Ironman Coeur d'Alene (Ironman Hades) Race Report
Sunday, 1:30 am.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. Ugh. Soreness. Bedtime was 10 pm and I've probably only gotten an hour or two of sleep since then. I crawl out of bed, tiptoe into the kitchen, and fumble for the fridge door. "Ow!" Pure brightness assails my eyes. I grab my smoothie, and slurp it in the dark. It's a health nut concoction made of bananas, blueberries, beets, nuts, chia seeds, peanut butter, turmeric, black pepper, and kefir from goat milk.Sunday, 1:30 am.
It's good practice to eat breakfast four hours before race start, but this doesn't seem worth it. I finish, drink as much water as I can, and flop back into bed. Next alarm: 4:10 am. I toss and turn for a bit, cursing myself for my inane life decisions, and fall back asleep.
Thursday, 9:00 am.
Rewind two days. I'm at physical therapy for my Achilles. I have tendinitis in my right tendon, and tendinosis in the left (caused by a long run sometime in April). This isn't good. I'm not supposed to run, hike, or even walk too hard. As a responsible patient, I am planning on doing Ironman Coeur d'Alene on Sunday.
My therapist's advice: Walk the marathon, and stop if it hurts. She then says that today will be easy so I'm all rested by Sunday - and follows up by having me do way too many one legged squats. I bike home, already feeling a bit sore.
Friday, 1:00 pm.
Yay! After a very sore seven hour drive to Coeur d'Alene, I register, get my swag bag, attend the pre-race talk, and get really intimidated by all the other triathletes. Everyone looks intense, and there aren't many smiles going around. I meet Godwin and Lindsay, Hunter's friends from Whitman. Godwin's family is graciously hosting us for the weekend, and we drive 20 minutes to the Peck household. I fall in love. They live in a cute house on the edge of town, make absolutely everything from scratch, and have a fantastic family dynamic. We hung out, Saskia (Godwin's mom) cooked amazing dinner, and went to bed early.
Saturday
I drop off my bike and transition bags, go for a 20 minute swim, and feel the soreness recede a bit. We hang out in town, then return to the house. Saskia offers to stick some needles into my tendons (she does acupuncture). It felt great! It's about bedtime, so I make breakfast, have a snack, lay in bed, and stare at the ceiling for a few hours, contemplating failure and irreparable injury to my Achilles.
Sunday, 5:30 am.
BAM! The pros are off. Race start was moved an hour early due to the extremely high predicted temperatures: 105 F. It must be 70 F already. Fifteen minutes to the age-group swim start. I pull on my wetsuit, warm up in the water, and laugh hysterically until the gun goes off.
5:55 am.
Swim
I plunge into the water, and focus on breathing, getting a solid pace going, and trying not to get kicked in the face. The swim is mostly unremarkable, but really fun! I get smacked, smack accidentally in return, and swim the 2.4 miles in an hour and thirteen minutes.
Transition 1
Wetsuit strippers! My favorite. I pull my wetsuit down to my waist, lay down, and let two of them rip it off of me.
I rush into the transition tent, put on my bike shoes, helmet, and sunglasses, gulp down a salt pill and some water, then go outside. Someone slathers sunscreen all over me, and I head to the bike.
Bike
It's a beautiful cloudless morning. The crowds are out already, cheering in the 90 degree weather. I start easy, warm up for a few miles, and put my head down, enjoying the light breeze and the view.
It gets hot, fast. The bike course isn't too bad - about 5000 ft elevation gain. I love hills, so I pass everyone going up the mild grades, and get passed in return in the downhills and on the flats.
The heat starts getting brutal. Aid stations are every 10 miles. I get into a routine:
1) See aid station approaching
2) Dump my water bottles on my head, chest, and arms to cool myself down
3) Grab two new bottles from volunteers, and ask them to dump water on me as I pedal by
4) Feel refreshed for the next five minutes until the heat sucks every bit of moisture out of me.
I pop salt pills at random, and stick to eating a Jete bar every 20 miles, which works out really well.
As the hours go by, less and less people smile back to me, as faces become more and more grim. Heads go down, and legs struggle to maintain a constant rhythm. The pavement starts radiating heat, and drums start pounding the insides of my skull. One of the aid stations runs out of water, and all the others run out of ice. The water bottles they hand us are 105 F.
