| REV 3 Cedar Point
September 7th, 2014 is the date of my first attempt at completion of a 140.6 mile Ironman-distance triathlon and exactly one year after my very first half Ironman-distance race. So much has happened in that year that has carried me to this finale. Countless hours working out; thousands of laps in the pool; hundreds of miles running; and thousands more in the saddle. And no way to have completed it without the support of my better half, Sandi.
It was a very long process leading up to this monumental event in my life. Not just a sporting event, but a true bucket-list entry. Shortly after my career shift at Thomas Jefferson University from auditing to research administration, I signed up for the office weight loss contest starting out close to 200 pounds. Walked every day at lunch and dropped almost 17 pounds. Did the annual contest the next several years, progressing through jogging to running and bicycling, dropping into the low 150s. During that time, I participated in several road running races, and some longer bicycle events, culminating in the annual Multiple Sclerosis City-to-Shore ride from Cherry Hill to Ocean City, NJ going 175 miles in two days and truly enjoying the workouts and the mental buildup to participate in each one.
Starting in 2010, I attempted my first triathlon – a sprint-distance event in Philadelphia – and was soon hooked. Two more sprint races in 2011 before moving up to try a 50-miler and an Olympic-distance tri in 2012. 2013 brought another 50-miler and a half-Ironman race (September 7, 2013), where I finished 2nd in my age group. Following a 5 year schedule, 2014 has proven to be my most difficult and rewarding, having completed a second half-Ironman in just over 5 hours for my second podium finish. A month later I did a shorter Olympic race that earned me admission to the national championships. I chose to bypass nationals to focus solely on the big prize – a full Ironman-distance triathlon – to be held outside Cedar Point Amusement Park, located in Sandusky, Ohio on that fateful day, September 7th 2014.
Somewhat surprisingly, while I have dealt with significant injuries to my calf and shoulder over the last couple years, I have stayed basically “pain” free for over a year. I put pain in quotes because in the triathlete world, there is an important difference between pain and discomfort. Pain is an indication of potential injury if the activity doesn’t change or cease. Unlike the masochist’s mantra of “No pain, no gain”, it is a clear sign that you’re doing it wrong, rather than something you need to “work through”. Discomfort, on the other hand, is experienced by exceeding your current level of fitness. It is where physical growth takes place. To be more precise, it’s where muscles are worked beyond existing limits, broken down just a tad and subsequently rebuilt just a bit stronger. Strange as it may sound, discomfort is the feeling that true athletes actually look forward to, as it shows progress. And you’d be surprised how much discomfort you are willing to withstand over time to achieve a goal - a goal that I’ve written down and look at as I sit at my desk, reminding me why I’m doing all this. Bucket-list entries are not supposed to be easy to obtain. That’s why they’re on the list rather than something you just go and do. I will provide one caveat to that statement, as jumping out of a perfectly good aircraft was something I didn’t really have to do much to accomplish except show up and pay. Yet still a very memorable experience.
In the last 12 months I swam over 130 miles, ran 750 miles and rode over 2,700 more. Six day-a-week workouts were sometimes started in pre-dawn hours with freezing winter temperatures. They were done through the hot and humid days of the summer, in rain and wind and often finished in darkness. Each scheduled workout I faced the choice between comfort and discomfort, I chose the latter, because of a goal. Each injury setback was corrected with proper physical therapy and a rededication to the objective. While I had at least one rest day each week, it was often on a day when I had to do numerous other physical activities that had been neglected, be it yard work, home maintenance or moving the girls to and from college.
Neither my exercise routine nor my otherwise busy schedule lent themselves to group workouts, so the vast majority of my training is done alone. And while I wish the opportunity to work out with others presented itself more often, I was fine with it. Besides, lacking a training partner permitted the flexibility to shift my workouts during the day or among days, depending on forces outside my control like weather, family and work obligations. It also allowed me to push just a bit harder on days I felt good. And not to sound pompous, but the majority of available members of my Philadelphia Triathlon Club do not ride or run as fast as I train. Being alone also ensured a better focus on the individual task at hand, be it a specific 100 yard lap time, keeping the wheels turning at 20+ mph or running at 8:00/mile pace.
