Kona - Race Day - Long Version

For the shorter version of this, click here

What you're about to read is the good, the bad, and the ugly. Overall, I had a great experience - I tried to share as much as I could remember - enjoy...

Getting to the Race
The alarm on my mobile wakes me at 4am - I slept pretty well considering this is race day. Not yet awake enough to be nervous. The calm waters of Kialua Bay encourage me as I sit on the lanai chugging liquid calories, eat a banana, take my electrolytes, and start hydrating.

At 5:20am Sena and I begin our walk to the start - the streets are loaded with buff athletes and their families heading for their biggest race of the year, and for some, the biggest race of their life.

I'm feeling a bit cold and put on an extra t-shirt over my race tank top. This also helps alleviate the ropes from my water filled pack digging into my skin.

The Transition Circus
The transition area is ordered chaos. The energy level is high and tense - I try to smile and stay relaxed and focused. Race volunteers are herding nervous racers to the entry point of the transition area. Sena and I get separated and I take my cell phone so I can find her later to give her my bike pump, sandals, glasses, etc.

In the transition area, I load up my bento box, fill my water and fuel supplies, and pump my tires. A race volunteer holds my bike while I pump - I fill the rear to 130psi, then add one more pump 'for good measure' I say to the race volunteer. The rear tire is rated at 145psi, and they say the heat from the morning sun has a tendency to blow your tires if over inflated. My earlier training ride was at 130psi. My front tire is rated at 165, and I fill it to 135 because it is difficult to pump much higher and this makes me nervous.

Several people borrow my bike pump and extra water as I get my bike ready - people seem to be very nervous-friendly - looking for someone to talk to in order to avoid thinking too much about the race.

It takes some time to find Sena, and I'm glad I brought my cell phone which simplifies the task. We find a quiet spot near one of the top women athletes to just relax and enjoy the moment. Sena wishes me the best and I head back into the transition area to wait for the start.

At 6:40, the US Coast Guard kicks off the event by sky diving into the race start. In a short while, the pros start, but I don't have a very good vantage point. A race volunteer directs a group of us to a fairly desirable starting point, where I have one more opportunity to pee before the race begins. I wait until 6:55 to get into the water and then make my way to the start.

I go Swimmin'
The cannon booms at 7:00 sharp and we're off. The next 80 minutes are surreal. My plan was to swim to the left and avoid the masses, but somehow I ended up going straight at each buoy - I think I was corralled like a school of fish all going in the same direction, never really getting a choice, just trying not to get bumped and jostled too much. My goggles won't stay sealed (again!) and I just try to swim straight with my eyes closed as much as possible, only stopping to clear my goggles about a dozen times. Swimming with my eyes closed is actually more relaxing than seeing all of the body parts floundering around you, but occasionally leads to a kick to the head.

At some point I look up and see the turn around boat and think that this isn't too bad, but then it seems to take forever to actually get to the boat. At the boat, we swim west for 100meters, then head back to shore. Things seem to get a bit less congested when I realize that I am actually swimming slightly inside the buoys. Except for salt water burning the crap out of my eyes and my arms starting to feel like lead, the rest of the swim was ok. It was great to see the 50 foot blow up Gatorade bottles on the shore, but again it seemed to take forever to finally reach the sandy bottom. (did I mention that I suck at swimming)

Sunscreen anyone?
I run through the transition area noting that I finished in under 1:20, which is good because my expectation was between 1:15 and 1:30. In the changing tent I trade my swim cap, goggles and skin suit for a heart rate chest strap and race number. I then start looking for the volunteers that are supposed to be spraying suntan lotion on us. Keep in mind that I left my eye glasses with Sena almost 2 hours ago, so my near sighted vision, the burning salt water, and the glare from the morning sun are all conspiring to make me a stumbling blind man running through transition yelling 'sun screen - who has sun screen'. Unfortunately several volunteers point me in a direction the eventually leads to my bike without ever finding a sunscreen volunteer. Fortunately I have my own sunscreen in my bento box, that I get a non-designated sunscreen volunteer to spray on me. While I'm putting on my helmet and prescription sunglasses, the volunteer decides to spray himself with my sunscreen instead of doing a really good job on me - missing the inside of my shoulder blades, which I should have remembered from previous races.