The hills are a massacre. Coming down the last big one during my last 10 miles, I pass a line of fifteen dejected athletes, pushing their bikes up the grade. Occasional abandoned bikes punctuate the shoulder, and I have to peer into the scraggly underbrush to pick out a figure huddled beneath the meager shade, waiting for hell to subside. I pass a volunteer holding a big sign proclaiming "You didn't know you signed up for Ironman Hades!". I had to laugh - he certainly had it right
Despite the heat, it was a fantastic ride.
Do you know the feeling when your smile gets so big you think your face might split in half; when your heart fills up to bursting with happiness; when you want to cry for seemingly no reason; when you don't know what to do with all the joy suddenly flooding your veins? This occasionally happens to me when I'm challenging myself doing something I love. It's more potent than runner's high or anything I have ever experienced. It fills me up to the brim, overflows, and all I can do for the next few minutes is sport a big stupid grin, replaced occasionally by throaty chuckles, all the while getting misty eyed.
This is how I spent most of the 112 mile bike ride. I must have looked absolutely mental.
Six hours and twenty five minutes of this later, I was done! I roll back into town, and the crowds have swollen to unprecedented proportions. They are all yelling, cheering, dancing, and having an absolutely fantastic time encouraging us. I get off my bike and rush into T2
Transition 2
At this point in the race, the organizers are worried. People are dropping like flies, and heatstroke is a real issue. Therefore, as I enter the changing tent, I get a literal gallon of ice water dumped on me, followed by a few damp rags to cover my neck and forehead. I put on some socks, running shoes, and my sunglasses. Whoops - should've brought a hat. I get out of the tent, and the same girl from before covers me in an even thicker layer of sunscreen. "She absolutely loves this job" hoots one of the other volunteers, presumably her mother. She blushes beet red, and I giggle myself to the run start
Run
Here it is. I have to exert every ounce of self control to not run. It's not worth it to injure myself more. It's one of the hardest things I have ever done. Crowds surround me, cheering, but obviously confused. Why isn't he running? He doesn't look that tired. Why is he smiling? "Good job pacing yourself!" I try to keep a straight face, but I just want to cry. Six miles and an hour and a half later, I get to the turn-around. I hate myself and everything around me. I'm not even tired at this point, just frustrated. I chat with Sara as we both walk up a hill, and as she jogs away at the summit, something in me snaps. As a runner, I've been going slowly insane at seeing people doing what I love, when I can't. I have been power walking, and my Achilles are hurting a bit. "Fuck it". I begin the slowest, most shambling jog I have ever attempted. It's barely over walking speed, but mentally, it's what I needed. This zombie-like shuffle actually puts less force on my Achiiles than my walk did, so I alternate for the next few miles.
"Shit". My toenail. I bought Saucony Rides for the extra cushioning and bigger heel drop than my Kinvaras, but since I haven't ran since May, I never got to break them in. Not a good idea. One of my toenails feels like it's being pried off, so I have to clench my left foot. This alters my stride, and after a mile or two more, my right leg right under the kneecap seizes up. I unclench my foot and grimace through the pain, but the damage has been done. I start limping on my right leg.
At this point, I see a lady walking in front of me. I speed up, introduce myself, and get to chatting. Tracy has done a few Ironman's before, but none like this one. She hasn't been able to keep food down since mile six of the run, and is considering giving up at the half-way mark. Seeing that she needs motivation, I stick with her, and convince her to keep on chugging. We run/walk/stagger back until mile 12. At this point I should add that the citizens of Coeur d'Alene (bless their beautiful hearts) saved all of us from heatstroke. Almost every single house had a hose or a sprinkler out, blasting us with watery goodness. Some angel would stand there for six hours, holding a hose, asking every athlete going by if they needed to be blasted in the face. Bands played. The "happy fun happy corner" MC told jokes, encouraged us, and coaxed smiles out of the most unwilling faces as we went by.
At this point in the race, morale was incredibly low. Everyone was walking. Occasionally, we would lurch forward for a few hundred feet before slowing almost to a halt, and struggling to keep forward momentum. Even the best runners couldn't do it. Groups of two or three would form, chat dejectedly for a bit, and then separate. Luckily, there was an aid station every mile. I devised a new routine.
