Arizona Ironman 2009
By Jewell Patek
Well, a year ago, unbeknownst to my wife, I sat at my office frantically hitting the refresh on my computer so that I would get through and get one of the IMAZ slots. I got one. Thus, my quest to do my first Ironman had begun. I had done one half, Kansas, a few months earlier, and I was ready for a new challenge. I signed up for two additional halves, Muncie and Redman, as warmups for IMAZ. With the help of my coach, Elizabeth Waterstraat, I bgan the 12 month journey toward the biggest physical challenge I had ever undertaken.
Frankly, the year went pretty well. After my July race in Muncie, I told my wife that I wanted to do an Ironman and that I had already signed up. Despite her anger that I had done it, she was overall supportive of me as long as I did not add any additional workouts that would compete with our family time. I agreed—and I am proud that my training NEVER came before my family. Yes, my training suffered, but my family life didn’t. I don’t regret that!!
The week after Muncie, I was feeling great and was really progressing on my training. I went out for a two hour bike ride on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. As I slid down the highway at a great pace, I went to pass an Amish buggy and when I looked over my left shoulder to see if anything was coming, I went down the embankment and over the handlebars separating my shoulder. It would be six weeks before I could swim again and everybit of my training was signficantly set back.
Nonetheless, when Redman came around in September, I found a way to finish the swim and the bike and run fell right into place. From there on out, everything was focused on getting in longer rides, longer swims, and longer runs.
Oh yeah, the race. So, my wife, Heather, and my three year old, Mazie left for Tempe Arizona on Wednesday. Walts had packaged my bike and mailed it to a local Arizona bikeshop, the Tribe. It was ready when we got there. We settled into our hotel room and the next morning we headed to the race site to get a swim in.
The swim is in a concrete spillway that they call a lake. Its mountain water so its pretty cold—60 degrees to be exact. I only went out for a ten minute swim, which was long enough for me. It was cold…real cold. So cold, that I wrenched something in my back. It hurt bad enough that I didn’t want to do anything else before the race. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t my back at all, probably my hamstrings that had tightened up from the cold water. I did a short ride on Saturday before checking my bike in—a little tight, but I felt ready to go.
If you havent done an ironman before, its nice to throw all your crap in bags and drop them off the day before. Your bike is racked, your stuff is packed, and all you have to do is find some pasta and get some sleep.
On race day, I woke up at 4 am, ate my cheerios, drank my orange juice, ate my bagle and peanut butter, and my banana on the toilet in the bathroom with the door closed trying not to wake my wife and daughter. Had a quick shower, and snuck out the door. At 5, the cab arrived at the hotel and dropped me off right at the race start.
I went to the bike first, and put my gu’s and drinks on the bike. I aired up my tires (lots of people had pumps). I went and and double checked my bags then got in line for the porta-potty. After doing my best, I put on my wetsuit. Oh, by the way, the only thing I forgot to bring that morning was a stocking hat.
As we we were herded toward the water, I lingered in the rear. Once again, I was the only swimmer out of more than 2000 with a red inflatable life jacket around my waist. I mean, I cant be the worst swimmer out there (albeit nearly) but Im the only one who has a safety belt on!! If nothing else, its like a parting of the red sea when I head for the water, no one wants to swim next to THAT GUY. Around 6:45 am. the herd of swimmers started dropping into the water. I continued to hover around the transition area and then about 5 minutes before 7, I headed toward the water. As I approached, I noticed a few swimmers walking along a narrow ledge of concrete toward the race start. I followed. I made it within 50 yards of the mass of swimmers chattering in the cold water when the gun went off and the race began. I jumped in.
The first thing I noticed was that the water wasn’t nearly as cold as it was three days earlier. Amazing what adrenaline will do. The seocnd thing I noticed that when you start behind 2000 swimmers in a narrow concrete spillway is that its really hard to go anywhere. Suprisingly, even though I drifted diagnolly across the spillway as we headed 1.2 miles toward the turn around, I missed most of the washing machine experience that I was expecting. I didn’t get kicked, punched or lose my goggles. As we went around the half way point and headed back toward the transition I had my only real encounter with another swimmer. A woman that I was swimming next too for several strokes apparently got tired of me being in her space and with both arms gave me a hefty shove. I was a bit embarrassed by the manhandling and the fact that I had apparently caused her enough problems that she felt that she needed to heave me.
As we climbed up out of the water on what are suspended metal steps leading into the spillway, I reallized the water WAS cold. Everyone, including myself, was chattering loudly as they exited the water. No matter how hard I could try, I couldn’t stop. Moreover, I couldn’t run either. I was doing my best to slosh forward toward the tent and my first ironman change.
