"How I Got Here, or The End of Fatboy"

I'm a little uncomfortable with this "prelude" type of information. So many people from such a multitude of backgrounds race Ironman competitions, I hate to imply by writing about it that my path is different or special compared to other participant's. So I'll make this section brief.

If I could find a photograph of me from the summer of 1999 to share, I think people would find it tough to recognize me inside the layers of insulation. As a result of years of severe depression and inactivity, my weight ballooned up to 220 (race day I was about 147). For my depression and for 18 months of daily severe headaches I was taking about four prescriptions. My body was a chemistry lab; my arms were plumbed with picc line and midline semi-permanent catheters so I could give myself infusions of medication when I felt headaches coming on. For exercise I took the elevator to the parking garage of my apartment building and drove to the pastry shop.

"Phase One: Get Some Exercise, Chubby!"

Sorry. I don't recall any epiphanies. Perhaps disgust or self-loathing. Maybe boredom. Or it could have been post-divorce loneliness. Regardless of what got me there, somehow I made my way to my neighborhood Lifetime Fitness (I wonder if I can get a product placement fee for this plug) and began working with one of the most patient and encouraging people I have ever met, a personal trainer named Tara (her name was written beneath the bill of my running cap at Madison). The first time I stepped onto the treadmill, walking at a 15-minute mile pace, my heartrate was about 140 bpm. But with Tara's help, I got into a regular routine of resistance training and cardio training, and I began to get back in shape. By the spring of 2000 I was down to about 180 pounds. I will never know how, if it was from exercising, or from getting off medicine, but my headaches simply stopped, and my depression seemed to magically abate.

"Fast Forward, This is Dull"

Ha ha, sorry! I figure if I am getting bored writing my own story, who would want to read it! Let's get to the race already!

"2.4 Miles of Hell--Who Keeps Trying to Kill Me???"

My friend Kerri's dad (Thanks Mr. Behrens!) gave several of us a ride to Monona Terrace, where the race was headquartered. After I placed my carbo-pro bottles on my bike and filled my water bottle, put my last minute items in my swim-to-bike and bike-to-run bags, and dropped off my special needs bags, I realized that I had not had my body marking done yet. So I hurried outside to the parking ramp roof, and found the body markers. The elderly woman who marked me smiled at me sweetly as she was writing my age on my calf and asked, "Are you a virgin, honey?" Then she giggled at the look of shock on my face (I am sure my expression registered something like: "I've been single for a long time, but I don't think I have reverted back to virginity) and she explained to me that she wanted to know if it was my first Ironman, so she could write a red "V" on my calf. Next, I pulled on my wetsuit, and started my first helix descent of the day. On the way down I spied a terrier in the arms of a spectator, so I went over to give it a good luck pat--in return I received a good luck kiss. From the dog. You take what you can get.

I knew that in spite of feeling terribly intimidated, based on what I thought my swim split would be, I belonged in the front row of the swim. Just to be sure, as I treaded water with 1800 friends, I checked with some of my swim neighbors. The consensus was sub 60. I still didn't feel comfortable up there, but knew that I would end up in a slugfest of arms and legs if I moved back. As I waited, continuing to tread water, I began to shiver uncontrollably. The water temperature was warm, so I can't imagine that I was cold. But my hands were getting a little numb and the shivers grew worse. Stupid race nerves!!! I didn't really pay attention to the National Anthem, and don't remember a word of what the announcer had to say. Several times I looked over at the shore, and at Monona Terrace, and was amazed at how many people were crowded there to cheer us on. And all of a sudden the cannon went off, and we were swimming.

My goals for the swim seemed simple: swim strong at no more than 80% effort, find a good draft, and don't let the water based combat freak me out. One of the first things that happened was one of my considerate, kind, gentle fellow racers grabbed me by the back of my wetsuit and pulled me under. In a fit of rage, or testosterone or adrenaline, I returned the favor. One good dunk deserves another.

The water was very murky--that, combined with my dark goggles, made it very difficult to stay on anyone's feet for very long. But I did get a good enough draft a couple of times to allow me to sight only minimally. I received my fair share of elbows in the head, body blows and kicks, but nothing that seemed as malicious as the dude who tried to kill me. The only things that were nuisances were that my swim cap wouldn't stay on, so I had to stop two or three times to pull it back on, which had to have perturbed the person drafting off me as he or she bumped into me. Then, on the last long stretch before the final turn, my left calf began to cramp up. I don't know if I was dehydrated, which does not seem very likely, or if I got slugged in the leg and that induced it, but for about the last several hundred meters, I was essentially pulling, with one leg useless in the water, messing up my body position. Oh well.