1) grab water with one hand and ice with the other
2) drink water, pour ice down my back
3) grab two sponges, put them in my jersey
4) grab water and gatorade, alternate drinking both
5) snag a few chips, banana chunks, or orange wedges. Wash them down with water
6) allow a kind volunteer to soak me
The heat starts getting brutal. Aid stations are every 10 miles. I get into a routine:
1) See aid station approaching
2) Dump my water bottles on my head, chest, and arms to cool myself down
3) Grab two new bottles from volunteers, and ask them to dump water on me as I pedal by
4) Feel refreshed for the next five minutes until the heat sucks every bit of moisture out of me.
I pop salt pills at random, and stick to eating a Jete bar every 20 miles, which works out really well.
As the hours go by, less and less people smile back to me, as faces become more and more grim. Heads go down, and legs struggle to maintain a constant rhythm. The pavement starts radiating heat, and drums start pounding the insides of my skull. One of the aid stations runs out of water, and all the others run out of ice. The water bottles they hand us are 105 F.
The hills are a massacre. Coming down the last big one during my last 10 miles, I pass a line of fifteen dejected athletes, pushing their bikes up the grade. Occasional abandoned bikes punctuate the shoulder, and I have to peer into the scraggly underbrush to pick out a figure huddled beneath the meager shade, waiting for hell to subside. I pass a volunteer holding a big sign proclaiming "You didn't know you signed up for Ironman Hades!". I had to laugh - he certainly had it right
Despite the heat, it was a fantastic ride.
Do you know the feeling when your smile gets so big you think your face might split in half; when your heart fills up to bursting with happiness; when you want to cry for seemingly no reason; when you don't know what to do with all the joy suddenly flooding your veins? This occasionally happens to me when I'm challenging myself doing something I love. It's more potent than runner's high or anything I have ever experienced. It fills me up to the brim, overflows, and all I can do for the next few minutes is sport a big stupid grin, replaced occasionally by throaty chuckles, all the while getting misty eyed.
This is how I spent most of the 112 mile bike ride. I must have looked absolutely mental.
Six hours and twenty five minutes of this later, I was done! I roll back into town, and the crowds have swollen to unprecedented proportions. They are all yelling, cheering, dancing, and having an absolutely fantastic time encouraging us. I get off my bike and rush into T2
Transition 2
At this point in the race, the organizers are worried. People are dropping like flies, and heatstroke is a real issue. Therefore, as I enter the changing tent, I get a literal gallon of ice water dumped on me, followed by a few damp rags to cover my neck and forehead. I put on some socks, running shoes, and my sunglasses. Whoops - should've brought a hat. I get out of the tent, and the same girl from before covers me in an even thicker layer of sunscreen. "She absolutely loves this job" hoots one of the other volunteers, presumably her mother. She blushes beet red, and I giggle myself to the run start
Run
Here it is. I have to exert every ounce of self control to not run. It's not worth it to injure myself more. It's one of the hardest things I have ever done. Crowds surround me, cheering, but obviously confused. Why isn't he running? He doesn't look that tired. Why is he smiling? "Good job pacing yourself!" I try to keep a straight face, but I just want to cry. Six miles and an hour and a half later, I get to the turn-around. I hate myself and everything around me. I'm not even tired at this point, just frustrated. I chat with Sara as we both walk up a hill, and as she jogs away at the summit, something in me snaps. As a runner, I've been going slowly insane at seeing people doing what I love, when I can't. I have been power walking, and my Achilles are hurting a bit. "Fuck it". I begin the slowest, most shambling jog I have ever attempted. It's barely over walking speed, but mentally, it's what I needed. This zombie-like shuffle actually puts less force on my Achiiles than my walk did, so I alternate for the next few miles.
"Shit". My toenail. I bought Saucony Rides for the extra cushioning and bigger heel drop than my Kinvaras, but since I haven't ran since May, I never got to break them in. Not a good idea. One of my toenails feels like it's being pried off, so I have to clench my left foot. This alters my stride, and after a mile or two more, my right leg right under the kneecap seizes up. I unclench my foot and grimace through the pain, but the damage has been done. I start limping on my right leg.