One training partner I couldn’t have done without was my Garmin GPS watch and heart rate monitor. Knowing my heart rate at any particular time helped to maximize the gain achieved in each workout. Learning to “feel” the difference between, endurance, tempo, lactate threshold, and VO2 max, has taught me when I was exercising in the pulse “sweet spot”. Similarly, knowing my successive run/bike mile times, provides immediate feedback on whether a slight change in stride or trying a gear higher is beneficial. It also tends to break up the monotony of a long workout by maintaining focus on the “here and now” rather than on “how much longer do I have to do this?” The ability to download the watch information into Garmin’s website provides a plethora of useful information about topography, wind, temperature, humidity, speed, time, distance, and even calories burned. Everything a good “numbers-man” can enjoy. Hey, the idea is if it can be measured, it can be improved.
Doing some minor maintenance on the bike a couple weeks before the event, I decided to take a look at the wheel bearings. Unfortunately, the front ball bearings and the bearing surfaces (known as races) were a bit pitted – an indication of wear and tear over the course of the last five years. I conservatively estimate that I’ve ridden 1,500 mile per year, on top of whatever miles were put on it by the previous triathlete owner. Thus, it’s quite likely the wheel has well over 10,000 miles of usage. I also checked the rear wheel bearing surfaces to found no significant wear to them, but removed the ball bearings anyway and took them to REI for replacement.
The bike technician was patient with me, explaining what to look for in replacement bearings to ensure I understood why all the races he scoured were not quite right for the front wheel. He was able to provide the two different sized ball bearings needed for the front and races and bearings for the rear. Doing his best to help the customer, we spent well over 30 minutes looking and talking about what he could order and have within a couple days. It was then that I asked what replacement wheels they had available and within a few minutes of looking at the choices priced as high as $800 each, I purchased a $150 replacement Mavic front wheel with bladed spokes. This was my first “upgrade” on the bike since it had an overhaul performed last year, requiring replacement of the chain and rear sprocket / cassette.
I think that over the course of my ownership, the bike has cost me about $1,500, which isn’t bad considering the price of new triathlon/racing bike starts about double that and quickly rises into the $8,000 range with high-end bikes well over $10K. I only paid $8,300 for my first new car – a Mazda 323. Granted, the superbikes are very lightweight, have terrific handling and really smooth shifting so they definitely save some time out on the course. But while I typically finish in the top 10%-25% of races, I can’t justify spending that kind of money to drop a few minutes on the second element of a triathlon.
Returning home with my late birthday present, I replaced the rear races, repacked them with grease, inserted the new ball bearings and installed the rear wheel. Then I locked the new front wheel in and marveled at its awesomeness, mesmerized by its silent spinning. “They won’t even hear me coming”, chuckled the Grinchy triathlete. Ooops, sorry. Just got lost in the moment. Now, I have a reassembled front wheel to use for training and a separate high-tech wheel for racing.
Knowing the new front wheel needs to be broken in, I leave it on the bike for my toughest training brick two Sunday’s before the big event. Ride for 90 minutes at a good pace (18.0 mph), then transition to 30 minute run (8:32/mile). Take a 5 minute break to use the bathroom and refill the Gatorade and do another 90 minutes ride at a faster pace (18.2 mph), then transition to 30 minute run (8:03/mi). Another 5 minute break and ride another 90 minutes even faster (19.5 mph), then a final 30 minute run (7:48/mi). By the end, I was beat, but having accomplished it provided a boost of confidence that going another 5 hours is possible. The bike is ready. I am ready. I feel good.
The last two weeks before the race, I follow my coach’s instructions and begin to taper my workouts. Tapering provides two significant advantages. First is that the body strengthens as a result of the rebuilding that takes place after you’ve broken muscles down during hard exercise. Thus, exercising hard for the last two weeks provides no significant gains for the day of the race. By resting, the body gains all the benefits of the previous weeks’ workouts without loss of fitness. Secondly, with two weeks of rest, any minor aches and pains have a chance to heal, ensuring I’m in the best physical shape at the start of the race. The only thing I have to watch is that I don’t continue to eat as if I’m doing 2 hour workouts and add weight I’d rather not carry for 140.6 miles!
Friday and Saturday are “rest” days where no training is to take place. This works out fairly well, as Thursday will be our first travel day as we head out to Shippensburg University on Kristen and Rebecca’s 21st birthday. We take them out for dinner and their first “legal” drinks and on Friday, continue our journey out to Medina, Ohio where my brother (Roger) and his wife (Melissa) live. They have graciously agreed to host Sandi and me for the duration and are looking forward to being part of my cheer squad and official photographer.
After dropping our stuff off at the house, the four of us continued west to Cedar Point Amusement Park, the site of the REV3 races. They’ll be running a sprint-distance and some kids triathlons on Saturday, with the full and half-distance races taking place on Sunday. I need to see the transition area and expected to take a ride along the bicycle and run courses to reduce the chance of getting lost on Sunday. Near the entrance to the park, they’ve put up barricades for the event. A large area is cordoned off for “athletes only”, where we will park our bikes overnight and leave our transition bags. It’s also where the dressing tents are located for changing from wetsuit to bicycle wear and then to running clothes.
