PART THREE: Race Day

I traveled to the race site by flying into Albany, New York and then driving to the village of Lake Placid two-hours away.  We decided that I would attend the race alone, and leave my family in Kansas City.  That was not an easy decision.  The five days that I spent in Lake Placid were hardly a vacation.  Each day I was stressed and pre-occupied with the final preparations.  I would not have been a very good tour guide.  However, I knew once I crossed the finish line I would regret that my family was not on-site.   

On Friday evening, the race organizers host a “carbo load” dinner for the athletes.  The dinner was held in a large tent on the fairgrounds and most of the 1900 athletes attended to share a pasta meal with some motivational speeches.  At one point during the dinner, the master of ceremonies asked all Ironman rookies to stand.  Each of us expecting to compete and finish the Ironman for the first time stood at our tables.  As I rose to my feet, I looked around for my fellow rookies.  I saw very few.  There were maybe 50 at most standing.  That hit me hard: this was a tough course and only a few misguided soles like myself selected the toughest course for their Ironman debut.   “Oh my, what have I done” was one of my thoughts as I stood there and took in the round of encouraging applause.   There was a gentleman sitting across from me that had completed 23 Ironman events and he was here in Lake Placid at the age of 65 to complete his 24^th.  He gave me a reassuring head nod as I pondered his accomplishments in our sport.  I thought to myself, "he too was a rookie at some time."   I suspect he was thinking, "sucker!" 

I went to bed the night before the race fairly early, but I kept jumping up to check my gear.  My bike was already positioned in the transition area in the Olympic Oval.  Most of my transition bags were already stored at the race site.  I wanted to make sure my breakfast was ready.  I double-checked my clothing.  Later, I dialed into the IronmanLive.com web site to check the up-to-the-minute pre-race report and the weather forecast.  Finally, I made a list of food that I wanted to eat the day after the race.  My list included frozen custard, McDonalds Coke, Starburst and Ben & Jerry’s ice cream.  Eventually I fell asleep and awoke five minutes before my alarm sounded at 5 in the morning.  Then, the wake-up call rang.  And finally, my Palm alarm sounded.  I certainly did not want to oversleep the morning of July 28.

I walked about a half-mile from my hotel to the race start at Mirror Lake.  The whole city was buzzing with nervous energy.  Soon 1900 triathletes collected in a shallow swim cove of Mirror Lake.  Like me, everyone wore a black triathlon-specific wetsuit with a green or orange swim cap.  I remember seeing thousands of people surrounding the shore of the lake and along the beach.  The friends and families were saying goodbye by providing embraces and encouraging words.  It is difficult to explain how I was feeling.  It was a lonely feeling even though I was surrounded by thousands of people.  I was scared of the swim start and the contact that I expected as 1900 athletes try to occupy the same body of water.  I was excited about this precise moment that I thought about for over a year.  There were two helicopters buzzing overhead—they seemed to be only ten feet above our heads.  Soon a local entertainer performed the national anthem.  The announcer was getting the crowd loud and pumped.  I had goose bumps, and started praying for strength and peace—referencing Philippians 4:13 “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”  Peace came, and the cannon that signals the race start came a moment later.

The Swim

I pushed forward and dove into the water while pressing my face downward in the chilly lake.  The buoyancy of my sleeveless wetsuit pulled my hips towards the surface as I pushed my chest into the water.  I was able to clearly see the bottom of the lake.  I could feel many people near me, but there was surprisingly little body contact.  This was surprising to me because in the typical local triathlon there are sometimes people swimming over you, under you and on both sides of you.  In most races, your hand stretches forward only to land on someone’s leg or buttocks.  Perhaps I seeded myself correctly in the start, or perhaps I was way off course.  I lifted my head and discovered that I was right on course.  Although my plan was to raise my head and site buoys every five strokes for proper navigation, I kept my head in the water and continued to stroke without ceasing.  In my practice swims the two days before on this swim course, I noticed that the lake was so clear that I was able to see the cable three feet below connecting each buoy throughout the length of the course.  I assumed that everyone would converge on that line and it would be impossible to use the cable as a navigation aid.  To my surprise, the cable line was soon beneath me in clear sight, and the swimmers around me kept my same steady space.  Although drafting is illegal in the cycling portion of the race, it is a great tool in the swim.  The swimmer directly in front of your path breaks the water and creates a wake that you can comfortably slip into for less frontal drag.  I positioned my body to the left of the cable beneath me.  I was rotating left to breath on every stroke and I was then turning right enough so I could see the cable.  By positioning the cable more to the side I was “forced” to rotate more, thus rotating my body as a screw propelling through the water.  Before I knew it, I was at my first milestone, which was the six-tenths mile mark at the first-lap turnaround.  I was one quarter complete, had not stopped stroking, and was feeling great.   

