have Gatorade Endurance formula on the course, just as I had been racing with. Perfect. Weather was calling for rain, but not until later in the day and frankly I welcome it during the run leg. Cool conditions could only give me an advantage over all the folks from Southern climates who were competing that day.
I got to the event really early and checked tire pressure. Good on both front and back. Wonderful, I thought. Everything is falling into place. I was confident and relaxed. I was even my goofy self with Karen as we chummed around that morning during pre-race prep. I wasn’t taking things too seriously and had just been enjoying the moment. The swim distance looked very doable where normally it psyches me out at least a tiny bit. Even the big crowd of people in the mass start didn’t freak me out much. I figured I’d beat 75% of them to the first buoy and the people ahead of me I’d just have to wiggle through.
All this sounds good so far, but my nemesis of the day was to be introduced as soon as the gun went off.
Swim - The wind was strong and the waves were big. We started into a headwind similar to my practice swim from the day before. I was able to avoid most of the punching, kicking, and clawing but those waves were pretty brutal. I felt like I was in a fairly good rhythm in the first lap despite some slow bodies getting in the way once in a while and people converging from the left and right cutting me off. The tailwinds were almost like surfing especially on that 2nd lap. I was surprised to see a split of 35:xx minutes. A slow time even with my conservative strategy. I thought I'd pick it up a notch on the 2nd lap since things were spreading out a little better. I went in at a higher intensity but the waves were bigger. I could see a dark cloud brewing overhead and the wind was picking up. Many head checks showed no buoys to key on, but rather just a big 'ol wall of water. My swim strokes were often pummeled before I could lunge into the wave. At times I opened my mouth for a breath and was greeted by only water in both my nose and mouth. I had to try to spit back the water and hold my breath and come up again quickly between wave peaks which disrupted the rhythm quite a bit. And more critically it caused me to gasp for air. Things never go well for me when I start gasping for air. I swallow it to the point my gullet swells into a pregnant woman shape. And I am NOT kidding. It gets HUGE. My swim split was 1:11 and some change. Which I learned later wasn't so bad for the day.
Bike - I came out of T2 feeling severely bloated and later felt nauseous. I thought it would pass with 1-2 hours, but it just lingered for the ENTIRE freakin' bike leg. It was painful to get into the TT position - I was that bloated. Still, I thought if I could at least hold around 19mph I would maybe recover later for a good run, and it still wouldn't be impossible to turn in a solid day's performance. I forced myself to eat although I could hardly bear the thought of any food or even gel. I had several bananas which were the lesser of evils. I only had 2 Hammer bars when normally I'd have 1 each hour. My intensity was so low that I couldn't feel any sweat until about mile 60, and that only lasted for a little while. I only went through 1.5 bottles of water and one bottle of Gatorade. In fact, I only drank 12 ounces of the Gatorade and had 12 oz remaining after the event was over. So that was about 30-32 oz of hydration in almost 6 hours of cycling. Normally I would go through 80-100 ounces on a hot day with higher intensity and hold over 20mph through similar terrain. I just wasn't needing the hydration with the low intensity. The course was very scenic though, and thankfully I had that to keep my mind occupied. Much like the Tour de France there were people dressed up in all sorts of costumes. It was interesting to see the creativity and just plain weirdness all over the place. But what was incredibly welcome to me were the guys playing bagpipes during a climb in the beginning of the bike leg. They were really good. Five of them if I remember right. I couldn’t clap as I climbed the hill, but I gave them a thumbs up and motioned with my fist to applaud their services. I was able to see them on each lap which was quite a treat. After them was the whole team of cheerleaders from the local high school. Like every other group they stayed out there throughout the entire bike leg cheering for every passerby. There were Boy Scout troops, military troops - you name it. And they held their position for the entire day helping anyone in need. I came across an old lady in a nightgown who was pulling on a rope to ring a bell in front of her house. She had chosen to sit by the second time I came around, but she was determined to keep dinging that bell. I loved the tall pine trees, country homes, immaculate landscaping everywhere (seriously everywhere), and views from 300 feet or so over Hayden Lake and lakeside of Coeur D'Alene Lake. I just stayed in my survival mode watching everybody and their brother pass me. I seriously wondered how people could still be passing me after 5 hours. I had to think at some point there weren't any folks left who could fly by me so effortlessly. I rode out of the aero bars on almost every tailwind to limit the pain from bloating and accepted my mediocrity on the bike, which was quite difficult after knowing what I had done for training. I should have had a bike split among the top 10-15% of the entire field. I had done a split of 5:12 in IM FL and although that was flat terrain, I was in better shape for this event. I could have done 5:30 and had enough in the tank for the run leg, but it wasn’t meant to be. I wondered what my gut would do during the run leg.