I stop at the check-in tent, to obtain my athlete's packet - Competitor # 159. It contains various paperwork, my colored swim cap, a runner's bib with my number and name, a large "159" sticker for the bike's cross-tube (for easy identification in photos, but more importantly so officials can easily identify violators of biking rules like drafting and illegal passes), and smaller ones for the helmet front, and four plastic, drawstring bags. Each bag is labeled for a specific purpose: The swim-to-bike (S2B), bike-special-needs (BSN), bike-to-run (B2R), and run-special-needs (RSN). There's also Body Marx temporary tattoos (a "159" for the back of one hand and another for each arm, "52" and "F" for my right calf to indicate I'll be doing the full-distance race as opposed to the "H"alf-distance triathletes), a timing chip with ankle band, and my wristband which they put on me immediately - because big brother always wants to know where you are.
After checking out the swim exit at the top of the transition area and the bicycle exit out the bottom, I’m pretty confident I won’t miss them. But then I looked at the lake. Although it’s not as windy as normal – average 10-15 mph winds off the lake – the breaking surf, undulating swell and inability to see land on the horizon make Lake Erie look a lot more like the Atlantic Ocean than the pool I’ve been practicing in for the last six months. The fact that Sunday will be a full-moon may also have something to do with the 3-foot distance from the crest of each wave to its base.
I’ve now moved from general nervousness of the upcoming competition, to actual concern for my safety. Not in the sense that I think I’ll drown, but that I could easily have a wave crash over me while swimming blind into it; or opening my mouth at the wrong time for a breath. I’ve found breathing is pretty essential to the completion of any swim over 25 yards. Sunday’s swim will be almost 170 times that far and I can’t hold my breath that long. I just keep hearing Gordon Lightfoot’s “The Wreck of the Edmond Fitzgerald” in my head.
Instead of jumping in for a swim, we head out in Roger’s truck to check out the bike course. Within short order, we are off course, having retraced our incoming route. Turns out there’s a smaller road along the southern shoreline, with private – and I’m sure very expensive – housing along its right. I won’t get a chance to check out this road until l take the bike out for a spin tomorrow. Still, we manage to pick up the trail a few miles away and as we drive along the course, I am looking intently at the road surface to remember particularly bad areas I’ll need to avoid on the bike. The course itself travels through neighborhoods, schools, parks, as well as more rural farmlands. For the most part, the surface is okay, but certainly not pristine. Any hills seem relatively easy to manage, though there are corners that have some potentially hazardous sand and stones. When you only have a couple of square inches of tire in contact with the ground while traveling at 15-20 mph in a tight turn, it’s pretty important to have adequate grip to transfer straight-forward movement in one direction, to straight-forward movement in another, while limiting the chance of losing traction altogether and enjoying an up-close and personal meeting with the road.
Once we’ve ridden the bike loop once, I’m pretty confident that I know what to expect. Being relatively late, I forgo the run course as I assume it’s as well-marked as the bike course and won’t likely have anything to be concerned about. So we head to Red Robin for dinner, where I relish an egg-topped cheeseburger with fries and a bottomless root beer float. Actually, three of them. Yum! Back at Roger and Melissa’s, we enjoy additional fellowship before heading up to bed.
On Saturday, we awaken fairly early for the trip to my nephew’s collegiate cross-country race taking place about two hours south. Blake runs well in the 8K race for Wooster College, but realizes afterwards that he may have started a bit too fast as his first mile was 4:40! He’s just a sophomore, but that boy can run! His team does better than expected, winning the invitational meet. Roger – being the unofficial team photographer – will soon post 700+ pictures of the men’s and women’s races to the web, for the runners to peruse. It was the first opportunity I’ve had to actually see Blake race and it certainly brought back memories of my own high school and collegiate running careers – so I get to live vicariously through him.
After the awards ceremony, we head back to Cedar Point for me to attend a mandatory athletes' meeting. After the gathering, I take a final test ride on the bike, doing the first couple miles of the course we had missed on Friday. It’s a relatively poorly maintained road that the USAT official had informed us will convert the bottle brackets on the back of the bicycle seat into bottle launchers. The initial and final 5 or so miles on the bike will not be enjoyable. Upon my return, I stop by the bike mechanic’s tent to have them investigate a ticking noise in the right side that occurs when pedaling hard. When I came back later, the guy tells me the bad news that the pedal bearings are bad. Adding insult to injury, he explains that he doesn’t have replacements as they are at least 15 years old. The good news is that he has new pedals if I’m interested in replacing them. After he assures me the original pedals will be fine for now, I decline his offer, knowing that I don’t want to try anything new this close to the race. Still, it’s now on my list for replacement when I get back home.
