My race report from IMLP has been long overdue. This has been difficult to write. I’ve been in a fog for much of the time since the end of the race and have been doing everything I can to gather my thoughts, in addition to finding my new normal. I’ve been saying for much of this year that I’m done with the full distance after this race. That’s something that I am adamant about. It takes a huge commitment and many sacrifices to even make it to the starting line of an event of this magnitude. I’ve been making those sacrifices for 3 years and am ready for something new. Ron Swanson gives the guidance to “whole-ass” one thing. I rather enjoy whole-assing many things, which is made more difficult by the sheer volume of the commitment required to complete an Ironman, let alone a second one. The dedication required of me throughout my journey is something that I carry with me through everything I do, something that will never change.
For some background, my friend David (who originally convinced me to complete an Ironman), brother Max (for the purposes of the story below, he’ll be referred to as Max2), and friends Jordan and Max1 all completed their first Ironman on this day. They’re all who I am referring to when I’m referencing the group that was part of the race with me.
While my training was unorthodox and the journey was long, it was all full of unforgettable moments – moments that are full of failure, achievement, friendship, joy, and so much more. I’m grateful to have even had the opportunity to focus my time and energy on such an adventure, and certainly grateful for all those who have supported me throughout the years, little or small, and continue to positively impact who I am and what I am able to accomplish. The story below is only part of the journey, and while it’s a lengthy account of what happened on race day, there’s so much more even from that day that isn’t easily re-told in short form. I am always willing to share more when asked. And as always, I believe anyone can become an Ironman – the bigger challenge is everything that happens before the starting line.
I am an Ironman, now and forever.
The Morning
I didn’t sleep well [again]. I managed to get a whopping 4 hours, even lying down in bed by 930pm. Though, no amount of exhaustion was going to derail the plan. This time around I had a better gauge of what I needed to do to be ready, waking up at the same time as round one even though the trip to transition and back was much more involved. Even the random bits of stress that managed to find us before it was go-time had less impact on me than I think they would have two years prior. I’ll let the memories of misplaced timing chips and forgotten personal needs bags be left in their place in the universe where they happened.
The shuttle system to transition and back to the swim start was a unique experience. While capacity issues were something to note, the most unforgettable part of this back-and-forth was the utterly useless man who thought it would be appropriate to scare first timers. Yes, members of our group were going to be doing an Ironman for their first real triathlon. Not everyone needs to go through years of rigmarole before toeing the start line of an Ironman. Sticking to your own reality of what it took to get to the Ironman is fine, however, telling someone else that they made terrible choices and it was going to be a horrible day for them just because they took a different path is entirely inexcusable. I don’t know this person aside from the interaction on the shuttle. I hope he was able to have the race day he wanted, but also that he never repeats the same actions and leans into unnecessarily scaring first timers with his ridiculous attacks.
The Swim
Though I haven’t been swimming a lot in preparation for this race, I have been swimming well. I’ve generally felt much more comfortable in the water than I ever have, even though I only got back in a pool around late April. I started slow, but in addition to getting some swim fitness back I also finally learned to swim without a nose clip! (it’s the little victories) Especially knowing that I would be swimming in a wetsuit, I wasn’t concerned about finishing the swim even with my limited swimming leading up to the event.
With cool temps in the morning and the swim start just a tiny walk from our AirBnB, I changed into my wetsuit at the AirBnB rather than on the beach. Getting to the swim start at 6am for a 630 start made a hell of a lot more sense than getting there at 5 (valuable advice in case you’re now planning to do an Ironman). It was more than enough time for a warm up and a few quick wetsuit pees before the start of the race. It helped to remove the unnecessary hour long of nervous pacing that I subjected myself to previously. Getting to the swim area when it was already packed with supporters and competitors also served to quickly amp up the excitement for what I was about to do.
I put a more concerted effort into warming up, knowing this would keep my heart rate from spiking once I hit the water for the race. As a group, we exchanged our good lucks and took our places in our respective estimated swim finish areas. The cannon sounded for each of the pro groups, followed by the general start, and it was go time. Well, sorta. WIth 1800 people needing to get into the water, it was a lengthy and agitating slow crawl till I actually got into the water. I remember distinctly being in an anticipatory state of expectant calm: I had done this before and I knew what I had to do to have a successful day. The real victory was putting myself in a position to be at the starting line with confidence and all that was left to do was leave it all out on the Lake Placid course.