The Ironman swim at Lake Placid is a two-lap 1.2-mile course.  As I swam towards the shore and the cheering crowd, I knew that I was approaching the halfway point in the 2.4-mile swim.  I continued to stroke and soon saw the bottom of the lake although I was still about 100 yards from the beach.  Once my follow-through pushed into the sand, I stood up in the shallow water and ran towards the beach just a few dozen yards away.  My stride brought me through the swim tower erected on the beach and across the timing mat that read the timing chip on my ankle that recorded a first lap swim time of 35 minutes and 9 seconds.  I scanned for area for sports drink or water and there was none.  Swimmers continued to exit the water behind me and I followed the procession back into the water after about ten steps.  I paused for a moment as the water splashed against my thighs.  Almost immediately I could feel the flow of the water pulling me out to the open towards the buoys.  The sensation was not unlike to current that you might feel in a “lazy river” at your local water amusement park.  I repositioned my goggles and dove back into the water.  Again, I found the cable beneath me as I continued to stroke.  I started to feel my arms drain of their strength on the last length back towards shore.  I sidestroked for a few minutes to catch my breath, and to pause for a moment to relax.  I looked around and saw probably a thousand swimmers in front of me and a thousand swimmers behind me.  I looked across the lake and saw my Hilton hotel balcony while I heard the constant buzz of the helicopter swirling overhead.  This was a great few moments because I knew that I was going to complete what I considered a major milestone in this race: finishing the 2.4-mile swim. 

Once again I exited the water but this time my legs were a lot less stable beneath me.  I learned to not use much of a leg kick during my swimming to preserve my lower body for the bike and run.  My legs were used to small flutter kicks for balance in the swim and now it was time to exit the water and head towards the transition area.  My second lap time was 40 minutes and 37 seconds for a combined swim time of 1 hour and 15 minutes.  Just beyond the swim tower, I sat down on the carpeted beach and pulled off my wetsuit while a volunteer (they're called "strippers") offered her assistance.  She helped me to my feet and I began the run towards the transition area in the Olympic oval.  The path to the oval stretched what seemed to be 400 yards from the lake, down the street, and into the transition area.  This path was completely fenced to control access and had spectators cheering in rows up to ten people deep in some areas.  I retrieved my swim-to-bike transition bag and entered the men’s change tent to strip my suit and enter my cycling clothes.  After a quick porta-potty stop, I pulled my bike from the rack and then ran towards the bike exit and across the timing mat.  I mounted my bike almost 14 minutes after exiting the water, and then proceeded on residential streets towards the outskirts of Lake Placid. 

The Bike

I settled into a steady cadence in a low gear to recruit my cycling legs into action.  I visually took inventory of my heart rate monitor, bike computer and front drink system.  I opened my Bento Box storage pack on the bike frame to verify my food and supplement stores.  I reached around and checked the water bottles behind my seat.  I was now set for a hilly 112-mile bike ride through the Adirondack Mountains.  The course led me out of town on residential streets and brought me onto smooth blacktop roads along the Olympic ski jump complex as the 90m and 120m jump towers from the 1980 Winter Olympics loom overhead.  The course is a two-lap trek that offers views that are magnificent with trees, water and rock formations everywhere you look.  Early in the ride the most thrilling section treats the racers with a six-mile descent that brings top speeds approaching 50 miles-per-hour.  I enjoyed the high-speed trip to the bottom of the hill, but knew that downhill glides lead to uphill grinds.  The Lake Placid course is considered one of the toughest Ironman courses because of the many hills encountered on the bike.  I found myself spending little time down on my aero bars to slice through the wind on flats, as you do in many triathlons.  Instead, I was up on the handlebars and powering up the long and steep hills.  Welcome to a 112-mile bike ride in the Adirondack Mountains.   Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore.   

