November 21, 2010 - Tempe, Arizona
It's 2:45am on the morning of my first Ironman - and I am wide awake. This is The Day, and there is no way I am falling back asleep. And so, at 2:45 a.m., Ironman Day begins.
It's 2:45am on the morning of my first Ironman - and I am wide awake. This is The Day, and there is no way I am falling back asleep. And so, at 2:45 a.m., Ironman Day begins.
Fast forward to 6:55 am, when I finally jump in the water. The pros have already started, and the noise and crowds on the bank and bridges are increasing by the second... this is the moment I've been training and waiting for, and goal #1 of my first Ironman journey has been met: I have arrived healthy at the start line (hey, it's my first Ironman - the goals were not too additionally ambitious!)
I'm again surprised by how warm the water feels (I'd done the practice swim yesterday - thanks Tracy for making sure I got my butt out there!) OK maybe not warm, exactly, but not as cold as the stated 61 degrees. I swam in colder water in Oceanside and San Francisco this year, so mentally this is a big lift. I do notice that I am, um, "hydrating" by swallowing a bit more water than usual due to all the churning arms and legs, and a little less buoyancy in the "fresh" water, but it’s not as revulsive as choking on salt water. I figure if anything I’ll just come down with a good case of giardia later - but hey, that's later, so let's get on with it!
I'm again surprised by how warm the water feels (I'd done the practice swim yesterday - thanks Tracy for making sure I got my butt out there!) OK maybe not warm, exactly, but not as cold as the stated 61 degrees. I swam in colder water in Oceanside and San Francisco this year, so mentally this is a big lift. I do notice that I am, um, "hydrating" by swallowing a bit more water than usual due to all the churning arms and legs, and a little less buoyancy in the "fresh" water, but it’s not as revulsive as choking on salt water. I figure if anything I’ll just come down with a good case of giardia later - but hey, that's later, so let's get on with it!
It's early in the swim and things are going well. I've only been kicked in the head and throat a few times, but not too hard. And since I'm a stats guy, I figure that with 2500 people starting at once, that's an acceptable #-of-swimmers-to-kicks-in-the-head ratio.
But what's up with my fingers??? I can't keep them together! (Hmm, I don't feel cold, but maybe I AM cold!) As the chaos of the start begins to fade, I find my own space and my focus begins to shift, from simple survival to a focus on clean long strokes and deep easy breaths.
The Rural Road bridge seems to tease and taunt, staying the same distance away FOREVER, but I eventually make it, round the two red buoys, and head back towards the Mill St. bridge. The swim remains (surprisingly) very easy, and I just stay in the moment, enjoy the view with each breath to the right, and mentally repeat my mantra, "You may never get this chance again..."
Out of the water now, I pass my cheering dad on the way to T1, and into the change tent. With a swim time of just under 1:30, I'm feeling GREAT about the start of the day. But the thought of the miles ahead, in the weather ahead, soon soaks in.
Do I have time to check the weather report again? The threat of rain made for some hard decisions on gear last night and this morning. Oh well. A complete change, vest stowed in the jersey, triple-check to make sure I have everything, and out I go, with what must be the slowest T1 time of the day.
On to the bike...a quick and very easy first few miles, and then...YIKES! The aerobars are nearly ripped from my hands by the wind. (OK, I think I'll sit up and hold on for a while...) The bike conditions for us slow age-groupers continue to grow more brutal the longer we're out here: a little hail, some rain, and a LOT of 30+mph winds (but never a tailwind, of course!) I'm not a strong biker as it is, so when you add these conditions, well... yeah, I'm going to be out here for a while! But it IS very cool to see the pros, motorcycles, and cameras zoom by me on the 3-loop course. The pros are impressive enough on TV, but even more so in person. I'm used to being "chicked” back home in our local races, but today I can say I was chicked by the best - Wellington looked just effortless as she zoomed by. And the top men like Lieto, Rapp, and Bracht used those huge powerhouse legs to just crank away. Another reminder of what a great and accessible sport this is (if one can call a $600 entry fee accessible), allowing average age groupers like me to be on the same course as the best in the world.