From here there’s not too much for me to tell about the swim itself. I felt good in the water and carried speed well, freestyling most of the race this time instead of splitting my efforts as much with a breastroke. My neck chafed up a little bit from the position of my wetsuit, which I was able to fix mid-swim (I waited to do so longer than I should have). The water was great and I was able to hold a position close to the swim cable without ever running into heavy traffic or getting thrashed by others passing me.
I got out of the water shocked to see my time. I had checked my pacing a couple of times throughout to keep myself entertained with mental math. Even still, finishing 10 minutes faster than anticipated served to inject one of many bumps of adrenaline into my system. The only downside was that the swim exit was abrupt. There wasn’t a longer ramp out of the water which made it difficult for me to get the swim exit photos I was wanted (with better evidence of my pre-taped nipples and a sexier half wetsuit pose). I shouldn’t complain too much though as I cheesed hard for the photographers when I saw them for some great shots – a trend I kept up throughout the day.
It was a haul to get to transition from swim finish, which I moderated with some light jogging and some power walking while I peeled off my wetsuit and attempted to get my heart rate under control. It was great to see so many supporters around the swim finish even though it was further than normal from spectating in other more convenient sections of the course. Ironman supporters are second to none! Finally getting into sight of transition was an electric feeling. I was there, ahead of plan, and I was ready to hit the legs with everything I had.
The Bike
Cycling is my jam. My training was heavily biased towards my cycling – the comparison isn’t even close. I knew what to expect from the course and was ready for it. I put in some big efforts and finished with an improvement over my first go-round, though it didn’t quite go according to plan. I knew the climbs would slow me down a little relative to the flats in Indiana, though I was confident I could keep it close. Things were close to plan for the first lap, but a handful of potty breaks and stomach pains slowed my second lap a little more than expected. All things considered, I put in a strong bike leg and set myself up well for a good run.
It may be unfair of me to make some sweeping statements here, but I do have to vent for a moment: triathletes have shit bike etiquette. Throughout large portions of the course, riders planted themselves in the middle or far over to the left of the lane we were designated. It’s absolutely understandable to avoid small stretches of bad road, scooting over temporarily. However, planting in the left of the riding lane and refusing to move over when being passed, especially with an auditory cue (I mix it up between “on your left!”, “bike behind!”, and “passing!”) is both irresponsible and dangerous. If for some reason you disagree, tough, ‘cause I can go into quoting the rules that maintain riders stay to the right when not passing. At some point I found myself waving people over and giving more direct ‘coaching’ on bike etiquette and I have no regrets over making my opinions known.
I return you to your regularly scheduled programming: I moved with a purpose in T1, though my purpose was to take my time to make sure my gear was straight and I fueled properly. My finish relative to the rest of my group makes for an arbitrary comparison, as it’s me vs me, but I still wanted to catch up to the crew on the ride. With all of our gear racked side by side, it was clear I had some time to make up as the lone bike left in T1. Having no idea how big a gap everyone had I used the first few miles or the ride to get into a rhythm before starting a big push. The first few miles were relatively uneventful – the course was a little wet from the night’s/morning’s rain so the only challenge was keeping out of the back tire spray of the riders in front of.
I saw Max1 finishing up the first out and back as I was starting it which gave me confidence in my pace. Things continued to be uneventful until needing to pee for the first time. I knew I wasn’t competing for a podium spot so stopping to pee wouldn’t make a big difference, but I was committed to setting a primo personal best time. That being said, I did try to pee while riding, which would have been my first time doing so, for about the next hour. This was my big tactical mistake, as I wasn’t able to go through with it and instead had cramp-like symptoms for almost the rest of the bike leg. Sometime during this stretch, on the Wilmington out and back (the 4mi each way out and back) I caught up to Max2, who seemed to be carrying on well, aside from a waterlogged shoe (*clears throat*). I rode alongside him for a bit before ramping back up the pace. David and I passed each other going opposite directions and his excitement to see me in this stretch will forever have real estate in my brain. He was the original reason I went on any sort of Ironman journey when I did and we were both excited to be doing the event together.