Run - My legs felt good and at first my gut didn't hurt. I was at least in an upright position now instead of bent over my bloated belly. First 5+ miles were at just over an 8' pace. About 8:15 I think. I was happy about that. The gut just wasn't going to stay quiet though. After having puked up a little vomit early in the bike leg (just to set the tone for the day) I had an all out dry heave fest going on at about mile 8 or 9 of the run. Some military volunteer dude came over to see if he could help me. He got a kick out of my humor and attitude of the moment. I was quite chipper about the experience. I thought I could finally get on with my day after that episode which had been threatening for about 7 hours. Too long in my book. Later on while walking for a while behind a couple guys I noticed one of them had really bad gas. He was farting every couple seconds it seemed like. And they were noisy! Apparently it’s acceptable to fart in public if you’re in an athletic event. They were talking to each other as if they were seated at a bar just enjoying each other’s company. Never did either of them acknowledge the abundance of gas loudly escaping from one (or maybe both) of them. I didn’t have enough energy to laugh but even for the altered state you tend to be in during the late portion of an IM event it sure seemed weird to me.
I began to finally take in more food that I thought I could keep down, choosing carefully between soup broth, pretzels, cookies, banana, etc. I was taking in enough fluids and learned by trial and error which foods would work with which drink. At first I was barely taking in enough calories to ward off a bonk. I was tipsy for a while and took in more calories slowly but surely. By about mile 14, I was starting to run longer stretches at a time. It was then that I started to notice just how bad off some of the other folks were. Some people were already suffering from the early, or maybe even mid stages, of hypothermia. Once in a while you’d see someone shivering in the wind along the lake looking ghostly white. They hadn’t started handing out the foil blankets yet at that point and I saw some sportsmanlike competitors wrap one arm around the ghostly people and hold them tight to their side to try to offer some body heat. This is definitely the point in the Ironman where you begin to realize it’s just an event. It’s not a race. You can act like it is, train like it is, talk like it is, and you can even pace yourself for a while like it is, but that simply doesn’t last. Eventually you zone out and get quiet. You begin to only think of the finish line. You readjust your finishing time goals just for the hell of it. You don’t care nearly as much as you did before, but if your mind is still functioning you prefer to concentrate on something. You do some calculations on what you think you can cover for distance in X amount of time or think about your pace per mile and then you trudge forward to simply finish the job. Talking requires energy. You use hand signals to choose your food or drink or to communicate further with the crowd. Rarely do you break your silence in zombie mode. Just finish the day, you tell yourself. Put it behind you. Move on with your life.
Well, you move on, that is, until after you triumphantly cross the finish line and your fiancé suggests we do another IM together the following year and get married that weekend. Then you stand in the rain, wind, and cold… totally exposed to the elements as the finishing area euphoria fades and the pain quickly sets in. You begin to shiver unaware of the dirty look you’re displaying to your lover. Then you groan out a feeble, barely audible, “OK… maybe” or something like that.
