Ironman Chattanooga: I am an Ironman

Dear Blog Diary,

Truly Ironman Chatnooga was more than what I imagined. It was by far the worst I’ve ever wrecked my body, immensely painful, mentally surreal.

I chose Chatty because it’s where I did my first 70.3. Also, it’s a hard course and if the first full is hard then the next should be easier.

Keep in mind that I pulled my hamstring in June which had me out for two months. Very little time to build an engine.

For starters, I met Chris.

I go to check in and one of the working staff, not volunteer named Chris is answering my questions. Probably in his late 50s, bald, glasses. Funny guy.

Lot of differences in an Ironman vs a 70.3 (half Ironman). He set me straight and I checked in with him every morning just being friendly.

SWIM 2.4 MILES

The swim was actually easy honestly. Wetsuit, assisted swim, in a river with no turns. I did it unbroken.

Coming out the swim, I saw Chris. He is standing there with big open arms. I told him I’m all wet and he replied “I don’t give a shit.” Big hug.

Transition was weird. They do a tent for men and for women. In 70.3s you just have everything by your bike.

BIKE 112 MILES

So the bike fucked me up way more than I thought it would. You have aid stations along the course and then you have one location where you can access your “personal needs bag.” Anything left in it is donated so I used an old crappy cooler bag with an ice pack I got from my sushi joint.

Two uncrustables, two liquid IV, one water. Thing is, I didn’t know that you can only access it once. So I stopped on the first loop out of three but had I known I would’ve stopped on the second.

The bike was just hills. The beginning of the loop is a steep hill that is a little over a mile long so it’s not one you can just power through out of saddle to get it over quickly.

The extra shitty part is that there’s a headwind on the first part of the loop. The bonus extra shitty part is that coming down the hill on the way back, you’re easily going 40+ mph down it but the bottom of the hill is the turn around so you don’t really get the full benefit of the downhill…and then you immediately start climbing.

Mile 70 was when I blew up hard. Violently cramping in 3-4 different places on each leg, with 42 more miles to go on a hilly course. The hills just never stopped even on the way back to transition. I tell you if there was just one more, where I can see how long it is, I think I might’ve quit.

I blew up at roughly 5pm. From this point on, I was cramping and considered quitting. It’s a thing where you have 42 miles to go and then a fucking marathon.

RUN 26.2 MILES

I got off the bike and I told myself I would walk the first three miles and see how I bounce back. Fortunately for me, there was Chris.

Dare I say it was almost affectionate. Very vulnerably I said to him essentially “Chris I am cramping so bad. I’m in so much pain. What do I do?”

He told me that he can’t give anything to me. Just get to the first aid station, inhale all the chips and pretzels I can, eat a banana, and whatever I do, DONT STOP. Said to just keep going until the night begins where it’s cooler and the course starts passing out chicken broth. I needed salt.

“Just keep going. You can finish.”

I did not know that chicken broth would be my saving grace. Salty warm goodness.

I trotted the downhills when I could but even walking, I was always just one extra bit of effort away from a piercing cramp. I walked, and walked, and walked some more.

Two loop course. About 10 miles ish into it I sought out a Ironman staff member. Turns out it was the race director.

I asked him if they were going to pull me because if so, I’d rather them do it now.

For one, they updated the bike course about 2-3 years ago and have been tweaking. He told me that this year they had the highest DNF (did not finish) total on the bike than in the past ten years.

For two, he told me that I was on track to make the second loop cut off time and if I show forward progress, he’ll let me finish.

This was not the answer I wanted. I wanted to quit. Very reasonably I wanted to quit. My vision only glitched once but I was concerned.

Some guy on the course, I don’t know his name or bib number or anything. He walked with me, talked with me. He was hurting too.

“I don’t think I can do this. I just don’t have it. I’m not enough for this.”

I said those words.

“Just so you know, after this downhill the next miles are really brutal.”

He asked if I could trot the downhill with him. So I started trotting. After about a minute or two I looked to see where he was. He dropped back and was smiling, applauding.

It was just me, and I guess that is enough.

Thing is, I finished the first loop and have 13.1 miles to go. Know how debilitating that is.

Starting the second loop, I was officially worried. I hadn’t seen my mom and Kuma since the morning. She wasn’t there after the swim, the bike, nor the first loop of the run.

She doesn’t drive my car often, maybe she got in a car accident? She doesn’t know Chattanooga, maybe lost or who knows what. She was physically writing down directions from the Iron Village to the Airbnb. Kuma hit by a car on a long leash?

I was worried sick the whole time. I asked one of the police officers on the course for a wellness check. One of the volunteers calmed me down.

I go to start the second loop and I see Chris.

