raidernarizona said:

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Nailing the nutrition is the scariest part for me. Race is providing Maurten and Mortal Hydration. I've been training with Maurten only on my longest rides just cause it's more costly. I really like Medjool dates for carbs, but I can only see carrying this on the bike. Definitely feels like I'm going into uncharted waters with my longest training sessions lasting 6 hours, and race day over 2x that.

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P.U.T.U said:

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Don't do anything new on race day including nutrition, go slower on the bike and the first half of the run than you think you should be going, walk all of the aid stations on the run, and realize how great flat coke is on the last part of the run.

That is a ton of fiber from the dates, just a warning if your longest training session is 6 hours and you then have a 14 hour race or whatever that may cause some stomach issues. At this point don't change anything with your nutrition, you may want to try something so do it before your taper sessions but make sure if something comes up you have a plan of action. Dropped nutrition, water bottle, etc. happen so be flexible. 200-400 calories an hour is about normal on the bike, it depends on how long you will be on the bike as well. You don't need as many calories per hour on a 7 hour ride as you do on a 5 hour. I think when I did my IM I was around 350-400 and did a 5 hour ride

I wouldn't wear a neoprene swim cap, quick google search says the water temp at the lake is around 68. Your body starts to get dehydrated with water temps over 74F and the cooler water will help you stay hydrated. I did a swim in 53 degree water and had no issues with my head staying warm, remember you lose a large portion of your body heat through your head.

You will hit a wall, maybe multiple. Just focus on making it to the next street sign, hill, or whatever. If you start thinking about how much longer you have it will tear you up, break the race down into smaller chunks

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htxag09 said:

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IMTX was where I had the chicken broth. It was the year the race was in October but temp was still 90ish.

Not sure why, but that warm chicken broth going down really gave me a boost.

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raidernarizona said:

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Be curious to hear your insights on AZ, 00!

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Quote:

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11:46:09 was the official time and regardless of anything that sounds like complaining in this RR, I couldn't be happier and I'm definitely not complaining about my time. I'm absolutely satisfied with the result.

Pre-Race

I signed up for this race a year ago, and although excited, it was so far away that it was just a blip on my radar. I trained for and qualified for Boston in May, and then my training officially began. Even saying my training was officially beginning, November was so far away that it was hard to make the race feel like it was real. I trained and ramped up my mileage. I spent more time on the bike. I woke up at 5 a.m. and rode 50+ miles before work. I did bricks. I did open water swims at Coney Island, yet the race still felt like it was a million miles away.

I started feeling really strong on the bike and the run. My swim never felt good, but I just needed to get through the swim and then hit my strengths. Although I didn't really admit it to anyone, I was feeling invincible on the bike and the run. I really had no idea what I could do in the Ironman, but set some loose goals of:

1) First and foremost, crossing the finish line.
2) Anything under 14 hours and I'd be satisfied with the finish. Anything over and I'd still be happy with finishing, but I'd probably be a bit disappointed in the back of my mind.
3) Breaking 12 hours. I thought about it. 1:30 for the swim. 6:30 on the bike. 4:00 on the marathon. Roughly 12 hours. I'd have to go a little faster on each segment to account for transitions, and I knew I could potentially do much better on the bike, but there was no way to really know how I'd ride the terrain. Additionally, if I had a bad swim, that time could get alot worse. Still, 12 hours seemed attainable.

Then work happened. When I signed up for the race, I knew the NYC Marathon would be three weeks prior. I knew it would be a long week of work, but it would be roughly aligned with my taper, so I wasn't really worried. Then the Human Race was brought back to NYC...one week before the marathon. One long week stretched to two, plus build up in the weeks before. Just when I was feeling strong, I lost several weeks of training due to long hours. I still got some runs and swims in, but I wasn't on the bike at all for a solid 2.5 weeks. I missed several long runs. My swims were maxed out at 30 minutes. I still had a base, but I lost a lot. I even lost the little things like my back not hurting from being in the aero bars and being comfortable on the saddle for hours at a time. Once the madness from the two races ended, I got in some decent training, but came to grips with the fact that time goals needed to be thrown out. Leaving for AZ, all I wanted to do was cross the finish line.

Arizona Pre-Race

My parents picked me up at the airport on thursday night. I had asked them to come out for the race over a year ago. It looked like they weren't going to be able to make it, but they worked it out at the last minute. I was really happy to have them there to experience the race with me. Anyway, on friday morning I went down to Tempe Town Lake to swim and check out the water. I put on my wetsuit, hopped in, and immediately started the usual anxiety. I don't know what it is, but I have issues with open water. I can't breathe. Its almost like I'm hyperventilating. It has to be all in my head, because I can swim all day in a pool. I spent about 10 minutes in the water settling down and then did a really quick swim. Later in the day I went back down and picked up my race stuff, bought some swag, and picked up my bike.