I did my best to keep pushing on the climb back into town, but with stomach pains and headwinds along a long climb I was burning too many matches and feeling the tolls of my efforts. Coming up the hill into town was rejuvenating: the support crew was all there and the cheers injected some much needed juice into my spirit and my post-climb legs. At this point, with potty break leap-frog, Max1 and I stuck mostly together from bike personal needs throughout most of the second lap. He seemed to be feeling a little better than I did when we started the lap. Seeing him surge ahead kept me motivated and pushing to stay on his heels. At the climb out of Jay (my least favorite stretch of course that happens at approximately miles 26 and 76) Max1 and started to ride side by side for a while (rules be damned). We kept each other going strong, albeit with lots of expletives and complaining about how we were feeling. It was fantastic to not only be nipping at each other’s heels for a while but to also have someone to chat with to distract from the efforts of the race.
Shortly before the Wilmington out and back was the first time during the race I found myself in a sing-song mood. I generally find myself near euphoria when I’m riding my bike and it manifests in me singing while riding, much to the chagrin of anyone who happens to be around me (especially when I’m in a great mood on a training ride and singing through burners of hills and pushing the pace). I was chatting with a rider about his bike and said something with the words “..life to live..”. I don’t have the words to quite explain how that triggered the song, but the moment of being with a friend and having a moment with a stranger flipped a switch. For the next few miles I found myself pushing the pace and singing Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” (the words “life to live” are buried in the chorus so again, yay for the brain).
I finally caught sight of Jordan when Max1 and I were starting the final Wilmington out and back which injected a spurt of adrenaline to get through the next stretch. We continued riding in near tandem with no major events until about the 106 mile marker. At that point was finally about the time when my stomach no longer was in pain. I had slowed my intake to just some minimal water that seemed to help balance out my system. Once I was feeling good, I cranked it up for the last few climbs into town and into T2.
The FinisherPix video of me pulling into T2 seems like it’s playing in slo-mo, but rather it’s me taking appropriate caution and care, knowing that the wrong move could send my hips into muscle cramps (an issue that I fight anytime I push long distances). In T2 I saw Jordan’s bike racked, so while I still took the time to make sure I was set with my gear, I still wanted to get moving to be closer on his heels. I did have an awesome exchange with someone a few gear spots down from me in transition and was able to make my favorite joke (background: I was sitting on the ground) about how sitting down after just having sat for so long feels so good – this will never not be shockingly funny to me. I even shared some drugs (read: ibuprofen) with this athlete. It was great to have another quick connection with a stranger before what was to come.
The Run
I have an iron stomach. I don’t know when exactly this happened – maybe it was a supercharged upgrade to my system after becoming an ironman. All I know is that regularly throughout my training this year I would eat most of a pizza immediately before heading out on my long runs. For a long time, my goal time for a half-marathon has been to run a 1:40. At some point in March I rode a gran fondo on my trainer, ate a pizza, and then ran a blistering best half-marathon finishing at 1:34:30. I can’t explain it, I can just claim it as a power and a gift.
Though I haven’t ever ‘run’ a marathon, only having limped across the line two years ago, I figured my fuel plan would be pretty solid. You can take that to the bank as I ate two slices right before my run, partially while I was changing in T2 and partially while I started walking the course to optimize my time. See above for proof. Every penny paid for the FinisherPix package was made worth it for this moment being caught on camera. As I was leaving T2 I even got some very appropriate hoots and cheers for my epic fuel plan.
A handful of weeks prior to the race I dialed in my marathon pace. Having done this on only a half-marathon run, I knew I would need to be prepared for the unexpected for the full distance, especially my nutrition – I didn’t think the pizza alone would last me for the entirety of the run. The only change I made on race day was a conscious effort to power walk through every aid station to make sure that I put something into my system. My intake plan: grab a couple sips of water and/or Gatorade and grab a gel every 5 miles or so. I stuck to this until late in the race where I grabbed some grapes to mix things up and some Red Bull to keep my wings (I did accidentally grab a cup of Coca-Cola once thinking it was Red Bull, a surprise I’ll always remember).
I was running strong. The first few steps to get sped up after each aid station were a slog, but the mile after that to the next aid station would breeze by. There were more than a few moments over the run where it was a near out of body experience and I was hitting a flow state. I finally caught sight of Jordan, the last person from my group ahead of me, around the 5.5 mile mark. I estimated he was about 4.5 miles ahead of me. It would be hard, but I could still reel him in. Jordan’s composure and our obligatory high five every time we passed each other were fuel to the fire in my legs.
