Wilting in the Heat - My First Ironman Attempt

26 more days to go. For those visiting this blog for the first time, check out my original post on January 3.

Today's entry is a copy of my race report from my Ironman Arizona attempt in April 2008. Isn't it interesting how a failure on my part has set up what I'm embarking on now? More on that topic another day. Anyway, on with the race report.

Ironman Arizona Race Recap

Thank you to everyone for your support, prayers, and encouragement as I headed to Tempe to race in Ironman Arizona. The following contains a race report of the good, the bad, and the ugly of my race day. I had hoped to write a report about what it is like and what it takes to complete an Ironman race. Unfortunately, I collapsed midway through the run and only completed about 127 of the 140.6 mile race. The heat whipped me pretty good. Instead, my race report is about what it is like to get in a fight with dehydration and come out on the losing end. Beware: This report is a long one.

Race Details

Location: Tempe, AZ

Size of Field: 2100 contestants from all 50 states and 30 countries

Race Conditions: Hi 94. High winds and blowing dust on the bike.

Course Description: 2.4 mile swim (one loop), 112 mile bike (three loops),
26.2 mile run (3 loops).

The Swim

With an official start at 7 AM, race officials had us enter the water about 6:40 and move toward the starting line. An armada of kayaks held everyone at the imaginary start line and we were facing directly into the sun. The water temperature was approximately 65 degrees and everyone I saw except for one woman was wearing a wetsuit. I heard people complaining about how cold the water was, but after 30+ summers at Nags Head, NC, the water did not seem cold at all to me. Visibility was maybe six inches in the murky water.
Our challenge was to swim 1.2 miles down the lake, turn at an orange buoy, and swim back another 1.2 miles

Of the three sports, I am strongest in swimming. I lined up about five people deep because I did not want to get trapped behind slower swimmers.
This was a judgment call as I was risking lining up in front of faster swimmers. When the starting gun went off, we all tried to start swimming at the same time. There was plenty of hand to hand combat as my arms and legs were hitting other people on every stroke. I was getting pummeled, too.
After about five minutes, I moved toward some open water I spotted along the outside of the course. I found a good rhythm and kept my eye on a land mark in the distance. Before I knew it, I was rounding the halfway point buoy and heading for the finish. I stayed on the outside of the course again in open water. I've been told that no one is a straight swimmer and my tendency is to veer left. Whenever I saw I was getting close to someone, I would veer back to the right again.

Coming out of the water I glanced at my watch and saw I completed the swim in 1 hr and 6 minutes. I haven't checked the results, but family members told me I was about 415th out of 2100. This was the highlight of my day.

The Bike

One of the consequences of being a fast swimmer and a slow biker was watching hundreds of top dogs pass me on the bike. Although this was a "race," my goal was to finish and not burn myself out on the bike. The bike course was an out and back loop of about 37 miles. The out portion of the loop was all uphill and into a really strong wind. There were times when I was only going 10 or 11 miles per hour. When I made the turn to come back, I enjoyed going downwind and downhill. At times I exceeded 30 miles per hour without much effort at all. Although this was fun, it was much more dangerous as foreign objects in the road such as dropped water bottles, spare tires, refill cartridges, and potholes are a serious hazard at 30 miles per hour.

Each loop was progressively slower for me. I don't think I road slower, but I did stop at more aid stations on each loop. I finished the bike in about
7 hours which isn't very good relatively, but it was about what I had planned to do. Approximately 800 people passed me on the bike. In hindsight, I started to see the first signs of dehydration at about 4 ½ hours into the bike. Both my quads were starting to cramp. During training I had done probably two dozen rides longer than this on hillier terrain and never felt cramping in my quads. My fluid and nutrition replacement was going according to my plan, but I just couldn't get enough back into my system.

After 112 miles, the bike was over and I couldn't wait to get off the bike.

The Run

I left transition with about 8 ½ hours left to finish the race. Hey, I could walk the entire marathon and still finish, right? I walked about five minutes and then started to jog. My plan was to run five minutes and walk five minutes. The result: good plan, unable to execute. By now, not only were my quads quivering on the verge of cramping, but my calves were acting the same way. My stomach was becoming a big problem, too. Somewhere near the end of the bike, it decided to shut down. The normal pop that I get from my nutrition wasn't happening, either. Nutrition and water sat like a rock and made me nauseous.