I sent all my stuff with my parents and took my bike out for about a 40 minute ride to keep the legs loose. It felt amazing to be riding out there. I rode up through Papago Park and just took in the scenery. There's something about the desert that I've always been attracted to. Perhaps it stems from living in New Mexico when I was younger; I don't know. As I rode, I got a huge smile on my face and actually said out loud, "I'm going to love this race." When I got back to the hotel, I quickly threw on my running shoes and did a quick 15 minute jog.

Friday evening, my dad went with me to the mandatory athlete meeting. I figured there was very little they would go over that I didn't already know, but since it was my first IM, I figured it was a good idea to go down there. We arrived a little early and caught the end of the banquet where they were introducing the youngest, oldest, and participants who had lost the most weight. We sat back on the grass and I looked around at the other participants and tried to take in the enormity of what I was going to attempt in less than 48 hours. The race director and officials ran everyone through the rules and guidelines and that was it.

On saturday I went back down to the lake to try another swim. I hopped in and immediately started the anxiety thing again. I did a few exercises that Francis worked me through out at Coney Island, but they didn't seem to work. I just kept trying over and over to make myself put my head in the water and breath correctly. After about 15 minutes, I was able to get it right and swim normally. It wasn't ideal, but I figured if it took me 15 minutes on race day, I'd just have to deal with the setback, keep moving forward, and then swim once I settled down. I went back to the hotel and sorted out my gear. I got my bike ready to go and then my dad and I went drove it down to drop it and my gear bags off at the transition area. After dropping my stuff off, I returned to the hotel to rest up and watch college football while my parents went sight-seeing.

That evening, my parents and I went to eat at an Italian restaurant not far from our hotel. We went inside and sat down to wait to be seated. I looked up and noticed a woman that looked familiar. I looked a second time and then said, "Pam?" Pam Reed looked over immediately and got a big smile on her face. She exclaimed, "oh my God, what are you doing here?" I had paced Pam at Badwater earlier this year. She had forgotten that I was doing IMAZ, and I got busy and forgot to shoot her an email before I left for Arizona. We chatted for a bit about the race and caught up. After Pam and her husband finished dinner, she came over to give me a few last-minute tips and wish me luck on the race.

I returned to the hotel with thoughts of the next morning in my head. I carefully sorted out the remaining gear I needed to take with me in the morning and again attempted to swallow the reality of the following day. I finally went to bed expecting to not sleep at all, but to my surprise, I fell asleep almost immediately.

Race Day

The alarm went off not too long after 4 a.m. and I got up to get some food in my stomach and get ready to head down to the start. I had slept amazingly well and actually felt rested. I ate a bagel, a banana, and a granola bar. I then mixed my two bottles of Accelerade, grabbed my wetsuit and put everything into the appropriate bags. I then got dressed and told my dad I was ready to go down to the race.

As we crossed the bridge over Tempe Town Lake I looked out over the swim course and kept repeating to myself, "KMF, KMF, KMF..." Keep Moving Forward. It was the mantra I had adopted for the swim (and subsequently the race). If I could just keep moving forward no matter what happened, I would be ok. We pulled up to the transition area and I bid my father goodbye. He said "good luck" and that he would see me later in the day. I knew I wouldn't see my parents until I was on the bike and likely wouldn't even be able to say a word to them until I was on the run many hours later.

It was still dark out and I walked past the athlete village and made my way to the transition area. As I walked down, toward the bike transition filled with nervous athletes making last-minute tweaks to bikes, helmet, shoes, and gear, I thought about what I needed to drop in which area. Suddenly, my heart sank. I was only holding one bag in my hand. A vision of two plastic, drawstring bags lazily, carelessly nestled on the floor between a coffee table and an arm chair conjured in my head. Both my special needs bags were at the hotel. I immediately reached for my pocket, but my hand grasped at nothing as another vision appeared of my blackberry sitting on the coffee table at the hotel. My second bottle of Accelerade, Mt. Dew, Endurolytes, and extra gels carefully planned out for later miles were now of no use to me. I panicked. I cursed. I castigated myself. There was nothing I could do. I went to the transition areas and organized what I could and took inventory of the nutrition I did have. I knew there would be plenty of gels on the course, but I was more worried about the Accelerade and the Endurolytes.

