Ironman World Championships- Kona 2007
By Andy Pele
My body felt really good until about mile fourteen of the run: few stomach issues, little heat stress, mostly supple muscles. The tight lower back I expected after five hours spent in a relatively uninterrupted aero position never materialized. My feet were squish-squishing in my shoes because I was soaking myself every opportunity I got. After finding a port-a-potty, the first ten miles of the course, mostly along Alii Drive, were great. Shade and spectators were plentiful, hills gentle, ocean views near enough to tempt you with another swim. But then came the short but steep climb up Palani Rd to the Queen K Highway. This is where I was first tempted to walk. But I wanted to avoid walking this ironman. I believed I could and so I pushed on. The cheering crowd began to dwindle behind me, as did the shade. How could I avoid envy as Chris McCormack came running toward me just a mile and a half away from his victory?
My body temperature began to rise until I could feel the blood pounding in the back of my neck. Pride needed to give way to prudence. I thought that if I didn’t start walking through aid stations to allow my body to absorb more fluids and take more time to cool itself, then I would end up in much worse shape. It turned out to be a wise decision. I had always imagined stifling heat rising from the pavement and the bleak black lava, waves of it in the distance creating those mirages of water in the road. But this year must have been less forbidding. What I hadn’t imagined was the heat I would feel just from the intensity of the sun beating down on me unhindered. From mile 15 onward I struggled with it, telling myself that feeling bad would give way to feeling better. “Good is coming,” I chanted inwardly. And it did. For example, I started to pass people again at a point in the race many consider being one of the toughest: the climb up out of the Natural Energy Lab. My spirits soared a bit because I was beyond the turnaround at mile eighteen. I was no longer running away from the finish, but toward it. I ignored the fact that it was still eight miles away and tried not to think of the intervening climbs. This is where I saw Christian Waterstraat running down toward the turnaround. How did I get ahead of him I wondered? Later he told me that his run had turned into a “tour de port-a- potty.”
At every aid station it was ice down the tri tank, sponges and water over the head, water in the face and down the throat, more ice, more sponges. As the water evaporated off me I’d be cool for about 400 meters. Then the heat would rise again and I’d start scanning the horizon for the next aid station. I doubt that this anticipation made me run any faster. By this time I was taking in so much fluids that side stitches became a problem. I knew they’d go away, but I would have to slow down, because I’m not willful enough to ignore them. For the most part, my muscles were still behaving themselves, as were my knees and ankles. One hamstring threatened to cramp and reminded me not to stride out too far. My feet and toes were getting sore. At the end of the race I would peel off my shoes to find five blisters on my toes, horrendously similar to the ones I got running without socks at the Whirlpool Steelhead half-ironman. The socks didn’t help much because they were soaked throughout the run. I rallied for a mile or two after mile twenty to stick with another forty year old who passed me, but as in Coeur d’Alene, the last three miles were awful. I need to learn how to conquer this ironman marathon. One thing that might have helped was a hat to store ice on my head, rather than a visor. I also want to design a jersey with “ice pockets” so that I can keep the precious ice next to my skin between aid stations.
I can’t believe how bad I felt when I compare it to how great I felt on the bike. For the first two and half hours, 240 watts seemed like a comfortable effort. I kept limiting myself so I wouldn’t average more than 240. That would be a smart move too because by the end of the 112 miles I was working hard not to let the average for the ride drop below 230 watts. The wind became a factor from about twenty miles before Hawi to twenty miles after. At times I adopted a modified aero position with one elbow resting on the armrest and the other hand near the brakes. I wanted to be stable when the gusts hit from the side so that I wouldn’t swerve into other riders. The climb to Hawi was difficult as well. It’s not very steep, but it’s long and deceptive. Your eyes tell you that you aren’t really climbing but your speedometer and legs tell the truth. I only averaged about fifteen mph here for about six miles. But after the turnaround my bicycle became the speed weapon I longed for- six miles at an average pace near 35 mph.
I didn’t think much about the stream of people I was passing so I was pretty surprised to see that I had moved up 526 spots during the ride. And I didn’t even bother to count the people who passed me. I encouraged one rider as I passed her and when I brought my gaze back to the road in front of me found my wheels bumping straight over a discarded water bottle. That was a close one. I did witness some drafting during the ride. I would yell out as I passed them, “I hope you wheel suckers are having a good ride!!” No comment from the guilty. I’m not always a nice guy I guess. This time I heckled happily to humiliate. At Powerman Ohio, on the other hand, I derided drafting offenders angrily because instead of passing them, they were passing me. I used to doubt that doping was prevalent in age groupers. But if they’re willing to cheat by drafting at championship races, what’s to stop them from doping. They probably have a greater chance of getting caught drafting and yet they still do it. These thoughts came afterwards though. I didn’t waste energy on negative emotions like anger and disappointment until my race was over, or nearly over.
I got to see Nicole and my mom near the start of the bike ride, which was very cool. I waved to them knowing that the next 100 miles would not harbor the cheers of loved ones. I had written several race numbers on the back of my hand before the race started. One was Laurent Jalabert who I just wanted to recognize as he flew by me. The others were people I had just met and wanted to encourage if I ever saw them during the race. Jesse Du Bey was one. He was the only person from Full Throttle Endurance to come to Kona. I was chasing him on the run at Halfmax but failed to catch him. I talked to him a little after the race and met his recent bride. He seemed like a really nice guy. Keish Doi shared my age group and he had run past me at about mile nineteen at IM Coeur d’Alene to finish 3rd. After passing him on the bike I kept listening for his footsteps at Kona but it wasn’t his day. Hawaii was his 9th ironman race this year… INCREDIBLE! I almost thanked him for doing Ironman Wisconsin just 4 weeks ago so I could beat him at Hawaii, by just over a minute.
Thankfully I felt fresh and ready to ride after exiting the water behind more than half the competitors. All 2.4 miles of the swim felt crowded to me, more so than any other race I’ve done. But I didn’t get kicked hard or mauled. Even the start wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. The waters were smooth and the swimmers must have been too, because I swallowed very little salt water. Instead of lifting my head to sight, I raised it looking for unoccupied waters. The serene beauty of the sea life I gazed at during practice swims was replaced during the race by views of bubbles and large languishing hairy feet (the coach from Life Sport Coaching said we should look for large males who don’t kick much to draft off in the swim.) Twice those feet led me to the inside of the buoys so I should be more careful and sight more. Two years ago I did the same thing at Ironman Wisconsin and was so naïve and afraid to “cheat” that I swam back to the buoy and around it. Those other swimmers must have thought I was crazy. Nearing the beach I reminded myself not to try to stand until I saw the sand so that I wouldn’t end up with a sea urchin spine in my foot. My watch said about 1:10 and I was pleased with that since I swam that same time in Idaho while wearing a wetsuit.
I worked hard all year to improve my swim. However, I don’t think the payoff was worth the effort. Next year I’m devoting more time to the bike and run: 1:15 swim, 5 hour bike, and 3:15 run, 9:30 here I come.