Frankly, I was a little bit disappointed with the changing tent. I expected to be pampered in the tent. A fresh towel, someone to assist me with my change into my new biking clothes and gear, but no real assistance appeared. I never got a towel. The grass and the mud I was perched above was as wet as I was and as I changed from my wet outfit to my biking clothes, I was transferring lots of water, grass, and mud. To that, I added a liberal amount of chamois cream so that the next 112 miles wouldn’t chafe my rear. Finally, with my wetsuit and swim wear bagged, I left the tent, still chattering, for the bike.
Honestly, it was a releif to get on the bike. Lots of gu, lots of drinks, and lots of flat road ahead. The sun was up, and while I was still chilled, I began to warm up steadly as I took my cadence to around 100. I kept the speed and my heart rate down for the first 45 minutes and everything seemed to be going as planned. My garmin was ringing every 25 minutes (a great feature) and I was taking a gu and two salt tablets on each que. The only problem that I began to encounter was the urge to urinate. I have to admit, I must not be able to hold my pee. So, halfway out on the the first loop, I made my first pitstop for a porta-potty. I had deliberately decided not to pee on the bike, but to stop, in an effort to keep the risk of chafing to a minimum and thus keep my run strong. However, by the second full loop, I had already stopped six times costing me at least 20-25 minutes and each time I stopped, the break in momentum seemed to pull on me both psychologically and physically.
The first loop, was pretty uneventful. Its a steady climb that gets steeper as you reach the half way point of the loop. Today, there was a steady eastwind that seemed about 10 mph. It was slowing my ascent to around 14-16 mph. Nonetheless, I felt good and was not intent on fighting the wind, I knew that it was going to be a long day. As I reached the first turnaround (and my second porta-potty stop), I was ready to open up back down the hill. Pushing 26-28 mph down the hill, I was warm now and ready to ride.
The loop zigs and zags back into downtown tempe and toward the transition on rather flat ground. Except for another porta-potty stop, there was nothing unexpected as I finished my first loop. I was already getting passed by the faster age groupers and I could tell that my bike speeds (and stops) were not consistent with the majority of the riders. At this point, there wasn’t much to do about it but watch the other bikes pass me by. Again, up the hill and back down again. To me, it appeared that the wind had shifted so it wasn’t quite in your face anymore. I stopped half way down the hill at the special needs bag, and refilled all my bottles and grabbed some more gus.
As I finished my second loop, and headed back out on my third and final, I was determined to not stop anymore. First, I just felt that the likelihood of chafing had subsided, and secondly, the stops were crushing my momentum. Finally, I was alone on the hill. More than half the athletes were finishing their final lap as I headed up the hill for my last turn. All I could hope for at this point was a strong run to redeem my lackluster bike.
This transition went smoother. First of all, it didn’t take 12 minutes and I didn’t chatter through it all. It was 3 p.m. and the sun was already hanging low in the sky. I put my rag on my head, grabbed my bottle, moved my race number from back to front, and off I went.
I was off and right on pace. I was hitting ten minute miles but by mile four I was starting to drag. I needed fuel but I couldn’t get one more gu in my stomach. As I reached the next aid station, I started experimenting. As the night went on, I would try the pretzels, the oranges, the grapes, the cliff bars, the cookies, and the flat coke (I skipped the chips and the chicken broth). As the first of three loops ended, I was struggling to maintain my pace. I was at the wall. I had to make a conscious decision. Push on, and risk not finishing if I crashed, or pull back and find a pace that would make me an ironman.
Heck, Im an ironman. It was a long run. A five hour marathon would be long under normal cirumstances, but tack into onto a 2.4 mile swim and a 112 mile bike ride in the desert, and it makes for a long day. It was a beautiful night–we passed over the “lake” six times, the last few were in the dark and the they were lit up with whitel lights strung from the bridge like Christmas lights. I know I should have been exctied to cross the finish line, but I was done. Not ready to drop or anything, but just over it. The only thing I was eager for was to be with my wife and three year old. Mazie had been dying to race all day, she would have to settle for a medal and a slow walk to the truck.
You can get a lot of advice about how to do finish your first ironman. I will give you a bit of advice that no one gave me….park close to transition. Just a few minutes after crossing the finish line, my body was done. I didn’t want to run, walk, or even crawl one more step. Nonetheless, I gathered my bike, my bags, changed my clothes, and hobbled to the truck.
Upon further inspection, I had avoided any serious chafing or injuries. One blister and a few hot spots on my feet, some chafing on my back, and sunburn lips (don’t forget to put chapstick on). I was an ironman and along with 2400/2500 entries that day, I had finished what I had started. Yes, the race was 13 and a half hours, but I had been training for more than a year and I had done my first triathlon over 2 and half years ago. It had been a long journey and I was happy to be done with this chapter and this race.