“This pace we’re walking right now, just keep it up and you’ll finish. You can do this. It’s all on you.”

The second loop was much different. Vastly less athletes on the course, less energy from the aid stations, crowds went home.

Just me and the occasional athlete on the course. The one section by the river was a dark walkway through a park.

Keep in mind I’m way past worrying about my health. Wanting to quit since the bike. I’m thinking about how all I have to do is quit and an ATV go-cart will come get me. No more struggle, can lay down, get comfortable.

I’m also thinking how if I collapse right now, no one would find me for at least a while. No one was around.

Eric:

You want to be a failure? You’ve been through a lot this year, you want another thing to not go your way? Maybe you are a loser. And you bought a bunch of merch. Great reminder. Your brother will be ashamed of you and your father will have every reason to know you’re soft. You do triathlons and talk a big game about resilience. Your brother climbed 24 hours straight. Guess you two don’t have much in common. YOU can’t do this.

Eric:

People love you. This doesn’t define you. It doesn’t mean you’re less and you can do this next year when you’ve trained and no injuries. It’s ok Eric. You can quit and you will be ok. You did your best. No shame in quitting.

I wasn’t even walking 16 minute miles. I was limping. And I was alone. I felt alone.

I decided not to look up because a long road without turns or a mile marker might break me. I decided to literally focus on each step.

Hit the ground with your feet the exact same way. If you turn your foot even slightly, you’ll cramp hard. Just do one step at a time.

Now, it was always a joke for me. I’d be at transition area talking with bib numbers next to me. “Last place finisher right here baby!”

And then they told me.

“You’re the last one.”

Now, it didn’t happen in Chattanooga but just search last place Ironman finishers on YouTube. They cheer louder for the last place finisher than anyone else!

It’s a badge of honor! It’s a different kind of toughness when you know everyone else is faster than you. At that point you truly have no ego and you do this for you, nobody else. You have more reason to quit than anyone.

Takes grit and courage.

I asked why I was the last one because there were people behind me. They told me that I was on track to finishing, but they looked at the trackers of everyone on the course and I was the only one who continued to show forward progress. No periodic stopping.

I have to wonder, did Chris have anything to do with this? I knew in my heart I would finish and I just wish that one guy on the course knew he was talking to the last place finisher, that I did make it.

I screamed with excitement.

At that point there were two go-carts and a police motorcycle by my side for the last three miles. “This is all for you. You’re it! Finish strong.”

Thing is, I got so excited that I started to walk faster. Was going to pass this guy. I told myself that I would finish the best I can even if I pass him. I wanted to be last, but I wanted to do my best.

Life has a sense of humor because why oh why, the last one I stopped to piss….”DONT STOP.”

I stopped too long. Blew up hard. Hard cramping everywhere. I was definitely last again.

Got closer to the finish, one of the staff members joined the parade and told me “your mom and dog are at the finish. Don’t worry!”

Turns out my mom spent the afternoon literally seeing people finish the race, collapsing, and needing medical attention. Turns out the tracker took me off the map because they had shut it down. My brother called my mom worried, my dad called.

I was worried about her as she was worried about me. Hilarious.

They asked me what song I wanted to finish the race to. They suggested Rocky.

“And now the end is near and so I face the final curtain…”

“I’ve lived a life that’s full. I’ve traveled each and every highway. And more much more than this, I did it my way.”

“My Way” by Frank Sinatra.

I gave it the best I could. I cried on that course. Felt like death. Ain’t going to hold back the truth…I couldn’t trust a fart for the majority of the run. Everything wrecked.

I took one look backward before I finished. I wanted to think of the journey since I started triathlon four years ago.

BRAG FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE

You are only an Ironman if you have been told. When you finish a 70.3 they say “congratulations.” When you finish a full, the race announcer says your name and the words, “you are an Ironman.”

One of the founders of Ironman, John Collins outlined the race when they hosted the first one ever. He wrote out the three disciplines, the distances, and then as a fourth criteria he added “brag for the rest of your life.”

At the time, they didn’t really know if it was possible.

Conservatively only 0.01% of the human population has done an Ironman.

Turns out, I get to be part of that statistic and evidence that yes it’s possible.

I crossed the line. My mother was the one to put the medal on me. I heard the words, I have been told. I am an Ironman. The cut off is 17 hours and I finished 16:55…at 1am (for those paying attention, I wanted to quit at 5pm. Yes, that whole time).

I did it.

Just for funsies, just know getting back to the Airbnb (that had a hill of stairs WHY ERIC) was horrible, and it wasn’t until I got in the shower that I realized there was a solar eclipse of chafing rash from the bike right in downtown Eric butt.

And I will absolutely do another one.

Best,

E

#ARTiculate