Lance Armstrong and the other competitors in the Tour de France are often bunched in a large group called the peleton because drafting behind another cyclist reduces the front wind resistance by over 60%.  Drafting allows cyclists to go further and faster while conserving energy.  However, the cycling segment of triathlon is an individual effort, which means that drafting in other cyclist’s air stream is illegal.  Triathlon has strict rules that govern cycling positioning and requires a three bike-length space between cyclists at all times when not passing.  Passing must occur in 15-seconds or less.  Officials on motorcycles cruise the course and coast silently to sneak-up on unsuspecting riders to enforce the rules.   

Nutrition is an important aspect of endurance sports.  During an event, your body needs many ounces of water per hour to stay hydrated.  An athlete has to make sure they have plenty of fluids, but not too much.  Calories from carbohydrates are used for energy and must be replaced each hour.  I drink 20-ounces of water each hour and chase the water with a concentrated mixture of Accelerade sports drink each 30-minutes.  I carry plenty of Hammer Gel as a primary energy source and squeeze an ounce or two into my mouth two or three times an hour.  I swallow Succeed capsules twice an hour to help with my electrolyte production because an athlete’s body simply cannot produce the electrolytes required after an extended period of effort.  On the bike route, every 10-miles featured an aid station for the cyclists to use as we proceed at full-speed.  We approach the station and throw empty water bottles into a designated area, sometimes marked with a bulls-eye.  The volunteers at each aid station extend their arm and track with your speed to offer water, Gatorade, ice, fruit, energy bars and lots of cheers.   

Rain started to fall before the turnaround on the first loop.  The feel of raindrops poking my face brought me back to one of my peak training rides a month earlier.  That was the first time that I had encountered rain while on a long ride, and I was panicked at first.  On the training ride, I soon welcomed the cooler temperatures that the rain brought.  The cooler air brought by rain on the Ironman allowed my heart to beat slower with the same perceived effort on the bike.  Rain continued as a constant shower for about 90-minutes.  I noticed that my feet were now very soaked from the rain and from water spraying from the ground as my wheels spun.   

People cheered all along the bike course.  Beyond the official aid stations, homeowners set-up lawn chairs at the end of their driveways and cheered with family members.  Some had a deck of cards to pass the time; others had boom-box radios with tunes blaring.  In the two days prior to the race, friends and family made signs in the “Ironmate” tent.  The signs were posted throughout the bike course and were heavily featured on some of the long climbs.  There must have been over 2000 signs.  Some signs were made for a specific rider while others were more general.  I saw “go daddy” signs and immediately thought of my family back in Kansas City.  My favorite sign struck me as especially funny, it simply displayed the question: “We paid to do this?”   

After 3 hours and 37 minutes, I had completed 56-miles on the bike.  I approached Lake Placid as the course brought participants back into town for the second loop.  I retrieved my “bike special needs bag” and reloaded on nutritional supplements.  I took a moment to dismount and use the porta-potty while I ate a Cliff bar and drank a Red Bull.  I remounted my bike and rode pass the Olympic oval towards the outskirts of town.  The fence-lined route through the heart of Lake Placid had spectators lined three people deep.  After almost five hours of racing I felt pretty good although the first half of the bike was much more challenging than I expected.  My plan was to take the first loop easy and then push a little harder on the second.   

The second loop on the bike seemed to be much more difficult.  Fellow riders joked that the race officials had somehow increased the number of hills for the second loop.  I used much more caution on the steep descent early on the second loop.  The road was still very wet and I didn’t want to slide on a corner going 40 miles-per-hour.  I saw a number of accidents on the second loop.  I suspect fatigue and the wet roads contributed to these spills.  Water seemed to collect in my shoes and I was wondering if the extra weight was slowing my pedal stroke.  I continued to labor with a small group of racers as we wound through the course.  We would pass one another only to be passed by the same rider over the next hill.  I could feel my legs grow tired.  I was not thinking about the end of the race, nor was I thinking about the upcoming marathon run.  I was simply thinking about climbing that hill in front of me.  I finished the second bike loop in 3 hours and 55 minutes.  Although I do not remember dismounting, I believe a volunteer took my bike and parked it in the bike rack area. 