Now that I see my splits from Ironmanlive.com, I'm a little surprised the 2nd leg of the run and especially the 3rd split weren't a little faster. I felt as though my gut was feeling TONS better by then, but my legs were starting to feel the miles by about 21-22 of the run. Plus I walked through the aid stations and took time to eat and drink to try to have a decent finish and avoid collapsing at the end. The weather for the last couple hours dropped to 50 degrees with rain and high wind. It felt pretty good actually. Kept the core temp low when I was able to pick up the intensity. Tough for some folks from warm climates though. No 3:30 run split. And no 10:30:00 finish time, but after adjusting my goal to 11:30 at mile 20 of the run I was pleased to have done that.
Post race vacation time:
Karen and I were able to trail hike the next day despite the weather continuing to deteriorate. We came across a 6 year old female Vizsla named Alex who would normally have had her brother, an older German Shorthair, along but he had bone cancer. The day after that we went paddling for two hours in a tandem kayak and hiking for another hour. We took a bunch of pictures to be sure we captured the images other than just by memory.
The town there is almost entirely dependent on tourism. The Ironman event is THE biggest event they hold there every year. There is a huge influx of visitors that week. Aside from just the athletes, there are a good deal of family and friends who also make the trip. That is a lot of money pumped into the local economy after a long, quiet winter. The local businesses are sure to have longer hours and more people on staff to accommodate the extra activity. The restaurants in Coeur D’Alene do a great job of encouraging repeat visits. We didn’t have a single bad, or even average, meal. We ate at several different places, some of which I had remembered from my visit in 2003 and with all the variety of food we enjoyed every bit of it. You can have all types of Asian food - even Vietnamese which we didn’t bother with - Mongolian, Greek, and Italian… ohhhhhhh, the Italian. I swear I will never eat Italian food again without comparing it to Tomato’s in Coeur D’Alene. That stuff is to die for!!
What a trip it was. Karen was able to leave Bubba, her African Gray parrot, for a full week without missing him too, too much. And the trip did him some good too. He was being a little snot before she left and now that we’re back he is all kisses. He even tried to regurgitate for her over a phone conversation they had while we were out in Idaho.
Yes, a daily phone call with Bubba. Priceless!
On the first day, we drove around town and especially the outskirts so Karen could see some of the countryside where my dad, me, and Ken Bougie had camped for a portion of the last time we had visited in 2003. Karen and I found a trail to check out also so we did a little hiking on the south side of Lake Coeur D’Alene. She was warming up to the area already. The next evening certainly didn’t hurt to find a special place in her heart for this lovely mountain town. That was the day I proposed to her at the end of the bike trail along the lake. The sun was slowly setting over the horizon as we stood under some old growth pines. The area is known for these trees. That and moose. They’re big on moose as our pictures will show. All sorts of moose statues. Never saw a live one though, unfortunately. I was lucky Karen was a trooper in walking the distance to the end without water. As memory served we didn’t have much more than 1.5-2 miles to go one way, but in reality it was 3 miles (6 roundtrip) and it was quite warm that day. We made it to the end and I was losing attention to anything she had been discussing at the time as we walked through switchbacks climbing the hill at the end of the trail. I kept turning to view the lake and check for the right spot to pop the question. I kept walking knowing there would be a better place. Karen found a trail leading away at one point and suggested we could take that route to return to the car. I motioned her onward which thankfully she was obliged to do. We got to the very top of the hill where it opened up into a tiny park. This looked like a good place, I thought, except for one thing. The scent of pines was quickly replaced with the odor of the park toilet, outhouse style. We were downwind of it and I had to get her out of there quick. If she passed out I wouldn’t be able to ask the big question! I coaxed her along the side of the park and moved over to a 3-way view of the lake. The sun was at a perfect level, illuminating the hill we were on but not blinding us. I stutter stepped because I wasn’t quite sure we were in the right spot. I’m kind of finicky at times and this was definitely one of those times. She commented on my maneuver and wondered what I was doing. I took about 3 full steps and found that “perfect” place I was looking for. Then I explained, “I was looking for the right spot” -- dropping to one knee – “to ask you to marry me”. I was unexpectedly teary-eyed and I was sure she saw that emotion sweep over me. Surely her knees were about to buckle and she’d throw her arms around me sobbing for joy, right? Well, not exactly… She looked at me as if I just suggested we hike another 20 miles without water before turning back to the car. “Are you serious?”, she demanded. I stayed on one knee and may have confirmed or maybe I didn’t need to… can’t remember exactly. But after that brief moment she had been taken aback, the emotion caught up with her also and she shed a rare tear saying YES!