I finished the swim feeling like I didn't work it too hard--my arms were not tired, and I felt very fresh. After the peelers relieved me of my wetsuit, I ascended the helix for the first time of the day. My friend, future room-mate and hero Dave, a.k.a. Acorn (WHO IS NOT STOCKY) beat me out of T1, as he threatened to try to do. I called out to him that he was a bastard, after he slapped my ass. I was just kidding though. He's not really a bastard. As I jogged to the gear room my calf seemed to feel better. I donned my bike shoes and helmet, descended a helix for the second time of the day, and began the bike.

"The Alps of Wisconsin"

I don't know how people remember the minute details of their bike rides, or runs for that matter, because the whole bike is a blur to me. As I rode out of town, I have to confess that I don't recall feeling elated--there was no sense of rapture. I was aware of continued cramping, so I immediately took a Succeed salt cap, and began drinking water, and took my first sip of carbo-pro.

The especially hard part of going out to the loops, and riding the first portion of the loops, was restraining myself from trying to keep up with the legions of strong cyclists who passed me after my swim. The flip side of this is that I had a chance to see all of the people who I expected to pass me, and was glad that they appeared to be having good days. The flip side of the flip side is that it can be a little demoralizing to be passed by hundreds of people--I always struggle not to get down on myself when this happens.

Many people will describe the hills. All I will add is that they were short and steep. I chose to stay seated for all of them and spin up them (700c wheels with a 12/25 cassette for those who might wonder). I didn't want to risk going into an upper zone early in the day, or in any portion of the ride. So I climbed embarrassingly slowly--I knew that with my legs continuing to not feel 100%, if I trashed them in the bike, the run would destroy me.

Another thing I learned--if I drink a lot of water, I am destined to pee a lot of water. I had four stops on the bike. I must learn to get over my hang-up of not being able to pee on the bike. That was probably 12 minutes total I gave to the course. On the other hand, it might have been good for me to get off the bike and regroup.

All in all, the bike was pretty uneventful. Oh wait, I did almost crash once, when someone passed me on a steep downhill curve and cut off my line, forcing me off the shoulder at the bottom of the hill into the grass. But I stayed upright.

Ascending the helix for the second time was no big deal.

"Final Helix Descent"

After getting off the torture machine I call a bicycle, running was wonderful. My legs for the first three miles felt great. Okay, they were tired, but I had just finished a bike ride. I concentrated on getting my calories and rehydrating for the first three miles, and forced myself to run slow. I was right on my three-mile goal of 31 minutes. By mile six I was still on schedule, right at about 62 minutes. Then the bottom fell out. Fortunately my digestive system stayed healthy throughout the entire day. I took calories, water and salt assiduously, but my legs crapped out about 14 miles earlier than I expected them to. So from about mile seven onward, I shuffled slowly onward, with a couple short stretches of walking. Several things kept me from not walking it in: thinking about my coach's daughter Kelly's courage fighting cancer; thinking about my 16-year-old nephew battling some very tough personal problems and not wanting to let him down; seeing Coach KP on the course and wanting to make him proud; as well, wanting to make my old personal trainer, Tara, proud; repeating to myself the mantra that my friend Lauren told me to say when I felt like walking, "Lauren says Keep Running;" finally, and most simply, I was sick of being out on the course. I didn't want to put off the finish any longer than I had to, because not finishing was not an option.

At about mile 20 I realized that if I continued at the same lugubrious pace, I would not break 13 hours, which was one of my goals for the race. I didn't run at all fast that last 10 kilometers, maybe 11 minute miles, walking the aid stations, but I kept on plugging, one sore foot in front of the other, thinking about cadence, ignoring aches and pains because of course everyone racing that day had aches and pains.

"No Words for It"

Sublime. As I approached the chute, all of the adrenaline and endorphins in the universe surged through my bloodstream, and I ran quickly down the carpet, shouting, screaming, high-fiving every spectator in sight, until I crossed the finish line into the arms of my catchers. I wasn't sick, but I was spent. I couldn't answer their questions as they wrapped me in my space blanket, put my medal on me, and led me towards the food.

"Firsts"

Here is a list of my achievements for the day (not to be immodest): first Ironman, first marathon, first tri longer than an oly (sorry, Roger, I fibbed when you asked if I had done a half im... didn't want you to think I was totally insane).

"This Ain't the Academy Awards, Dude"

I owe so much to so many people--for the support I received from all of my tri-friends; for the advise from my future SoCal neighbors and roommates; for the excellent swim coaching by my master's swim coach Jim Andersen; for Tara Gunderson, my personal trainer, without whom I never would have gotten back in shape, my gratitude is endless. And to KP--dude, when can I start training again?