I walked the perimeter of the bike transition a few times hoping that my dad had realized my mistake and would miraculously return with my bags and save the day. I then walked back out to the corner of the street hoping to see him return. I waited about 15 minutes, but I caught no glimpse of him. I returned to the bike transition and walked the perimeter once again. I went and got marked with my race number, and then made one final sweep of the area hoping for that miracle. With no reinforcements, I accepted the mistake and started planning for nutrition based on what I had. There was little else I could do. I went to get ready for the swim and as I pulled my gear from my bag I couldn't find my goggles. I frantically searched everywhere, but they were nowhere to be found. I cursed again. I pleaded, "please, please," and as I felt the pain of defeat, the goggles fell from a crease in my wetsuit. I put on my wetsuit, dropped off my morning clothes bag, and headed to face my biggest fear.

The Swim (KMF)

I nervously walked toward the swim entry. My naked feet felt numb against the cold pavement. I donned my goggles and swim cap and shuffled through the chilly morning air toward the ominous body of water which would hold my fate and possibly even end my day early. The pros were in the water making their way to the start as I wove through the crowd and closer to the lake. I fought the urge to linger and delay my meeting with the water. I knew the more time I spent in the water before the starting gun went off, the better. I needed to get in. I slid down the cement wall and stood along the edge. I took a look around and swallowed one last glimpse of the chaos surrounding me, one last moment of security.

I took a deep breath and jumped. The cold water immediately stole the breath from my lungs as my head emerged from the water. I swam head out of the water away from the edge and the masses of people jumping into the water, which I collected and calmed myself. I knew I wanted to swim over to the far inside and stay toward the back. I didn't care that I would have to swim a bit farther than those at the front, I just needed to get through it and wanted as few problems as possible. The fewer people trying to pass me, the better.

I swam under the two sets of bridges and made my way to the inside. I positioned myself toward the back and felt satisfied with my starting position. Directly behind me a guy exclaimed, "well, i thought I was going to start at the back, but it doesn't look like I did a very good job of putting myself there. I turned around to a mass of bobbing heads as far as I could see. Crap. Oh well. I gathered around one of the volunteers in a kayak. A dozen or so of us were clinging to the side of his vessel to conserve energy as we awaited the start. One girl thanked him for volunteering and he responded telling us there was no way he could miss the event. He said from his vantage point on the water, the start was the coolest thing in all of sports. He told us that as the mass of swimmers all starts at once, it actually creates a wave in the water. As the impending start grew nearer, we thanked him and moved away to ready ourselves.

I closed my eyes and kept repeating, "KMF." We were given some last words of inspiration, the Star Spangled Banner was sung, and before I knew what had happened the starting gun was fired. I instinctively started moving forward. My vision was filled with a blue sky and then a tangle of arms and legs thrashing in the water as swimmers fought for position. I had a fleeting moment where I thought that I was going to have no issues with the swim. That confidence quickly disappeared as my breathing skyrocketed and anxiety flooded in and consumed me. KMF. I kept my head out of the water and tried to collect my breathing as I moved forward in a very inefficient, rudimentary swim stroke. People kept crawling up my back, kicking, and hitting me as the aggressive, seasoned swimmers went by me. I was swimming in a washing machine.

Eventually, I collected myself enough to get my breathing mostly corrected and attempted to swim freestyle. Each time, I would get a few strokes in and then someone would run into me and throw me off. I kept telling myself it was ok. KMF. "Stop and regroup if you have to, but just keep going." Eventually I was able to find pockets of open water and the number of strokes before a regroup continued to increase. I kept checking my watch to measure my progress as I looked to the first bridge in the distance. I knew that the turn buoy was on the other side of the bridge. If I could get to the bridge, I would feel like I had made progress.

I finally got to the bridge and spotted the turn buoy in the distance. The red inflatable was a beacon of hope, of happiness. It was only the first turn, but a monumental goal. It was a signal that I would get through the swim. My slow swim and zig zag path produced almost a 45 minute split for the first length of the swim, but I was feeling more comfortable and knew I would come in under the cut-off. I made the first turn, stayed to the inside and swam to the second turn buoy without the need for a regroup.

I made the second turn and knew I just had one long stretch before the swim was virtually over. I decided to divide the third length by buoys. I timed myself between buoys, checking my watch at each floating inflatable. My times continued to improve as I found my stroke and felt the power in my arms as I pulled myself through the water. The regroups were less common, becoming rare. I felt confident. I felt strong, but mostly I felt happy. I was elated. I was conquering my fear. I still wasn't swimming in much of a straight line, but the double set of bridges drew nearer, signaling my approach to the swim finish. I could see a line of arms and heads in the distance swimming perpendicular to me. I could hear Mike Reilly calling out names of people exiting the water. The finish was within sight.

I made the final turn and smiled as I focused on the aluminum steps leading out of the water ahead. I still had a hundred yards or so to go, but I knew I was safe. I didn't even need the comfort of earth below me to know, I had defeated the water. I picked up the pace and got to the steps as the volunteers helped me out of the water. I was back on land. It took me just under an hour and a half to get out of the water, but there was nothing to stop me. I found confidence and swam much faster as the swim leg progressed.