It was a couple minutes later after enjoying the view with the sunset over the lake with no-one else around that we began to walk away from the spot. I started to let her in on another surprise while I patted my empty front pockets of my shorts and said, “ummm, I aint got a ring on me or nuthin’, but…” I was cut off by a roar of laughter. She didn’t care at all. She just commented on how cute I was by saying that. Wasn’t really the point I was getting at, I was thinking to myself.
A minute later I was able to break in again and mention that the only one in the world who knew I was going to do this was Doug Bushnell. I knew she’d recognize the name as the almighty master of boat building. Kayaks that is. Super fast, lightweight, amazingly high performance kayaks. This guy is the Soup Nazi of the kayak world. His website is designed as if he offers some sort of highly customizable service with options galore. And that is somewhat true. You can order boats in different types of material and he has a boat designed for just about any condition of water or size/ability of paddler. He gives you options for paint color and netting and different types of rudders or steering systems, etc. But basically you walk in and order a boat knowing exactly what you want. You allow him to adjust your mindset as to what you really need, accept his ‘suggestion’ with gratitude, sidestep to the cash register and pay the man and say you’re excited, but NOT in any hurry to get the boat. He will complete it when you fall into the schedule, not before. He will take his time to do the job right. He will not be rushed. You call him and check on status only when he suggests. (And I personally make sure I remind him I’m calling upon his suggestion to check on status). Then you wait to see what color he decided your boat would be and you begin heavy training to make sure you can do justice to the speed potential of the boat.
My first conversation with Doug lasted over an hour. We talked about all things paddling – how he used to drink straight from rivers in the old days, various races and their history, paddling technique, other makes and models of boats, PFD’s, etc, -- but mostly about how great his boats are and how much I heard about his reputation as a fine boat builder. I left out the horror stories about how he’s hung up on customers who upset him. And the story about how he threatened to take a chainsaw through a boat he heard someone was going to modify. He couldn’t stand to hear anyone was going to change a beloved creation of his. I believe that was a Thunderbolt, one of his most popular models. No, we left that gossip out. Instead he told me about the old days of paddling and about the evolution of his models. How the Bullitt K2 I was ordering had come out of the EFT (extra fast tourer) design mold. He just extended that to allow for an additional cockpit. Wise idea. The EFT has won its class at the USCA Nationals so many times that they’ve decided to outlaw it for that division and move it up a class.
When I told Karen Doug knew about this proposal idea, which he was touched, but not overly surprised by, she hesitated a couple of seconds while the implications sunk in. Then she swung her palm to cover her palpitating heart and NOW her knees finally buckled. She really looked like she may fall to the ground. That was a humbling experience. Apparently the engagement thing didn’t do it in itself. J I had followed up on a comment she had made about showing my commitment to her by some day buying us a tandem kayak. Correction, THE tandem kayak. We will be unstoppable with it. And the point is that we will spend lots of time on the water together.
Luckily by then I had already moved our lodging accommodations to a Super 8 just north of town. We had been in a little place called the Budget Saver which was much closer to the event, and honestly for the name it wasn’t such a bad place. It was small but not bad other than the bed. It appeared as though the bed had been used by a 500 pound man. There was a depression in the middle. And their garbage can in the bathroom was apparently ripped off from the Best Western. Plus, it was just down the road from the Bates Motel. No joke. I have pictures to prove it.