After I completed the first loop, I hooked up with another "walker" that I met a few days earlier. We walked for about five miles together and my condition started to worsen. It was difficult to talk and I started to get sleepy and light headed. After about mile 11, he left me without a word. I think there is some unwritten code in endurance sports that if you are walking with another sufferer and he starts to falter, you just leave him.

By mile 12, I was in pretty bad shape. I wasn't worrying about whether I would finish or not because I couldn't focus on anything. I knew something was wrong. At mile 12.5 or so, the run course passes right by the finish line and the runners head down a long corral lined with spectators. My dad, brother, wife, kids, and boss all spotted me and all I could say is, "I'm not doing well." They said all the right things and encouraged me. I walked about 50 yards farther and rounded a corner. I was getting tunnel vision and people nearby seemed far away. I started to get really dizzy and I had to brace myself on a nearby Port-O-Let. I tried to start walking again and couldn't stand up. I fell on the ground and some volunteers came over to help. The earth was spinning. At this point, I couldn't see their faces. It was like looking at someone through a screen door. The medics came over and I had to tell them the dreaded words, "I'm done." A volunteer gave me about 2 oz of water and some chicken broth and said, "I know you don't want to drink these, but they'll help." I drank both and after another minute or so of pain (both calves had locked up), I could see the faces of the volunteers.

The medic came back with an IV and hooked me up quickly. I stayed on the ground for about five minutes or so, I think, and they helped me into their vehicle for a trip to the medical tent. I looked up and saw my dad standing there with a look of shock on his face. All I could say was, "Dad, I'm
doing a lot better." And I was. The IV was helping tremendously. The
screen door vision was gone. The tunnel vision was gone. All that was left was the dizziness.

The Medical Tent: The End of the Race for Me

The medical tent isn't the finish line I hoped to cross. Inside, their were finishers who collapsed and non-finishers like me that collapsed. Many of the non-finishers were crying and upset about not being able to finish. I didn't feel that way for some reason. I gave it everything I had until my body said no more. I trained as hard as my body would allow, I planned thoroughly for all parts of the race, and I stuck to my game plan. The distance didn't do me in, it was the heat. I never felt anywhere remotely this bad in training and I covered 100 plus miles on multiple occasions in training.

Do you remember those warning messages about how strenuous exercise in temps over 90 degrees can be hazardous to your health? They are true. I've tested them. I estimate that when I crashed I had lost 10 pounds of fluid or 5 percent of my body weight.

After two IV's and several cups of chicken broth, the medics sent me on my
way back to the hotel with my family. I felt 100 times better and my legs
were not cramping anymore and my mind was clear again.

Back at the hotel I started eating and drinking in mass quantities.
Including the two IV's, three bottles of soda, and multiple cups of chicken
broth, I pumped almost all 10 lbs back into my body. The medics told me
not to go to bed until I was able to go to the bathroom. I finally felt the urge about 10:45.

What's Next

I've been asked several questions since the race ended and I'll answer them below.

Are you disappointed? Sure, I put a ton of time and effort into this, but I was able to get to the starting line healthy and I was able to participate in the race. Not finishing is better than never trying. When it's time to give a final accounting of my life, whether I finished an Ironnman or not isn't going to be real high on the list.

Do you want to do another one? Not for awhile. I know I can make the
distance in cooler weather. I've never felt this bad after a 7 hour bike
ride in cool weather in training. With all that said, right now I don't want to put in the time and have others around me make more sacrifices to see if I can go 13 miles farther than I went at Ironman Arizona.

What's next?

The most important callings in my life are being a good dad/husband and continuing my spiritual development. I have a goal to read the Bible from cover to cover in 2008 and I've got some catching up to do. Kathy, Erin, and Ben supported me through all the training and at times they paid the price for this. Ironman training is extreme. I'm ready for moderation.
Any unfinished business with Ironman can wait.

Thanks to all those that supported and wished me well. It means more than you know.


Check back tomorrow for another post.

C