T1

I got out of the water and my legs didn't really feel too much like jelly. I made my way over to the wetsuit strippers. A girl helped me out of my wetsuit, telling me exactly how to get out of it in what seemed like a ridiculously easy method. She handed my wetsuit to me and wished me good luck. I responded with a thank you and ran to my bike gear bag. I immediately put on my helmet and went to the port-o-potty to relieve myself. I had tried as hard as I could to go while in the water in my wetsuit before the start of the race, but I absolutely could not make myself. An hour and a half later, I really had to go. I went into the changing tent, put on some chamois butter, popped on my sunglasses and shoes, and then loaded my gels and small bag of Endurolytes into my jersey.

I ran through the transition area as best I could in my tri shoes and as I approached the rack containing my bike, a volunteer appeared with my bike. I grabbed it and headed out of the transition area.

Bike

As I pedaled down Rio Salado and the crowd started thinning, I kept stealing glances at my bike computer. I was seeing speeds of 22+ mph. I knew I wanted to keep my early pace closer to 18 mph and then increase the speed as I was able to get a grasp on how my body felt. To keep with my nutrition plan and potentially slow myself down a little, I grabbed a power bar from my bento box and ate. I was still passing rider after rider even while eating. One good thing about being slow on the swim was that I knew I would be passing people all day long.

I made the turns as I headed out of town and into the wind. The forecast was for little to no wind, but once we were out in the open, I could feel the wind slowing the pace. My speed creeped down to 17-18 mph as I started the long gradual climb up the false flat that lead the way to the turnaround point. A huge smile crept its way across my face as the cool morning wind kissed my face. I looked around and took in my surroundings. The mountains in the distance and the cactus were gorgeous. The reds and oranges that the desert landscape is painted with washed over me and I had flood of memories of riding across the desert in '04 with Texas 4000. A warmth took over me. Even with hundreds of other riders, I felt alone. It was my race. It was my road.

I continued passing riders, and occasionally I got caught in packs where faster groups were trying to get by groups of slower riders. I was paranoid of getting called out for a drafting penalty, but, at times, I was boxed in, so I had no choice. The wind continued to increase and I saw my speed fall to 15-16 mph, with a couple dips into the 14s. I pushed the slow speeds out of my head knowing that when I made my turnaround I could fly.

I followed my plan to take a sip of Accelerade every 5 miles. The bottle I started with would get me to about mile 60. After that, I would have to switch to Gatorade Endurance, which was provided on course, as my other bottle of Accelerade was in the forgotten special needs bag. As I approached the turnaround on the far end of the first loop, I pulled out a Roctane to ingest at the aid station. My plan was to take in additional nutrition every hour on the bike. I took the gel, a sip of water, and started to fly. With the wind at my back, I was easily pedaling my way to speeds in excess of 30 mph. I rocketed past people and remembered why I love cycling so much. I was only about 20 miles into the ride, but already the swim felt like it happened ages ago. It couldn't be a part of what I was currently doing. It was a separate event that happened years ago, possibly to someone else entirely.

I got through the long section of the out-and-back and started nearing town again. Shortly after making one of the turns and processing the appearance of a multi-screen drive-in theater, I looked to my right and saw my parents sitting in chairs in the shade on the side of the road. I waved to my dad and he waved back. I looked to my mother, but she was staring off into the distance. I didn't get to make eye contact with her, but no doubt that my dad had immediately alerted her to my passing, probably with, "your son just rode by." It felt good knowing they were out there, but I still felt bad that they had to be incredibly bored for large portions of the day.

I got back to Rio Salado and the energy of the crowds as I approached the turn around powered my legs to speeds in the upper 20s. I hit the turnaround point averaging over 20 mph for the first loop. I went back out for the second loop of the course and shortly after hit the 2 hour mark, which signaled time for me to eat another PowerBar. I sat up out of the aero position and ate the PowerBar as I headed back out toward the first left turn that carried me away from the ASU campus. I rode back out toward the drive-in where I had seen my parents. As I rode by the spot where they had previously been, they were nowhere to be seen. Over the next couple miles, I looked for them figuring they had moved to a more advantageous viewing location. I never spotted them, so eventually my mind wandered back to the pedaling at hand.

I made the last of the turns on the outbound side, and settled into a decent pace into what was becoming a very noticeable headwind. I realized it was time to start taking in some Endurolytes, so I reached to the pocket in my jersey and only grasped a gel. I knew I had put them in the right side, but checked the left pocket regardless. Again, fruitless. When I pulled out the Roctane earlier, the Endurolytes must have fallen out. I was now without any salt supplements. I could only hope that there would be enough electrolytes in the bars, gels, and Gatorade to stave off cramping for the remainder of the race.