I drop off the bike in transition, where it will be guarded overnight and given the once-over by the bike officials to ensure it meets all the USAT safety requirements – handlebar endcaps, brakes, etc. I’m not so concerned about the threat of theft since it appears I likely have the least expensive two-wheeler of the 200+ in my race. From the high-end manufacturer names on the bikes around me, I know that other competitors have spent more just on specialty wheels than I did to purchase and upgrade my bike over the last five years. Seriously, I recognized $2,000 wheelsets among several of them.
While I understand that race registration and travel expenses related to competing in triathlons can be pretty costly, I’m equally convinced it does not have to be as expensive as many make it. Companies like REV3 and Piranha put on excellent events at less than half the price of the Ironman-branded ones. And while many triathletes spend thousands on the lightest bikes available, to provide the fastest times, I prefer to spend significantly less on the bike so I can hire a coach who makes me faster in all three events. A reasonable explanation for pouring money into the bike may be that they are busy executives that have more than adequate funds, but lack the available time to commit to make themselves better athletes. Whatever the reason, I’m pretty sure many of these competitors will be seeing my back before their race is over. Cocky, no. Confident, yes. Just have to see how the pedal bearings hold up.
Prepared to take a practice swim this afternoon, I find myself again looking out at the expanse of water. It doesn’t look any better than yesterday but the giant, red REV3 buoy indicating the exit of the swim, sits a couple hundred yards off shore. Unfortunately, at times, the undulating surf obscures half the 6-foot tall buoy. I’m debating with myself if I should even bother to swim out there and back, and quickly realize that I’ve forgotten swim goggles. Roger heads back to the car for them as I continue to come up with reasons not to enter the water. I’m sounding more like Rainman in my head, “Yeah, don’t wanna’ lose my contacts.” I also don’t have a swim partner. “Yeah, I could find myself in trouble. Prob’ly don’t wanna’ do that.” Roger returns saying the goggles weren’t there.
But the two voices I listen to are wife Sandi and coach Laurie. Sandi says, “Just get out there and get used to it.” Likewise, Laurie has instructed me to always take the opportunity to swim in from the last buoy so you can better visualize the swim exit. And so with trepidation, I wade into the surf, carefully breast stroking out toward the buoy that I can only see when I’m at the top of the swell. “Oh, this will be fun tomorrow!” Several times, I attempt to swim freestyle but find it difficult to take a breath at my normal interval without being served a mouthful of Lake Erie. “This is gonna’ be a learning experience!!” Back to breast stroke again, while I regain my composure and empty my lungs of water.
The return to shore was almost pleasant in comparison. I freestyled back; even breathing along the way. As the swell began to curl into whitecap, the water lifted me along the frontside of the wave, permitting me to bodysurf several times. I was back in half the time, but still glad to be out of the water. I’ve also come to realize that while my speed will not match what I did in the pool, I will none-the-less be able to complete the longest competitive swim of my life, that will be starting roughly 12 hours from now. I may have to change stroke and sighting techniques, but I will do this. I’m getting excited again!
Back at the house around 7:00, Melissa and Sandi prepare my carb-loading dinner; spaghetti with meatballs and garlic bread. Not wishing to chance “intestinal distress” this close to the race, I have brought the ingredients from home. We all enjoy the dinner and afterwards I complete my packing for the race, putting a small towel, socks, bike shorts, and bike shoes into the white, plastic, S2B transition drawstring bag. The BSN bag gets two packets of Pop-Tarts, and another pair of socks. B2R bag has another pair of socks, underwear, shorts, shoes, fuel belt, runner’s bib, hat and another pair of sunglasses. The RSN bag gets another pair of socks and a packet of Shot Blox.
My large wheeled duffel bag is packed with the drawstring bags and other stuff I could potentially need. Bike helmet, bottles of Gatorade and extra Gu packets, anti-chafe stick, to name a few. In addition, I pour half of a Gatorade into one of the four water bottles I’ll bring. I then add two Gu packets and shake, transferring half of it into a second water bottle, putting both into the freezer. My intention is to keep them frozen as long as possible, with the hope that they’ll still be cold when I retrieve them from the BSN bag halfway through the ride.