Lost Chain and Flat Tire in the first 12 miles
After running through the transition area with my bike, then mounting my bike, I am finally doing something I am good at. There is only about 50 yards before you have to climb a hill, so it is important to get some speed, get your feet in the shoes and be ready to go before you start to climb (my family saw one crash and many near misses at this point in the course because people were having trouble clipping in quickly).

There are a lot of short climbs and turns in the first 11 miles of the bike course... Up Palani (~100 steep meters), left on Kuakini (~3/4 mile), right (up) Malaki (~1/4 steep mile), right on Queen K (~1 mile), right (down) on Palini (~200 steep meters - no passing zone), left on Kuakini (~3.5miles rolling, ending with a steep uphill), then turn around to Queen K the same way you came.

I started passing people right away and, as I expected in this field, I also get passed occasionally too. My cadence sensor got bumped in the transition rack, so I have no idea what my cadence is - oh well, I'll live. I lose my chain going up Kuakini about 5 miles in, and am frustrated that I have to get off to fix it instead of just getting it back on by shifting down and pedaling.

Once I get on the Queen K, I start feeling good, thinking "I'm freaking doing the Kona Ironman"... and then boom, my rear tire blows - flat in an instant. Fortunately I didn't crash. It takes me a minute to realize what is going on, then I get busy changing the tire. My first tube has a hole in it - crap! People are flying by on their bikes. Something is going on about 15 meters from me, but I'm trying to stay on task. Ok, this tube is working out. I over hear someone saying Natasha is out of the race, doesn't look good... I look over and see a guy across the road on his cell phone looking at the group of people huddled 15 meters from me. I see a woman sitting on the ground - it's Natasha Badman. No time for autographs, I've got to get my tire fixed.

After changing the tire, I ride slowly by Natasha and wish her well, encouraging her to rejoin the race if she feels up to it. She smiles and tells me to have a good race too - very cool lady.

Trying to Find some Rhythm
Riding down the Queen K, it takes a while for my legs to start to warm up again. I start passing loads of people and try to put my 10 minute delay into perspective - it's a long day out here - 10 minutes doesn't mean much - just do your best on the day. I worry about another flat, because I don't have a spare tube. Fortunately I don't get another flat the rest of the day.

The winds are fairly light for the next 30 miles along the Queen K, but I just don't feel good. I'm drinking plenty of water, and taking electrolytes and fuel - just like training, but more water than usual - hard to say how much I am actually drinking - there are so many water stops and I just keep filling the tank. For some reason body just isn't absorbing the water, making it hard for the nutrients to get into my system. I had the same problem at the NY Marathon a few years back.

Normally I get into a great rhythm about 25 miles in, but here I am over 40 miles into the ride and things are going south. The winds start picking up at the turn toward Havi and I start to get nauseous and a headache. I see a sign 18 miles to Havi - not so bad, then I start to see the pros - ok, I'm only an hour behind, I lie to myself. The next 18 miles are tough - mostly up hill and windy - I pass fewer people. A Spaniard age grouper and I trade places for the next 30 miles - he doesn't appear to speak English and he is in no mood for joking - eventually he falls back. I skip my special needs bag since it only contains extra protein drink that I'll only need if I go over 6 hours... hmm.

A Blustery Downhill
The ride down from Havi is hairy. Intense side winds, but lots of downhill, so you're going fast. Some riders just take it easy going down, but I keep pedalling and bracing myself against the winds. Riders are literally leaning into the wind, but then the wind stops, or a car passes and you have to adjust. The balance of cyclist is really an amazing thing.

At the bottom of the hill, my bike computer tells me 'memory full' - damn, I knew I was forgetting something. Oh well, I decide not to bother with it on the run.