I kept ticking away the miles, coming across Max and David in a few spots going the opposite direction. The pictures prove that we were almost all smiles which was something important to all of us – enjoying the experience. One photographer I remember more vividly than the others: he was sitting in the middle of the run lane on the way up River Rd. on my second lap. As soon as I spotted him I took off my hat [and fixed my hair] to give as ridiculous of a cheesy pose I could think of when I was 18 miles into my run (over 130 miles into my day).
The next time I saw Jordan I had closed the gap and was only about 2.5 miles behind. Even though he started his race ahead of me, I felt I could keep the pace up and hopefully bring him in before the end. I was running strong, mentally and physically, for the longest run of my ‘career’. Though it was unorthodox, my preparation was paying off. I took no major hits till about mile 21 of the run when the unexpected started to add to the fight. While I was taking in nutrition, I was either not taking in enough fluids and/or sodium. My hamstrings tightened and I had to be careful how I stepped to avoid the wrong type of flexure. This forced me to slow and drop off my pace for the last miles of the race. I still kept up a run almost every step of the way aside from the aid stations (and the larger hills, a tactical plan to not burn too many matches when I had a long way to go). Jordan kept his lead and finished strong ahead of me, inching me out in our group for the fastest time of the day.
Coming into the town of Lake Placid one last time was bittersweet. I felt incredible, exceeding all the goals I set for myself for the day. Even knowing this was it for me, I was excited to get to the red carpet. Before I got to the finish shoot I was thinking about what I would do as I came across the line. I thought about slowing up/pausing and throwing my hands in the air as I crossed the line, maybe even adding in a victory screech. It seemed like a good enough plan. As I was entering the lineup of spectators I raised the roof to get the crowd pumped up and the cheers pierced my soul. While I’ve been saying I must have blacked out, it must have been a deeper flow state as the emotions of the moment overcame me, because I forgot entirely about my finish line plan and just kept a strong run through the finish chute. I ended my race and solidified my place as an Ironman just as steadily as how the journey to my second Ironman began.
Post Race
As soon as I crossed the finish line I could feel my senses shutting down. I thought I was functioning okay, a thought only existing in the reality I was substituting. It was clear enough to one of the emergency medical staff that I may not have been functioning so well, so much so they followed me throughout the entire finish area and even for a few minutes afterwards once I met up with my finish line crew to make sure I wouldn’t collapse. I don’t remember exactly what went through my head as I recognized my own accomplishment, because I don’t think it actually sunk in for a while. My daze was enough to miss stopping by the finisher photo area – I didn’t even see it and thinking back I must have even looked right at it!
My support crew was second to none: my parents, sister, best friend, and a good chunk of friends’ families. They truly did everything in their power to inject energy into our race and remove as much worry about gear or any of the other little things that truly allowed us to be successful. I will forever remember everything that they each did for us that day and all the other days that were part of our collective journeys to the finish line.
I gathered with the support crew after the finish chute and had enough energy to keep myself upright without any prohibitive pains to revel in the accomplishment. The emotions we shared together are many in number and difficult to describe. After getting cleaned up, we made our way back to the finish area to cheer on other finishers and the rest of our group as they joined the elite as Ironman.
While it’s also still hard to truly describe how my improvement of over 3.5 hours to my finish time feels, I compare it to meeting an idol. An event, idea, or person can be built up and put on a pedestal. Sometimes meeting this entity can be a let down, while others it can be everything we dream it would be. On July 25, 2021, when I crossed the finish line at Ironman Lake Placid for the second time, in a way I met my idol. My accomplishment was something I had placed one a pedestal that seemed out of the realm of possible. I met that accomplishment with gusto and it was nothing short of the dream I thought it would be. Memories of pieces of my experience may fade over time. The biggest moments of the experience are memories that will never fade.
When I first became an Ironman, I became an Ironman for that moment and forever. Crossing the finish line for the second time in the way that I did, I finally felt like I was worthy of my place as an Ironman.
The only hope left lingering from the event is the hope that those seeing me with pizza in hand as I left transition were able to recognize me and see me finish strong. I’m sure it would have only added to my fame.