Although it’s still early, Sandi and I head for bed, as tomorrow is going to be an epic day that will start in just a few hours. I’m lucky that I was actually able to fall asleep pretty quickly. Most times, I sleep poorly the night before a race, but as long as I get adequate sleep the couple nights before, it doesn’t affect my performance.
THE BIG DAY
Up at 3 a.m., for breakfast of frosted mini-wheats and pulp-free OJ to wash down my daily multi-vitamin - again, all stuff I brought from home. Then, on go the temporary arm and leg tattoos. I also put on a Philadelphia Triathlon Club tattoo on my right chest so that I can "represent" well. Retrieve the two frozen water bottles and put them into a mini cooler and the cooler then into the wheeled duffel.
A mere 51 degrees as we enter the car under the light of an almost full moon. The ride to the amusement park is unremarkable, save for the occasional motorist we spot with empty bike racks, who are likely headed to the same destination -- I've heard that misery loves company -- or is it insanity?! Sandi and I talk along the way, helping to ease my self-induced tension. We pull into the parking lot and I cart my duffel bag over to transition, leaving Sandi in the car.
It’s still quite dark at 5:15, but there are a few distant parking lot lights providing a modicum of brightness. And while I brought a flashlight, many of the experienced athletes are wearing spelunker-type headlamps by which to set up their dark transition areas. Removing the S2B and B2R bags, I walk over to the rack that has a set of pegs across the top and another about three feet off the ground. Locating number 159, I hang the S2B bag on the top and B2R bag on the bottom.
I pour some Gatorade into two of the bike's water bottles; add a Gu packet to each and shake. Then top off with more Gatorade and insert them into the cages on the bike. More Gatorade/Gu combination goes into each of the 8 ounce flasks for the Fuel Belt and another two Gu packets for its zippered pouch. I cut the top off one of the Shot Blocks and insert it into the belt. I will wish I had attached them better to the Fuel Belt shortly after the run starts. Finally, I add Gatorade to the two frozen water bottles and drop them into the BSN bag.
The BSN and RSN bags get placed into respective crates nearby. The BSN bag will be delivered out onto the course at around the halfway point of the ride, while the RSN bag is taken near the turnaround for the second loop of the run.
After setting up the rest of my stuff in transition, I use the anti-chafe stick around my ankles, wrists, crotch and neck before pulling on my compression calf sleeves and skintight sleeveless shirt. While they are of no assistance during the swim, since I need them for the bike and run it makes sense to put them on before the swim in order to save valuable transition time. The sleeves cover my age tattoo and the fact that I'm competing in the full-distance race, which may prove advantageous when passing others. Put on my wetsuit and a pair of flip flops, grabbed my banana, Gu packet and the remaining Gatorade.
I stop to give Sandi a kiss, noting the absence of Roger and Melissa. She tells me they overslept and were on their way. Guess there won’t be any start photos. Heading toward the beach for the walk to the staging area, I realized - for the second straight race - that I'd put the damn wetsuit on backwards. The zipper is supposed to go in the back! Minutes later, I'm redressed and hoping that any sand that is now between me and the wetsuit doesn't chafe too much during the swim. It's pretty important to me to only put a wetsuit on once per race, given the amount of time it takes me afterwards, to do the time-consuming job of removing each grain of sand that has imbedded itself into the inner surface of the wetsuit.
I discuss the upcoming race with other athletes during the half mile walk down the beach. Along the way, my sand-covered flip-flops are rubbing away at the top of my feet and I'm happy to toss the flip-flops into a trashcan near the start area. We have an opportunity before the race, to get into the lake to fill the wetsuits and do a warm-up swim before we're instructed to exit the water and head back to the REV3 archway through which we'll be released a minute or so before the actual start. I take this opportunity to head back up to the trashcan to drop the banana peel, empty Gu packet and Gatorade bottle. I'm ready.
THE SWIM
Once free, we head out into the lake several hundred feet into waist-high water to the first red turn buoy. Once we get there, there's a simple "Go!" and it’s official. No cannon’s boom. Not even a megaphone. Just a guy who says we can begin. Kind of a sad start to what I expect will be an incredibly memorable day. Wading out, I begin swimming in short order but almost immediately am hit with the first wave covering my upturned face as I attempt to take in a right-side breath. Sputtering, I am forced to breast stroke for a time, to regain my composure before attempting my second try.