At this point, I see a lady walking in front of me. I speed up, introduce myself, and get to chatting. Tracy has done a few Ironman's before, but none like this one. She hasn't been able to keep food down since mile six of the run, and is considering giving up at the half-way mark. Seeing that she needs motivation, I stick with her, and convince her to keep on chugging. We run/walk/stagger back until mile 12. At this point I should add that the citizens of Coeur d'Alene (bless their beautiful hearts) saved all of us from heatstroke. Almost every single house had a hose or a sprinkler out, blasting us with watery goodness. Some angel would stand there for six hours, holding a hose, asking every athlete going by if they needed to be blasted in the face. Bands played. The "happy fun happy corner" MC told jokes, encouraged us, and coaxed smiles out of the most unwilling faces as we went by.
At this point in the race, morale was incredibly low. Everyone was walking. Occasionally, we would lurch forward for a few hundred feet before slowing almost to a halt, and struggling to keep forward momentum. Even the best runners couldn't do it. Groups of two or three would form, chat dejectedly for a bit, and then separate. Luckily, there was an aid station every mile. I devised a new routine.
1) grab water with one hand and ice with the other
2) drink water, pour ice down my back
3) grab two sponges, put them in my jersey
4) grab water and gatorade, alternate drinking both
5) snag a few chips, banana chunks, or orange wedges. Wash them down with water
6) allow a kind volunteer to soak me
But back to mile 12. Tracy and I arrive to the turnaround. She jokingly pretends to run right through it, and I remind her of something she shared with me "You said that crossing the finish line to all these people cheering you and yelling your name was the best feeling you have ever experienced. Are you really going to give that up after already committing twelve hours because you're tired? Come on Tracy, we can do this!" She stares at me, and I can only imagine the gargantuan struggle going through her head. Finally she turns around and jogs up to where I'm waiting. "Come on", she says. We run for a few miles before we get separated at an aid station. I start walking again and meet Liza. She's on her first lap, and doesn't think she will make the cutoff time. We walk/jog for a few miles together, and get separated. I chat with lots of people, slowly getting through the mileage, trying to avoid thinking about how stiff my right leg is getting and how much my toenail hurts.
The sun is going down, providing some shade and beautiful views of the lake, which is slowly getting shrouded in mist.
Around mile 22, Tracy catches back up with me. She looks good. She finally got a gu down, and is feeling strong. Back to business. I run with her for a few miles, but my ankles start hurting so I tell her to give it her all and to finish strong. She turns back and thanks me for helping her through that tough moment, saying she couldn't have done it alone. I blink back a tear or two as she picks up speed and runs to the finish.
The last few miles are very nice. I hang out with Edward, who is doing his first Ironman as well. We agree to walk till we have about half a mile left, and then run to the finish together. As we take the last turn, my heart fills up again. We're on the Coeur d'Alene main street. On both sides of the road, people sitting at restaurants or standing by the fence cheer at us. Hunter, Godwin, Saskia, and Nathan (Godwin's brother) are there cheering, so I run by and high five them all. A few blocks later, the road narrows into the finishing chute. I see my dad amidst the crowd, run over to him, and give him a huge hug.
I let Edward go first, and follow him to the finish, giving high fives and smiling myself silly the whole way. The crowd went absolutely wild - it was magical.
After thirteen hours and forty-one minutes, I'm done!
I go into the athlete area, and Sara that I met at the beginning of the run gives me a huge bear hug "We did it!". I devour a few slices of pizza, then ride back to the Peck's with my dad
Monday
I am told a few fun facts. Apparently, this is the hottest Ironman they have ever had. Out of the 2000 people supposed to compete 200 people didn't even start, and around 400 dropped out during the race.
Also, a truck carrying 2 million bees crashed about 200 yards from the course, which could have been tragic. Imagine 1400 tired, sunburnt athletes in no position to run being chased by swarms of angry bees into the lake. It puts the difficulty of the race into some nice perspective.
I was sore Monday, but luckily had no pain on my Achilles. Saskia did some acupuncture on my right leg, which helped a lot.
As it was my first time doing this, I severely misjudged how much body glide to apply, and my butt and lower thighs are incredibly chaffed. I also have the best tramp stamp sunburn from hunching over on he bike. It's pretty awesome.