I'm happy to see other TCSDers doing really well on the bike course. "Tracy, Desi, looking good, keep it up!" And my parents time everything perfectly, coming out to cheer me on as I come back through after each lap. Fortunately, their son's pace allows them plenty of time between laps to shop, eat, take a nap, read a book, write a book, develop plans for world peace, etc. I stop one time through for a round of pictures (yes, during the race!) Huge smiles all around - this moment is theirs, too.
Mercifully, after 112 miles, 7 hours, and 12 minutes (more than an hour longer than I had hoped), the long day on the bike finally ends, and I am through T2 and onto the run course. Never in my life have I been SO happy to be running, and now I'm really starting to have fun - if it's possible to use such a descriptor on anything quite so painful. But unlike the bike pain, this run pain is one that I can much more easily manage and even embrace. (Yes, I said embrace!) And so now, barely into the run, my excitement is starting to build... "I can do this!"
You feel your strength in the experience of pain. - Jim MorrisonIt's still early in the run, and while I'm feeling solid mentally, it's clear that I'll need to be more conservative than planned if I'm to achieve goal #2, running the whole marathon. I'm moving forward just fine, but at a slower pace vs effort than I had hoped for. I don't let that bother me, though, and I don't try to lift the pace this early. I'm over 9 hours and 115 miles into the race, uncharted territory for me, so I just keep on enjoying the experience. ("You may never get this chance again...")
Night approaches, and with it... the answers, finally, to the questions we have all come here with. Gradually, the lights of the race and of Tempe come up to illuminate the path for the many athletes still out on the course. These paths and dreams had begun exactly one year ago in many corners of the world for these thousands of athletes, and for many reasons. Paths and dreams which are now converging here, along the shore of Tempe Town Lake.
The run course is truly a beautiful one, looping more or less in a figure 8 around Tempe Lake three times, affording plenty of opportunities to see the crowds and the other athletes. I see more familiar faces: TJ looks strong! I also recognize quite a few San Diego faces among the throngs of cheering spectators calling out their support - very, very cool! And the volunteers...unbelievable!!! Many of this group of volunteer saints and saviors, 3800 strong, are STILL out here, late into the cold Tempe night, offering nutrition, encouragement, and even some welcome moments of hilarity.
Mentally, I am now breaking down the race into smaller chunks, running from aid station to aid station. It's becoming exponentially more difficult as I get closer to the end, but I'm still running. I grab more cookies and coke at the last two aid stations than I've consumed in the past year. There's now only a mile to go! I WILL do this!!!
Mentally, I am now breaking down the race into smaller chunks, running from aid station to aid station. It's becoming exponentially more difficult as I get closer to the end, but I'm still running. I grab more cookies and coke at the last two aid stations than I've consumed in the past year. There's now only a mile to go! I WILL do this!!!
The finish line... WOW. Is this what going to heaven feels like? It's even better than I had imagined. Near the end of the run course, more than 13 hours and 140 miles after jumping into the water, I make a left turn away from the spectators on the lake path, run through a strangely dark and secluded parking lot behind the race site, make a left turn and then... suddenly feel like I am now running towards GOD (except god is now Mike Reilly, the voice of Ironman.)
Laid out in front of me is a gated white chute, maybe 100 yards long, lined with throngs of cheering spectators, jumbotrons, and blinding floodlights - on ME. The cheers grow louder the further down the chute I run, and hundreds of hands reach across the barriers offering high fives. I somehow hear my parents screaming my name on my left, give them a huge smile, and pump my fist into the air as I keep on running. As if there was ever going to be a doubt, goal #3, finishing with a smile, is about to be met.
High fiving every hand I can, I run down the finishing chute euphoric, emotional, and glad it's over... but at the very same time... now, not wanting this moment... to... ever... end. And then, closing in on the final few yards towards that iconic Ironman finishing arch, bleachers on both sides, the moment that every triathlete has dreamed of... God's voice (oops I mean Mike Reilly's voice) booming out to the spectators, the Tempe night air, and to me:
"Chris Juarez from Solana Beach, California, YOU! Are an Ironman!!!"
Yes, an amazing experience. Don't know if I'll do another one, though - this may have been a "one and done" life list item for me. Time will provide a better perspective on that, as will the circumstances in my life at some future point in time. I gave up a lot this year to make this happen, but have absolutely no regrets. I had a ton of fun and made some great friends along the way.