Time and again, I find myself drinking a bit of Lake Erie during the difficult 4/10 mile first leg out to the second red buoy. Luckily, the sponsors have placed three additional yellow sight buoys at 1/10 mile intervals, as the swell and chop of the water combined with the rising sun make it difficult to see the turn buoy. I swear I drank half the lake during that first leg. There are actually times when I swung my free arm above my head but it remains under water and I feel I must be moving back toward the shore. And while I usually begin my pool practices by doing the first length on a single breath, the fact that the first leg of this race is more than 35 times the length of the pool, precludes me from holding a breath the 13+ minutes it will take to reach the turn buoy. This swim will definitely be a learning experience.
Keeping the red buoy on my right, I turn toward the next red buoy another 4/10 mile away. This time, however, I'm swimming toward the beach at about a 60 degree angle but in deeper water. This means less breaking waves and the swell approaching me from the left, while also providing a better opportunity to see what's going on around and in front of me. This is the first time I feel comfortable in my regular swim stroke and actually enjoy the view and feel of this gorgeous sunrise on what will prove to be a beautiful day. Following the three yellow sight buoys, I execute another right turn, heading back in to the original start buoy (at a 60 degree angle toward the right) with the swell coming from my right and the sun at my back right. The tall amusement park rides provide relatively easy sighting, but I do occasionally look for the red buoy to ensure I'm not drifting offline. Returning to the start buoy, I take the opportunity to again stand in the waist-high water and ask the guy next to me if he's sure we should be trying this again. We both laugh and set off on our final swim loop, into the crashing waves. By the completion of the next 4/10 mile, I have finished drinking enough lake water that we're able to walk the remaining two legs to shore. :^)
While I have competed in "open water" triathlons in rivers and lakes, there was no way for me to practice swimming in the swell and choppy water of Lake Erie. Still, I used the experience on the first loop of this race to help me on the second lap. Specifically, to time my sighting with the swells and get a feel for when breakers are going to hit, without even seeing them coming. Breathing becomes much easier and consequently I am swimming much faster. At the third buoy, instead of making a 120-degree turn toward the start area again, we make a beeline to the exit buoy located a half-mile down the beach from the start. Using the tops of the roller coasters for easier sighting, I swim hard and enjoy the benefit of the surf actually working with me.
Given my initial expectations of the difficulty of the swim, I had informed Sandi that my swim leg time would be significantly slower. Thus, she had told my brother, Roger, not to expect me to exit the lake until well over the 75 minutes I had foolishly predicted based on my pool speed - in waveless, clear water, following a nice straight line on the bottom. Roger was taking a lot of pictures of the splashing participants and for practice, took a series of photos of a swimmer coming in at about 80 minutes. Coincidently, that swimmer turned out to be me! I can only surmise that while my swim was not as smooth and consistent as my pool workouts, that the full body wetsuit provided a huge help in keeping me afloat so that any arm and leg movement was providing the much-needed forward momentum rather than having to work hard to keep my mouth above the waterline. Had the temperature of the water been above 78 degrees - making wetsuits illegal - I would have had a much more difficult time on the first leg of this race.
Once my hand touched sand I was up on my feet and pushing through the thigh-high tide. I pulled my goggles up and reached for the Velcro holding the wetsuit at the back of my now, badly chafed neck. Then it would be a quick pull on the zipper line - a two foot piece of 1/2" wide webbing - to release me from its confines. This would prove more difficult than the swim, as I struggled to locate said line without success for some time, before realizing it had been dangling in front of me. With the left arm free, I pulled off the goggles and cap, transferring them to my right arm. Then, midpoint of pulling my right arm out, I let go of the items leaving them securely in the sleeve - a proven way to ensure I don't lose either during the madness of transition from swim to bike referred to as T1.
Spectators line the pathway from the beach to the top of transition. I can hear Sandi to my left and Melissa on my right as I run barefoot on the carpet runner laying over the sand and macadam. Observing two small kiddie pools, I tromp through both to clear my feet of the majority of sand I picked up from the run up the beach. Unfortunately, this also caused me to bypass the wetsuit strippers. No, these are not pole-dancing beauties wearing skintight wetsuits, but rather volunteers who assist swimmers with the removal of theirs. Merely sit down and stick your legs up. They grab the arm sleeves and yank the whole suit off you in one fell swoop! Much faster than trying to extract it from yourself while tired.