The day before my race Karen had a hyperacidity issue and we had to take her to urgent care. She was not doing well at all. It was at that point I was really sorry no one made the trip with us. What would happen while I was on the course and couldn’t check on her? Should I even do the race? We thought it was an ulcer at first. They gave her some cocktail of meds that looked like toxic waste and judging from her reaction it must have tasted like it too. We waited the customary 30 minutes or so for the doc to return as we talked, paced, and played with medical tools. You know, the usual stuff. In that time she began to feel better. When she finally had to pee (who wouldn’t eventually during a typical 2 hour visit?) they analyzed her urine and did a blood test to rule out an infection. All was good on that front and they gave her Protonix for the hyperacidity.
The other issue going on that day was my rear tire. That damn tire! Actually it was the version of extend valve I can’t stand. I’ll never use it again. I use sew-up tires which are also called tubulars. You glue them right on the rim instead of using tubes with tires separately. Works fine unless you need to do a quick change. You should really scrape off the old glue from the rim and have another tubular ready to go with 2 coats of glue for good tack. You don’t play around with this stuff too much ‘cause your life can be on the line if you’re heading downhill and hit a curve at 50 mph. Or if you’re doing a criterium and encounter all sorts of centripetal force while hanging on the wheel in front of you around a tight bend. But luckily, I’m an absolute incurable wimp on the downhills, and I didn’t see the need for hitting tight corners. Thus, I applied two coats of glue to a good tire I had along for the trip and only allowed 3 hours total for it to dry before I applied the tire to the rim and dropped my bike off in the TA before the deadline the evening before the race.
I woke up before the event plenty early. I had been slightly nervous leading up to that day unlike normal. I knew I had never been in this kind of shape for the bike or run before. Swimming fitness was about the same or maybe slightly better than normal. I certainly put more distance in for the swim than ever before and plenty of intensity. But the bike had me pumping 300 watts for a benchmark test instead of just the 280 I would normally hit at peak fitness. And I could run 6 minute miles for a sprint or sub-8 min/mile for 20 miles through rolling terrain. I SO wanted to use that fitness! My biggest fear was that I’d have a mechanical issue on the bike. I felt as though I had my nutrition plan down after multiple long training sessions where everything went fine. I knew not to fall behind in calories and I knew which food sat well in my stomach. I knew the breakfast of oatmeal always served me well in the past and I would have Gatorade Endurance formula on the course, just as I had been racing with. Perfect. Weather was calling for rain, but not until later in the day and frankly I welcome it during the run leg. Cool conditions could only give me an advantage over all the folks from Southern climates who were competing that day.
I got to the event really early and checked tire pressure. Good on both front and back. Wonderful, I thought. Everything is falling into place. I was confident and relaxed. I was even my goofy self with Karen as we chummed around that morning during pre-race prep. I wasn’t taking things too seriously and had just been enjoying the moment. The swim distance looked very doable where normally it psyches me out at least a tiny bit. Even the big crowd of people in the mass start didn’t freak me out much. I figured I’d beat 75% of them to the first buoy and the people ahead of me I’d just have to wiggle through.
All this sounds good so far, but my nemesis of the day was to be introduced as soon as the gun went off.
Swim - The wind was strong and the waves were big. We started into a headwind similar to my practice swim from the day before. I was able to avoid most of the punching, kicking, and clawing but those waves were pretty brutal. I felt like I was in a fairly good rhythm in the first lap despite some slow bodies getting in the way once in a while and people converging from the left and right cutting me off. The tailwinds were almost like surfing especially on that 2nd lap. I was surprised to see a split of 35:xx minutes. A slow time even with my conservative strategy. I thought I'd pick it up a notch on the 2nd lap since things were spreading out a little better. I went in at a higher intensity but the waves were bigger. I could see a dark cloud brewing overhead and the wind was picking up. Many head checks showed no buoys to key on, but rather just a big 'ol wall of water. My swim strokes were often pummeled before I could lunge into the wave. At times I opened my mouth for a breath and was greeted by only water in both my nose and mouth. I had to try to spit back the water and hold my breath and come up again quickly between wave peaks which disrupted the rhythm quite a bit. And more critically it caused me to gasp for air. Things never go well for me when I start gasping for air. I swallow it to the point my gullet swells into a pregnant woman shape. And I am NOT kidding. It gets HUGE. My swim split was 1:11 and some change. Which I learned later wasn't so bad for the day.