The Run

I shuffled my legs towards the transition area and retrieved my “bike-to-run transition” bag.  I entered the male change tent and traded my wet cycling gear for the dry running clothing that I had sealed in zip-lock bags.  I noticed that my feet looked like wet prunes because they had been soaking in water for about five hours.  As I tied my running shoes it hit me: I now need to run a marathon.  I stood straight up and walked towards the exit and could feel my legs ache.  I noticed that the Active Release Technique (ART) specialists were working with a few athletes in the tent prior to their run.  Knowing that the next 26.2 miles required my legs, I asked an ART guy to help me stretch my hamstrings and IT band.  It was now 25 minutes after I dismounted my bike.  Although I had spent valuable time transitioning, I knew it was important to have dry clothes and an ART session because it was going to be a long, tough run. 

I felt each step of the run as I exited the transition area, under the timing tower and onto the streets of Lake Placid.  I thought about my last marathon in St. Louis and knew the run was both a physical and mental test.  I reminded myself to take it one mile at a time.  I also thought about how it was going to be very tough to continue with these legs and feet aching for 26.2 miles.  The start of the run was actually very confusing.  The crowd was going nuts; screaming for every competitor that passed.  There were people coming through the run course one way for their second loop while I was going the other way for my first loop.  Amongst the cheering, I caught up with the nearest runner that was moving my direction and near my speed.  I asked if I was going the right way.  My fear was that I was accidentally running the wrong route.  I didn’t need any extra steps to deal with, I thought. 

As I approached the aid station for mile-1, I pressed the split button on my watch to record a 9:26 minute mile and felt good about my pace.  I was hoping that I could average an 11-minute per mile run that included briskly walking through each aid station.  By now it was some time after 4 in the afternoon.  While most people back home were starting to consider where to eat dinner, I knew my day was far from over.  I knew that dinner was going to be served in small doses of sports drink, gel and energy bars from 25 more stops at aid stations along the course.  I was growing tired of the supplements and thought about the list of food I wanted to eat after I finished.   I thought about Starburst fruit chews, a Coke from McDonalds, frozen custard, Ben & Jerry’s ice cream and a few other items.   

I ran past the Olympic ski jump complex.  In my mind, I thought, “what a great sport ski jumping is.”  Sure, it’s very high and scary – but it’s over in about 15 seconds.  The course took me through a large meadow where there was a big guy at the aid station along the road holding an Olympic gold medal.  I remembered the story about his medal from a documentary that I saw on television the day before.  This man won the Olympic gold medal in the 1960s for rowing.  He said it was a great feeling to finish, and it was unusual because they had run the event late and it was dark when they finished that evening.  The Olympian cheered us and asked each of us to touch his gold medal for good luck.  I started to think that I too was probably not going to finish before dark.  The light towers positioned along the county road that served as our run course added to my suspicion.  I could sense my pace slowing as my legs felt heavier.  I was walking towards the aid stations and walking after the aid stations but still running between each.   

As I returned to the town of Lake Placid to finish my first half loop of the marathon, more than one spectator cheered incorrectly “you’re almost there” not realizing that many of us still had another loop.  I wondered if those people were still going to be there when I returned a few hours later.  My first half of the marathon was completed in 2 hours and 41 minutes.  I ran back out of town to repeat the same loop as the second half of my marathon.  The same aid station for mile-1 is now the aid station for mile-14.  Eventually I passed the Olympian and his gold medal.  The second half of the marathon became a strange deja vu experience.  I felt like Bill Murray in the movie Groundhog Day as the last few hours on the run course were now repeating themselves.   

The second loop was difficult because I was so tired.  Everyone around me was tired, including the volunteers.  Few runners were passing each other.  We all ran in small groups, occasionally pulling ahead and eventually finding the same group again.  There were a lot of runners near, but everyone was too tired to speak other than a few “good job” remarks that were barely audible.   

As I made the far turn and started my last six miles, I was totally beat.  The sun had already set.  My feet now had a number of blisters that hurt on each step.  My heart refused to beat more than 120 beats per minute.  I felt like I was stuck in slow motion.  My run was now a slow jog.  Soon, my jog included periods of walking.  The light towers lit the course and reflected off of my clothing.  The sky was full of lightening flashes as a new storm rolled into the area.   