Too late to use the strippers assistance, I continued into transition, grabbed my S2B bag off the top peg and trotted into the changing tent. Pulled the wetsuit down over my hips and upper thighs, so I could step on one sleeve while raising the leg, to peel it off a bit. Then switch legs and step again. Once more on each side and I'm no longer confined. Now I empty the contents of the bag on the chair next to me, toweling off to put on padded bicycling pants, my good wool socks and biking shoes. Shove everything back into the bag and leave it for the volunteer to return to the peg. On the way out, I see they have spray sunscreen sitting on the table and given the cloudless sky, I figure "What the heck. It can't hurt." Boy was I wrong. Spraying anything onto my wetsuit-chaffed neck was a bad idea. Choosing to spray a chemical-filled sunscreen onto the open wound resulted in a rather large "Ouch! Son of a..."
Back at the bike, I put on my sunglasses and helmet before jogging the bike out to the mount line designated by several lines of duct tape on the ground. Rules prohibit being on the bike prior to crossing this line and upon my return I must dismount prior to crossing the tape, or risk being disqualified. Normally, I wear a triathlon singlet which is a one-piece outfit that provides a smaller seat cushion but that's easier to run in. For my first full-distance triathlon, I've decided to wear regular full-cushioned bike shorts and will change into running shorts in T2 in preparation for my first Marathon. Although transition times in prior races were significantly faster, I was willing to accept the additional time in exchange for a more comfortable seat for six hours. It's more important for my butt to be happy than for the minute or two it will save me in transitions.
THE RIDE
I had told Roger to expect my T1 time to be 8 to 10 minutes, based on last year's average times. What I didn't realize was that last year's swim was moved from the lake to the bay, forcing the athletes to run an extra quarter mile to transition and adding several minutes to T1 times. As it turned out, I was out of T1 in about 4 minutes so Roger was not prepared to take photos of my bike exit at the bottom of transition.
Hearing Sandi and Melissa again, my mind gets a bit emotional, as I jump on the pedals and get up to speed. This happens during my races as I apparently experience mini-breakdowns upon seeing and hearing Sandi. It must have something to do with finally getting to the events I've been working so hard to prepare for and knowing that she's there to experience it with me, is just an emotional shock. Regardless of the reason, as quickly as it arrives, it departs and I refocus on the task at hand - my first 112 mile bicycle ride. My watch says it's 8:28 a.m. and I hope to be done before 2:30 p.m. On the ride out of the parking lot, I slip on the bicycling gloves. Anything that can be done while moving, saves time.
Competitors look at this type of extended exercise differently than spectators. My workouts typically consist of a daily activity broken down into much smaller sets, like progressive swim sprints, negative split runs, and/or bike rides punctuated by short, high turnover sections. Thus, while I may workout for up to six hours, I concentrate on only the set immediately before me. Consequently, I don't see a six-hour struggle on two wheels, but a series of half-hour workouts in which I pay close attention to how my body is reacting to my request (as opposed to a demand) for it to move me 10 miles down the road.
My legs are most comfortable spinning between 85 and 95 rpm, so I adjust the gears on this rolling hills course to maintain that rate of turnover. On the flat sections, I feel pretty comfortable riding in a higher gear at over 20 mph in the hopes that my average speed remains above the computed 18.7 mph needed to complete the ride in my expected time of six hours.
Once up to speed, my initial concern is to replenish fluids following the swim so I take several gulps of Gatorade/Gu. I will keep to a nutrition/hydration preplan during which I will consume three bottles and four Pop-Tarts (two strawberry frosted and two Smore's flavor – Yum!) before I expect to get my BSN bag around the halfway mark of the ride. I will leave as little as possible to the potential vagaries of what the sponsor may or may not have available out on the course.
The initial 19 miles of the ride move us off the peninsula, skirting Sheldon Marsh Nature Preserve and then through Huron before we get to the start of the 38 mile loop we'll complete twice before heading back. At 10 mile increments, the race organizer has placed placards, which work out well for me to look at each as a segment for timing purposes. I pass the first placard at 8:58, so I'm riding at 20 mph.
The loop starts on route 126, crossing over the Ohio Turnpike (I-80/I-90). I'm shifting through the upper gears on the undulating terrain, hitting the 20-mile marker before checking my time. It's 9:27, so I'm still faster than the 18.7 I was hoping to average for the ride. Another mile down the road, I spy with my little eye, a cheering woman on the side of the road. But this is no ordinary cheering woman on the side of the road. It's Melissa and she's holding the giant Cam-head sign and shouting various words of encouragement. Shortly thereafter, I spot Roger and know he's taking a series of photos as I pass him by so I give a shaka (a Hawaiian hand gesture where the thumb is up and the pinky down) and "Woo hoo!"