Bike - I came out of T2 feeling severely bloated and later felt nauseous. I thought it would pass with 1-2 hours, but it just lingered for the ENTIRE freakin' bike leg. It was painful to get into the TT position - I was that bloated. Still, I thought if I could at least hold around 19mph I would maybe recover later for a good run, and it still wouldn't be impossible to turn in a solid day's performance. I forced myself to eat although I could hardly bear the thought of any food or even gel. I had several bananas which were the lesser of evils. I only had 2 Hammer bars when normally I'd have 1 each hour. My intensity was so low that I couldn't feel any sweat until about mile 60, and that only lasted for a little while. I only went through 1.5 bottles of water and one bottle of Gatorade. In fact, I only drank 12 ounces of the Gatorade and had 12 oz remaining after the event was over. So that was about 30-32 oz of hydration in almost 6 hours of cycling. Normally I would go through 80-100 ounces on a hot day with higher intensity and hold over 20mph through similar terrain. I just wasn't needing the hydration with the low intensity. The course was very scenic though, and thankfully I had that to keep my mind occupied. Much like the Tour de France there were people dressed up in all sorts of costumes. It was interesting to see the creativity and just plain weirdness all over the place. But what was incredibly welcome to me were the guys playing bagpipes during a climb in the beginning of the bike leg. They were really good. Five of them if I remember right. I couldn’t clap as I climbed the hill, but I gave them a thumbs up and motioned with my fist to applaud their services. I was able to see them on each lap which was quite a treat. After them was the whole team of cheerleaders from the local high school. Like every other group they stayed out there throughout the entire bike leg cheering for every passerby. There were Boy Scout troops, military troops - you name it. And they held their position for the entire day helping anyone in need. I came across an old lady in a nightgown who was pulling on a rope to ring a bell in front of her house. She had chosen to sit by the second time I came around, but she was determined to keep dinging that bell. I loved the tall pine trees, country homes, immaculate landscaping everywhere (seriously everywhere), and views from 300 feet or so over Hayden Lake and lakeside of Coeur D'Alene Lake. I just stayed in my survival mode watching everybody and their brother pass me. I seriously wondered how people could still be passing me after 5 hours. I had to think at some point there weren't any folks left who could fly by me so effortlessly. I rode out of the aero bars on almost every tailwind to limit the pain from bloating and accepted my mediocrity on the bike, which was quite difficult after knowing what I had done for training. I should have had a bike split among the top 10-15% of the entire field. I had done a split of 5:12 in IM FL and although that was flat terrain, I was in better shape for this event. I could have done 5:30 and had enough in the tank for the run leg, but it wasn’t meant to be. I wondered what my gut would do during the run leg.
Run - My legs felt good and at first my gut didn't hurt. I was at least in an upright position now instead of bent over my bloated belly. First 5+ miles were at just over an 8' pace. About 8:15 I think. I was happy about that. The gut just wasn't going to stay quiet though. After having puked up a little vomit early in the bike leg (just to set the tone for the day) I had an all out dry heave fest going on at about mile 8 or 9 of the run. Some military volunteer dude came over to see if he could help me. He got a kick out of my humor and attitude of the moment. I was quite chipper about the experience. I thought I could finally get on with my day after that episode which had been threatening for about 7 hours. Too long in my book. Later on while walking for a while behind a couple guys I noticed one of them had really bad gas. He was farting every couple seconds it seemed like. And they were noisy! Apparently it’s acceptable to fart in public if you’re in an athletic event. They were talking to each other as if they were seated at a bar just enjoying each other’s company. Never did either of them acknowledge the abundance of gas loudly escaping from one (or maybe both) of them. I didn’t have enough energy to laugh but even for the altered state you tend to be in during the late portion of an IM event it sure seemed weird to me.