As I continued the long, gradual incline to the turnaround, I found myself making up nicknames for the riders around me. I'd read their name on their bib and give them a nickname, which would automatically come to mind when they would catch back up or when I would re-pass them. There were a few slight gusts, which knocked my speed down around 14 mph, but I was managing to stay around 17 mph. I was nearing the end of my bottle of Accelerade, but I was right on schedule with drinking it every five miles.

I neared the turnaround, took another Roctane, and finished off my Accelerade. I made the turn and grabbed a water to refill my aero bottle. Then I tossed my Accelerade bottle and grabbed a Gatorade from one of the volunteers. With the wind again at my back and a slight decline, I pushed the pace back up to about 29 mph. I was once again flying past rider after rider. I was thinking about how many people I was passing and hhow much better I could be riding had my training gone as I had originally intended. Just as I was feeling like I was crushing everyone on the course, the race leader blew by me like I was sitting still. My ego deflated even further as pro after pro went by me effortlessly.

I regained my confidence when I realized I was still passing people and was still pushing 30 mph. A smile crept across my face as I reflected on how its rare for amateurs to be competing on the same course as the pros. Even with distance running, the pros are so far ahead you never see them. Granted, these pros were lapping me, but they were still within an arm's length as they went by. No one gets to play alongside the pros in Yankee Stadium.

As I settled in for the ride back to town, I noticed the tightness in my back was starting to get worse. I knew this was going to become an issue, but I was hoping it would wait until later in the ride. I lost a solid 3 weeks of training on the bike due to work. Additionally, I had to drop off my tri bike almost 2 weeks before the race. I finished out my training on my road bike. My back wasn't conditioned to being in the aero position like it was previously. I was trying to stay down, but more and more often I had to ride out of the aero position. I knew it was slowing me down, but it was just too uncomfortable to ride aero. I passed the special needs area and sighed knowing there was no reinforcements for me.

I navigated my way back through the turns leading toward town and once again started looking around for my parents thinking that maybe I just missed them on my way out. Once I passed the drive-in where I originally saw them, I focused at getting to the end of the loop. Approaching the highway signaled the homestretch of the loop, which was an emotional and physical lift. I saw my pace pick up as the crowds thickened and the cheers increased. I turned onto Rio Salado and cranked the straightaway smiling the entire way. I made the turn at the end of the loop and dug in for my final bike loop.

I consumed my final Powerbar as I finished off the section of Rio Salado and made the left turn toward the highway overpasss. I navigated a few of the turns and refilled my water bottle at one of the aid stations. When I reached the long straightaway of the loop, I noticed that the wind had all but died down. I still felt like I had plenty of energy and was excited to be on my final bike loop. Due to my back, I had been riding upright for many miles and it seemed like I would have to finish out the bike portion out of the aero position. There was little I could do about it, but I was still moving along at well over 18 mph, so I was satisfied. I had been doing math for the past few hours and knew that I was going to come in well under 6 hours on the bike, which also made me happy.

As I neared mile 90, I started to get a bit uncomfortable in the saddle, but it wasn't debilitating. I grabbed another bottle of Gatorade Endurance and took my final Roctane to carry me through the rest of the bike and the start of the run. My speed on the return of the loop wasn't much faster than my speed on the way out on the final loop due to the wind dying down. When I hit the century mark, I was mentally done with the bike. I was ready to be out of the saddle. My back was tight, I was uncomfortable in the saddle, and I mentally needed a change. Luckily, I was only 12 miles from the finish, so I was able to push the thoughts to the back of my head and just concentrate on getting back to town. I made a fleeting glimpse around looking for my parents on the final pass through the area I originally saw them at, but to no avail.

Once I saw the highway overpass, another smile found its way onto my face and I dropped back into the aero position, ignoring the pain from the tightness. The crowd once again thickened as I approached the final turn of the bike course. Once back on Rio Salado, I was on the final stretch. My pace increased as my smile widened. The cheers increased as I left Sun Devil Stadium behind and wound down the final stretch. I approached and began pulling my feet out of my shoes. I slowed down and passed the turnaround going back into the transition. The crowd was thick on each side of the shoot. I coasted through the no passing zone and finally made it to the dismount.

T2

Off my bike and barefoot, my first few steps off the bike were very unstable. My muscles were confused after 5 hours and almost 45 minutes on the bike. I slowed down and steadied myself into a jog as I rounded the corner to my bike to run bag. A volunteer quickly escorted me to my bag and asked if I needed anything. I replied no and quickly put on my socks, slide on my shoes, and grabbed the three Roctanes from my bag. I remembered to pull my helmet off and dropped it into the bag. I quickly hit the restroom and then exited the transition.