Thoughts
Doing this race was an amazing experience. Not especially because of the actual race - the distances were long, but not particularly difficult. What I really enjoyed was how the heat brought us all together. Since everyone was walking, I talked with so many wonderful people, gained insight into why other people do stuff like this, and in one case convinced someone to finish despite the pain. The volunteers went absolutely all out. One of the aid stations was "invaded by aliens" - all of them were wearing costumes, despite the heat.
There was one memorable volunteer all by himself in the sun in the middle of nowhere on the bike, cheering himself hoarse every time I went by.
I got to meet people who pushed themselves to their utter limit, no matter the suffering encountered on the way. Remember Liza who I ran with for a bit? I was watching the race video that Ironman makes, and one of the last shots is her crossing the finish line in the dark with her hands raised up in celebration.
While Ironman Hades was certainly difficult, I'm hooked. It's such a great distance to race, and once I'm all healed up I want to do another, and run the whole marathon!
Now that this goal is over, I should announce my next adventure soon. Stay tuned!
Hint: It involves bicycles and South America.
Love,
Malcolm
The sun is going down, providing some shade and beautiful views of the lake, which is slowly getting shrouded in mist.
Around mile 22, Tracy catches back up with me. She looks good. She finally got a gu down, and is feeling strong. Back to business. I run with her for a few miles, but my ankles start hurting so I tell her to give it her all and to finish strong. She turns back and thanks me for helping her through that tough moment, saying she couldn't have done it alone. I blink back a tear or two as she picks up speed and runs to the finish.
The last few miles are very nice. I hang out with Edward, who is doing his first Ironman as well. We agree to walk till we have about half a mile left, and then run to the finish together. As we take the last turn, my heart fills up again. We're on the Coeur d'Alene main street. On both sides of the road, people sitting at restaurants or standing by the fence cheer at us. Hunter, Godwin, Saskia, and Nathan (Godwin's brother) are there cheering, so I run by and high five them all. A few blocks later, the road narrows into the finishing chute. I see my dad amidst the crowd, run over to him, and give him a huge hug.
I let Edward go first, and follow him to the finish, giving high fives and smiling myself silly the whole way. The crowd went absolutely wild - it was magical.
After thirteen hours and forty-one minutes, I'm done!
I go into the athlete area, and Sara that I met at the beginning of the run gives me a huge bear hug "We did it!". I devour a few slices of pizza, then ride back to the Peck's with my dad
Monday
I am told a few fun facts. Apparently, this is the hottest Ironman they have ever had. Out of the 2000 people supposed to compete 200 people didn't even start, and around 400 dropped out during the race.
Also, a truck carrying 2 million bees crashed about 200 yards from the course, which could have been tragic. Imagine 1400 tired, sunburnt athletes in no position to run being chased by swarms of angry bees into the lake. It puts the difficulty of the race into some nice perspective.
I was sore Monday, but luckily had no pain on my Achilles. Saskia did some acupuncture on my right leg, which helped a lot.
As it was my first time doing this, I severely misjudged how much body glide to apply, and my butt and lower thighs are incredibly chaffed. I also have the best tramp stamp sunburn from hunching over on he bike. It's pretty awesome.
Thoughts
Doing this race was an amazing experience. Not especially because of the actual race - the distances were long, but not particularly difficult. What I really enjoyed was how the heat brought us all together. Since everyone was walking, I talked with so many wonderful people, gained insight into why other people do stuff like this, and in one case convinced someone to finish despite the pain. The volunteers went absolutely all out. One of the aid stations was "invaded by aliens" - all of them were wearing costumes, despite the heat.
There was one memorable volunteer all by himself in the sun in the middle of nowhere on the bike, cheering himself hoarse every time I went by.
I got to meet people who pushed themselves to their utter limit, no matter the suffering encountered on the way. Remember Liza who I ran with for a bit? I was watching the race video that Ironman makes, and one of the last shots is her crossing the finish line in the dark with her hands raised up in celebration.
While Ironman Hades was certainly difficult, I'm hooked. It's such a great distance to race, and once I'm all healed up I want to do another, and run the whole marathon!
Now that this goal is over, I should announce my next adventure soon. Stay tuned!
Hint: It involves bicycles and South America.
Love,
Malcolm