I shuffled towards town on the main street leading to the Olympic oval.  On the way I saw a man and woman standing on the side of the road cheering the athletes.  I recognized them as I ran closer: they were Lori Bowden and Peter Reid, a married couple from Canada that were both recent winners of the Ironman World Championships.  I knew they were there to cheer Lori’s mom as a competitor, but I was impressed as they cheered each of us even though we were strangers.  Peter gave me a high-five, and then they took off running towards town.   

As I made my way into town, it was obvious that most spectators were no longer on the streets.  I felt very close to the finish, because I could see the searchlights shining from the oval.  However, there is a section in the route that then takes you back out of town for a turnaround and then returns to the finish.  The last mile seemed to take forever.  I could hear loud music and the announcer screaming.  I could hear a large crowd cheering.  The many spectators that once stood in the streets were now partying in the oval as each participant finished. 

I was now headed into the oval as the lightening continued.  The second loop of the marathon took me 3 hours and 11 minutes to complete, for a total marathon time of 5 hours and 52 minutes.  The path towards the finish line curves around what resembles a high school track.  For the final 200 yards of the race, you find yourself in what seems like a cavern filled with thousands of people cheering.  I ran down the finish chute alone as the announcer screamed “GREGG RIESS FROM KANSAS…YOU!   ARE!   AN!   IRONMAN!”  I saved enough energy to jump in the air as I crossed the finish line and broke the finish banner.   

A woman volunteer greeted me after the finish line.  They call this person the “catcher” because some times people collapse after they cross the line and need to be caught in mid-fall.  I didn’t collapse, but I appreciated her effort as she help put a finisher’s medal around my neck and then game me a finisher’s shirt.  She walked me to the food tent and left me as I explored the food available, which included pizza and box lunches.  I grabbed one of everything and walked into the massage tent.  It was now around 10:30pm.  I was beat, and I was very glad to be sitting down, eating and waiting for a massage.  The race that started at 7am concluded for me 15 hours and 19 minutes later.  Of the 1,751 athletes that started the day in Mirror Lake, only 126 athletes posted a “DNF” (did not finish).  Frankly, I was surprised that my body held together this long.  I knew that my IT Band or other overuse injuries could have seriously threatened my race.

I climbed on the massage table and the woman asked where I need attention.  “Everywhere, but especially my legs” I said.  She worked on my legs and commented that I was her first massage this evening that did not have shaved legs.  I told her my wife and I discussed leg shaving and we decided my wife was the only one in our family that was going to have shaved legs.  She asked about my family as she massaged my feet, wanting to know if they were waiting outside.  I explained that my family did not make the trip and that I was looking forward to calling them.  Suddenly, she stopped the massage.  I opened my eyes to see her standing over me as she handed me her wireless phone.  “It’s on me,” she said.  I fumbled with the keypad to call my wife.  I was starting to get emotional because of this stranger’s kind gesture, and then I saw her crying as I listened to the phone ring in my ear.  My wife answered and I couldn’t say a thing because I was choked up.  I heard my wife cry on the other end.  I told her I was OK and that I would call her later.  I could hardly hold the phone because my arms and shoulders were so beat.   

After the massage, I gathered my gear and walked my bike back to the hotel as the rain started to fall in a quite heavy downpour to close out a long Sunday.     

On Tuesday, I flew back to Kansas City.  As I walked down the jet way, I was very happy to see my wife and three kids.  As I walked closer, I was very surprised to see them wearing custom printed t-shirts with “My Dad’s An Ironman” on the front and “Way To Go Daddy” on the back. 

You can do it.

The Ironman was a great test of endurance and perseverance.  I felt proud to pass this test, and I felt that I learned a great deal during the race.  I reflected on my goal to finish and the 35-weeks of training that prepared me for the event.   

Because of the strain on my family (and on my body!), I plan to take a few years off from Ironman training.  However, I plan to continue triathlon training over the next seven months for next year’s season that will include a number of local and regional triathlon events. 

I still hesitate to consider myself an athlete.  But, I now have the experience of the Ironman behind me as I look for new goals to accomplish.  Believe me: if I can do this, I am sure you can too. 

Gregg Ironman Story: Intro

Not an athlete
Ironman: is it possible?
Race day