Run

I was finally on the section that I knew I was more than prepared for--both mentally and physically. There was absolutely nothing that was going to stop me from crossing the finish line, as I had enough time to walk the entire marathon and still finish well before the cut-off. As I began the run, I reminded myself I needed to keep a slow, conservative pace to ensure that the later miles would not be excruciating.

I ran what felt like a ridiculously slow pace and felt amazing. I checked my watch when I came to the one-mile mark--8:03. I was convinced that the first mile had to be short. I was running what felt like a slow jog and I had already swam 2.4 miles and ridden 112 miles, there was no way I was running an 8 minute mile. I forged on and came through mile 2 at just about 16:05. I felt like I was running slow, yet I was running 8 minute miles and felt great.

Just before the mile 3 mark was the first aid station. I decided to walk through the aid station, hoping it would slow my pace a little when I restarted. I was feeling great, but I was fairly sure I wouldn't hold pace for a 3:30 marathon. I wanted to be running closer to 9 minute miles. Immediately upon entering the aid station a volunteer approached me, greeted me by name, and asked me what I needed. He pointed out everything that was available and jogged ahead to get Gatorade for me. He wished me luck as I left the aid station and began running again.

Just after passing mile 3, I felt my calf trying to cramp up. It went away on its own, but I knew I was in trouble with no Endurolytes available. I could only hope that the Roctane I took when I exited T2 would kick in and be enough electrolytes to stave off cramping while I tried to reload. I was fairly sure the cramping wasn't due to dehydration, as my urine was still pretty clear coming out of T2. I crossed the 5K mark at 25 minutes and some change knowing my pace was still too fast even though I still felt great.

My quick pace quickly came to an end as my right calf continually tried to seize up as I ran. Initially I was able to sort of limp as I ran to relieve the cramp. Every time I attempted to pick up the pace, my calf would begin to cramp. My pace was quickly slowing to 10 minute miles, not because I didn't have the energy, but because my calf would cramp with an increased pace. I eventually stopped and stretched out my calf, but it was only temporary relief.

I knew all I could do was keep moving forward and take in as many electrolytes as I could at the aid stations. It was a delicate balance between drinking Gatorade for electrolytes and drinking too much, which would cause stomach cramps. The course followed the north side of Tempe Town lake before cross back over to passing back by the transition area and then along the south shore. Although my calf was still cramping, the massive crowds around the transition area were a huge pick up. I picked up my pace and tried to ignore my calf. The day was definitely warm and there was little shade. However, I knew that daylight would be fading in the near future.

The course crossed back over the lake via a bridge and the looped around a park before returning to the north shore of the lake. I crossed the bridge, keeping an eye open for my parents who I know were spectating somewhere on the course. My calf was cramping more and more often as I left the lake behind and approached the park. As I ran along the sidewalk in the park, I spied my parents sitting in chairs under some trees.

I walked toward them and mentioned that I had left my special needs bags in the hotel. They mentioned that they had noticed them and tried to drop them off for me, but the officials would not allow it. Even if they had dropped them off, I wouldn't have known they were there anyway. I mentioned how bad my calf was cramping, but continued moving on. They offered some words of encouragement and I ran toward the aid station that was on the corner of the park. I walked the aid station, grabbed more Gatorade, and turned the corner to tackle the largest hill on the run course. It wasn't incredibly long or steep, but it was just enough of both to feel taxing. My calf seized up a few times before I eventually had to stop and stretch it out.

After cresting the hill, there was a fairly steep descent to the next aid station. I was able to run the descent pretty quickly with no problems from my calf. Once the course leveled off, I took another Roctane and washed it down with some Gatorade from the aid station. I exited the aid station and found myself running along the north short of the lake. I checked my watch and started doing math. I knew unless my calf cramp went away, there was no way I would be able to break 4 hours for the marathon.

I ran the north shore and through the next aid station where I took in some more Gatorade. The course retraced a short section along the north short before returning over the bridge. I continued to fight the calf cramp as I looked at the other competitors headed in the opposite direction on the bridge. Some were just starting their first loop, while others were headed out on their second or possibly even third loop of the course. I turned right down a short decline and followed the lake toward the transition area. It was hard mentally to see the mile markers for the later miles. I was only finishing my first loop, yet I was passing the mile marker for mile 24.

I followed the path back to the cheering crowds at the transition, still fighting my stubborn calf. As I passed the transition, I could see the people who had just come off the bike merging with the rest of us. I thought back to the bike and realized that it, like the swim, felt like it happened eons ago. Someone else did those two events, not me. I was running a marathon. I left the transition area behind and concentrated on the aid station just after mile 10. I would take my last Roctane there and hope they had chicken broth to inundate my system with salts. I still felt like I had the endurance and energy to run faster, but my calf tightened every time I attempted to pick up the pace.