The Blast Furnace
The ride back is rough, and I keep asking myself - 'are you doing your best'. It's a simple mantra - everybody needs one on a long course. I think about the pre-race meeting and how they said to try to enjoy the day because it goes by too fast, but my head is splitting and I want to puke. The wind has picked up throughout the day and the sun is beating down - it's a blast furnace. This is my low point for the day, and I look out across the Pacific and think about my brother-in-law Jim Walker who died earlier this year - I have dedicated this race to Jim and I will get through this... I push myself those last 30 miles, each one seems to take longer than the last.

Bike to Run Transition - a muddled mess
I stumble through the bike-to-run transition. The volunteer in the changing tent was the least helpful volunteer I've had in all of my Ironman races. When other volunteers come to over to help me he shoo's them away because he was there if I needed him. One thing that surprised me was when I went to put vaseline on my feet, the tube was so warm that it just came squirting out all over. After leaving the tent twice and returning because I think I forgot something, I finally get it together, still forgetting my water bottle (as it turns out, that was probably a good thing), and forgetting my gel packs, which isn't such a good thing.

Running in the Ironman - cooler than I thought it could be
On the run course I start feeling better. I fill my hat and shorts with ice every chance I get. Ice in the shorts might sound... uncomfortable, but it all just goes to the elastic band on the legs and keeps the hamstrings and quads cool, while dripping cool water down your legs. I also put sponges in my shirt. Fortunately, I don't get blisters on my feet very easily (especially with vaseline on my feet), so I run the whole marathon with wet feet. I am really comfortable for the first 12 miles or so, but by overcompensating on staying cool and hydrating a lot, I probably am not sweating enough, so I start to get that bloated and pukey feeling again. I keep a steady pace for the next 4 miles, but then start struggling big time, but won't let myself walk - 'are you doing your best'.

Will you be able to walk down the Aisle?
During the first 15 miles I kept trading places with a super studette 23 year-old. She seems to have quite the following along the entire course. We start talking in those bleak volcanic fields and she tells me that she was going to be married in 3 days! I ask her if she will be able to walk down the aisle at her wedding after this race, as I pass her for what turns out to be the last time.

What is the Energy lab anyway?
Going down into the Energy lab is like going to hell - you go down, it gets hotter and doesn't seem to end. It took me a while to figure out what the Energy lab is. Turns out, it has nothing to do with the race giving you an energy boost - it's a government research facility that turns changes in water temperatures into electrical power - it just happens to be the last turn around point in the marathon.

A kind Gesture
Once you get out of the energy lab you're coming up on mile 20, where my body decides to give back all of that fluid I have been dumping into it all day. It takes about 5 times to clear my system. A 60 year old stud comes up behind me and pats me gently on the back and said some kind words - that really meant a lot at the time. After about a mile of recovery I started feeling good again, and at mile 23, I decide I could push the pace to the finish, and I move pretty well for those final three miles - steady, focused strong. My strongest final Ironman miles!

The Finish
The run down Allii drive is the best finish line spectacle I've ever seen - I only now wish I would have slowed down and enjoyed it more - I barely heard my family calling my name as I sprinted to the finish and didn't see them until 20 minutes later. I hear my name, I cross the finish, I pump my arms, I get my lei - what a great feeling!!!

Tunnel Vision
A couple of really great race volunteers walk with me to the family meeting area. I stop at a shower and rinse off, telling the race volunteers that I'll be ok. I wait in line to get my medal, and I wait, and wait, and I'm surrounded by people and I can't breath, and my legs are going weak, and I'm getting tunnel vision, and I realize I'm about to pass out. Fortunately there is a race volunteer right there to help me to a bench, where I recover for about 10 minutes.

I begin talking with an old dude from Australia that's been at this for 20 years - he is in bad shape like me. The race volunteer gets me water and my medal, and then Erika and Rachel find me, called Sena. We try to help the Australian guy find his wife, but can't figure out how to call her out-of-country number.

Salt and Family - good combo after a long race
After some pictures, we walk over to my sisters hotel a block away, where my mother and sister are waiting. I shower and eat Tostidos (they really hit the spot), and tell them all about my day and they tell me about all of the cool things they saw all day long. What a special way to finish this race.