I began to finally take in more food that I thought I could keep down, choosing carefully between soup broth, pretzels, cookies, banana, etc. I was taking in enough fluids and learned by trial and error which foods would work with which drink. At first I was barely taking in enough calories to ward off a bonk. I was tipsy for a while and took in more calories slowly but surely. By about mile 14, I was starting to run longer stretches at a time. It was then that I started to notice just how bad off some of the other folks were. Some people were already suffering from the early, or maybe even mid stages, of hypothermia. Once in a while you’d see someone shivering in the wind along the lake looking ghostly white. They hadn’t started handing out the foil blankets yet at that point and I saw some sportsmanlike competitors wrap one arm around the ghostly people and hold them tight to their side to try to offer some body heat. This is definitely the point in the Ironman where you begin to realize it’s just an event. It’s not a race. You can act like it is, train like it is, talk like it is, and you can even pace yourself for a while like it is, but that simply doesn’t last. Eventually you zone out and get quiet. You begin to only think of the finish line. You readjust your finishing time goals just for the hell of it. You don’t care nearly as much as you did before, but if your mind is still functioning you prefer to concentrate on something. You do some calculations on what you think you can cover for distance in X amount of time or think about your pace per mile and then you trudge forward to simply finish the job. Talking requires energy. You use hand signals to choose your food or drink or to communicate further with the crowd. Rarely do you break your silence in zombie mode. Just finish the day, you tell yourself. Put it behind you. Move on with your life.
Well, you move on, that is, until after you triumphantly cross the finish line and your fiancé suggests we do another IM together the following year and get married that weekend. Then you stand in the rain, wind, and cold… totally exposed to the elements as the finishing area euphoria fades and the pain quickly sets in. You begin to shiver unaware of the dirty look you’re displaying to your lover. Then you groan out a feeble, barely audible, “OK… maybe” or something like that.
Now that I see my splits from Ironmanlive.com, I'm a little surprised the 2nd leg of the run and especially the 3rd split weren't a little faster. I felt as though my gut was feeling TONS better by then, but my legs were starting to feel the miles by about 21-22 of the run. Plus I walked through the aid stations and took time to eat and drink to try to have a decent finish and avoid collapsing at the end. The weather for the last couple hours dropped to 50 degrees with rain and high wind. It felt pretty good actually. Kept the core temp low when I was able to pick up the intensity. Tough for some folks from warm climates though. No 3:30 run split. And no 10:30:00 finish time, but after adjusting my goal to 11:30 at mile 20 of the run I was pleased to have done that.
Post race vacation time:
Karen and I were able to trail hike the next day despite the weather continuing to deteriorate. We came across a 6 year old female Vizsla named Alex who would normally have had her brother, an older German Shorthair, along but he had bone cancer. The day after that we went paddling for two hours in a tandem kayak and hiking for another hour. We took a bunch of pictures to be sure we captured the images other than just by memory.
The town there is almost entirely dependent on tourism. The Ironman event is THE biggest event they hold there every year. There is a huge influx of visitors that week. Aside from just the athletes, there are a good deal of family and friends who also make the trip. That is a lot of money pumped into the local economy after a long, quiet winter. The local businesses are sure to have longer hours and more people on staff to accommodate the extra activity. The restaurants in Coeur D’Alene do a great job of encouraging repeat visits. We didn’t have a single bad, or even average, meal. We ate at several different places, some of which I had remembered from my visit in 2003 and with all the variety of food we enjoyed every bit of it. You can have all types of Asian food - even Vietnamese which we didn’t bother with - Mongolian, Greek, and Italian… ohhhhhhh, the Italian. I swear I will never eat Italian food again without comparing it to Tomato’s in Coeur D’Alene. That stuff is to die for!!
What a trip it was. Karen was able to leave Bubba, her African Gray parrot, for a full week without missing him too, too much. And the trip did him some good too. He was being a little snot before she left and now that we’re back he is all kisses. He even tried to regurgitate for her over a phone conversation they had while we were out in Idaho.
Yes, a daily phone call with Bubba. Priceless!