I neared the aid station and ingested my last Roctane. From this point on, I'd be at the mercy of the aid stations for fuel. I grabbed some water to wash down the gel and then drank a little Gatorade. There was no chicken broth, so I turned right onto the bridge and started running again. I had worked out a system of only walking through aid stations and only stopping if my calf absolutely demanded it. I crossed the bridge and turned onto the north shore of the lake.

A young girl of about 9 was tagging along with her dad, offering words of encouragement. She was running circles around him, eagerly spewing support and asking endless questions. Her boundless energy contrasted those around her. As she bounced around happily, I observed people in varying states of pain, agony, fatigue, and determination. Everyone was still moving forward, some looked defeated. There were a few lucky souls sprinkled among the competitors that still looked strong. I don't know how I looked, but I considered myself lucky to feel somewhat strong, despite my uncooperative calf muscle.

I went through the next aid station, still no chicken broth. I knew without a serious source of salts, I was never going to be able to shake the calf cramp. My thoughts drifted to the special needs bag sitting on the floor of the hotel. Inside that bag was the solution to my problem, but because of my morning oversight, I had to battle the knot in my leg. I crossed back over the bridge and passed through the chute on the east side of the transition, once again with a smile on my face due to the cheers from the crowd support.

Just before turning back onto the path by the lake, my calf seized up in mid-stride and almost caused me to fall to the ground. Luckily the cramp's grasp on my leg released just in time for me to regain my balance and stumble back into a slow run. Shortly after turning back onto the south path, I passed the halfway point for the marathon and the piles of special needs bags. My thoughts again returned to my forgotten treasure. I shook the thoughts and looked at my watch. I was just over the 2 hour mark for the half. Slower than I was hoping, but not bad considering the cramping I was fighting. If I could shake the cramps, I felt like I could come close to my goal of a sub-4 hour marathon. Realistically, I knew the cramping was likely going to worsen, but I tried not to think about it.

Instead, my thoughts shifted to my overall time. I was on pace to come in under 12 hours if I just kept my pace under 12:00 miles. I was currently logging between 10 and 11 minute miles, which was slow, but doable under the circumstances. I limped my way back over the bridge to the north side of the lake and into the park where my parents were. I greeted them again and told them they should go ahead and make their way to the finish. I still had about 12 miles to go and I would come through the park again, but I wanted to make sure they were able to see the finish. I wasn't sure how long it would take them to get over there and make their way to the finish line.

I left my parents behind knowing the next time I saw them I would be done with the race. When I got to the aid station just past where my parents were, I was greeted by one of the greatest sights I'd seen all day--chicken broth! Much needed salts would be available. I grabbed a cup and quickly drank the broth and then washed it down with some water. Again, I had to be careful to not ingest too much liquid. I didn't want to add stomach cramps to match my calf cramp. I turned and started up the hill on the back side of the park and my calf relentlessly cramped. I stopped several times to stretch it out and walk, but it was even cramping when I was walking. I started a limping jog down the back side of the hill and descended to the next aid station.

I was almost at mile 15, so I grabbed a PowerGel from the Aid Station, took a quick drink of water, drank more chicken broth, and then chased it with a quick shot of Gatorade. As I exited the station, one observer cheered on a female runner saying "you're doing great keeping up with all these guys." She responded with, "I'm not keeping up with them, they are keeping up with me!" I laughed and told her that since she was passing me, I wasn't doing a very good job keeping up.

I continued my lop-sided run, doing everything I could to appease my enraged calf. I came through the next aid station and to my chagrin, there was no chicken broth. I drank a little more Gatorade and just as I tried to start running again, my calf knotted up and I almost fell to the ground. I steadied myself against a brick wall and stretched out my calf for a few seconds and then continued. It seemed like every 10-15 yards I would get a twinge in my calf, and every quarter to half mile, it would knot up. I was still on pace to go under 12 hours, but I needed to keep moving regardless of my condition.

I made my way back over the bridge and turned back onto the south shore path. I passed the mile 24 marker and said quietly out loud, "I will be see you again, and when I do, I will be very happy." I was able to get some more chicken broth at the next aid station and picked up my pace a little as I neared the transition area and the end of my second loop. Just as it seemed as though the cramping was gone, it returned and my smile turned to a grimace of pain right in front of the transition area.

I went back to my lop-sided gait and once again saw people merging into the run from the bike transition. It had to be the last of the people, as it was very near the bike cut-off time. I started my final loop with a smile knowing that all the "high" mileage sign were now meant for me. They were beacons of hope, escorting me to the finish. I still had 8 miles to go, but I would crawl those 8 miles if that's what it took, I had plenty of time.

The first aid station on the final loop put me just over 18 miles. I drank more chicken broth and a little Gatorade. My calf cramping seemed to be coming less often, but it was still making itself known. I exited the aid station went over the bridge and turned onto the north side path. I went through the timing mat at mile 19 and felt happy, finally reaching that mile marker that I'd passed two times previously feeling that it was forever away. The sun was setting and it had started cooling off. I hoped with the cooler air reducing my sweat rate and the influx of salts that my cramping my be subsiding.

I arrived at the aid station just before mile 20 and took a final PowerGel and drank a little. When I crossed the bridge back to the south side and by the transition, I picked the pace up a little and felt no recourse from my calf. It felt good to finally be able to run a decent pace again. I went through the chute on the east side of the transition and came back out on the south shore. The calf cramps seemed to finally have subsided. I continued to drink a little chicken broth and Gatorade to keep cramping at bay. As I check my splits, I had dropped my pace back down to low 9s, with an occasional dip into the high 8s.

I crossed back over the lake and headed through the park glancing to where my parents had greeted my the first two loops. The space was void, but I knew I would be seeing them shortly. My pace slowed again as I tackled the hill on the back side of the park, but I picked it up again on the downhill and into the aid station. I did some math again and realized that I only needed to keep a 15 minute mile pace to come in under 12 hours and I was currently running in the low 9s. As I came back out onto the water, I glanced across the lake and took in the sight of the transition and the finish line. I got the chills as a smile took hold of my face. I was almost there! Six months of sacrifice was going to pay off.

I continued along the lake shore and went through the aid station without taking anything, knowing that nothing I took at that point would hit my system before the finish. I turned on to the bridge and as an indescribable feeling of happiness swept over my body, I looked to my left and saw the runners trudging out on the loop and felt sorry for them. I was on my way to the finish and they still potentially had hours of suffering left. As I turned off the bridge, I shook the pity and could feel nothing but elation. I still had a long straightaway to go, but I was almost within sight of the finish.

I picked up my pace again and blew through the final aid station. It was now dark and coming from the light ahead I could hear Mike Reilly's voice congratulating the finishers. As I neared the transition, my smile told the crowd that I was about to finish, and they cheered. My calf started to cramp again, and I fought valiantly to keep it in check. I got to the fork in the course and instead of forging ahead a fourth time, I got to take the left chute to the finish line. I had previously been in a continuous line of competitors, like a parade of ants to a food source, but now I found myself virtually alone in the chute.

All the cheers were for me, there was no mistaking. I ran through a short section of the parking lot and then came out on the street. There was only a short section before a left turn to the finish line. My calf and I continued to battle, as my gait was lop-sided. I was not only fighting cramps, but I was fighting tears. After hours of continuous motion my emotions were riding high. I turned the corner and a wave of euphoria overtook me as I pumped my fists forward and smiled uncontrollably. Cheers were overwhelming yet muted as all my energy turned inward. This was my moment. This was what I had trained for. This is what I sacrificed for. This is what I had been in motion for almost 12 hours for. It was for this feeling and this moment. As I neared the finish line I heard Mike Reilly.

"From Brooklyn, New York. Scott Towle, you are an Ironman. I crossed the finish line, emotions overloaded. A volunteer immediately congratulated me as he threw and arm around me. He guided me through the finish area, wrapping me in a mylar blanket, getting my finisher's medal and shirt, returning my chip, and guiding me to the photo area. Just as I finished taking my finisher's photo, I heard Mike Reilly say, "and just two weeks after finishing Ironman Florida, in a time of 11:4x:, Pam Reed." Before I had a chance to find her, Pam spotted me and came over to give me a huge hug and congratulations. After we chatted for a bit, I spotted my dad, who fought his way to me and gave me a hug and congratulations.

Pam congratulated me one last time before we parted ways and then my mom fought through the crowd to congratulate me. I was very happy they were able to make it out to share the event with me. I know they had to have been bored during the day, but it meant more than I could ever express that they were there to witness and share the event. We discussed a meeting point and then I went into the finishers area to get food and drink. I met back up with my parents and took a photo with them at the entrance to the transition area.

Post Race

I still have trouble comprehending the entire experience. It just doesn't seem like it was real. I still get choked up thinking back to the event, and did several times while writing this race report. I've been asked why I do the things I do. Well anything that can still cause the feelings of elation and euphoria just by thinking back to it is worth every second of agony and sacrifice put into it.

I feel like with better training and proper nutrition during the race, I could throw down a much better time, but I can't complain one bit. I met or exceeded my initial goals, and other than a persistent calf cramp, I never felt uncomfortable and never really felt too fatigued. It was an amazing experience all the way through (the volunteers were incredible) and I look forward to doing another in the future.

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