Soon I'm heading into the Milan town square where a good-sized crowd is waiting to cheer on the cyclists. From there, we make our way out to route 113 and 13+ miles of relatively straight, flat highway and some nice rural scenery. As the 30 and 40-mile placards appear in successive half-hour increments, I'm maintaining 20 mph, but I'm awaiting the expected headwinds I've read about in prior years. I must be preoccupied as I completely miss Roger taking another series of photos of me pedaling up a long incline.
Keeping to my hydration schedule, I've eaten a packet of Pop-Tarts and having emptied one of my bottles and half the other, I slow to grab a replacement sports drink from an aid station volunteer located around mile 47, remembering to toss my empty within the permissible drop-zone so as not to be assessed a 4-minute time penalty for littering. It's also the first time I've spotted an available porta-potty where I make a 1-minute, bladder-emptying pit stop. Gross as it may sound, pro and elite amateur triathletes have learned the art of peeing while riding, but I don’t even pretend to be that much in need of THAT particular time savings.
After mile marker 50, I can see that I'm remaining on a 20 mph pace and celebrate by enjoying another Pop-Tart. Crossing over the Turnpike again, I see a volunteer standing several hundred feet before another aid station. When he asks if I want my BSN bag, I shout "Yes! And my number is 159!" By the time I get to the aid station, another volunteer has my bag in-hand. I brake to a stop and pull out the two full Gatorade/Gu bottles, dropping my empties into the bag. Then I grab the two packets of Pop-Tarts I will need for the second half of my ride. My visit with these fine people is less than a minute and as they cheer, I jump on the pedals and yell "Thanks so much! Woo hoo!!"
Around mile 56, I'm taking a long downhill to find some volunteers near the bottom. They are there to ensure I see the markings on the road telling half-distance competitors to take the turn and head back to transition while the full-distance competitors have to complete a second loop before we can return. I find the beginning of the second loop to be nicer than the first for two reasons. First is that the 60, 70, 80 and 90-mile placards I passed on the first loop are no longer a reminder of another 37-mile loop I have yet to do! The second reason is that half-distance competitors started 90 minutes behind us, so it is at this point they join us on the course and I have cyclists to pass along my way - as well as to be passed by a couple of the faster halfers - and to provide words of encouragement to each other as we struggle individually to complete our respective events.
Just before placard 60, I take my second trip through the town park in Milan, where Roger gets a couple good photos of me. He thought I was holding out my hand in anticipation of food or drink at an aid station, but in reality, I was waving and smiling and thanking the crowd for their support of the event. The series of shots continues with me pedaling hard while leaning the bike over in one of the sharper corners of the course while in aero position.
Other than that, there wasn't much to the second loop. I hit the same porta-potty after the aid station around mile 85. This time, however, upon entering said small plastic rental building, my bicycle shoe cleats decide that it's time for another sporting event - ice skating - as I slip, slide and clamor my way in and a minute later attempt to not seriously injure myself during my egress from said small plastic rental building. I'm sure it was hilarious to the aid station volunteers. During my unscheduled tap dance in the toilet, I was passed by another cyclist whom I never did catch up to again. Ah well, he was going to catch me before the end anyway, so it's just as well I didn't have to endure "the pass" while actually pedaling. If I'm reading the data correctly after the fact, the cyclist's name is Howard and he'll finish the event in fourth place. Doing my best to maintain 85-95 rpm, in as high a gear as I can manage without overdoing it, I'm hitting each successive 10 mile marker in 30 minute increments.
The last couple miles are on a bad stretch of road that does not lend itself to speed, but I'm pretty sure that I've made up any time deficit from the swim and feel confident that my run will be strong. I won't really know if my confidence is correct until I reach the 20 mile mark of the run, but nothing has gone terribly awry yet and I've done well at topping off my fluids and nutrition. I don't feel that I've expended too much energy in maintaining an average speed of just over 20 mph. I've put myself in as good a position as I could have hoped, for the final event and am looking forward to my very first Marathon run.
Although my GPS watch was often used to provide some terrific data about my practice rides, it has a weakness. The rechargeable battery is only good for about six hours. Given my need to know mile times during the run, I relied solely on the bike computer for the ride. Still, I attached it to the bike in order to put it on just before the run, rather than doing so in transition. Again, it’s about saving time wherever you can. With the exception of peeing while on the bike…
Along the final straightaway, I transfer the watch to my wrist. Roger catches another series of pictures of me on the rather bumpy last mile of the ride, just before I enter the parking lot and the transition from bike to run. Approaching the dismount line, I pop my right foot out of its clip and slow to a stop. After unsnapping my left shoe and standing on the ground, I swing my right leg over the back of the bike. After more than 5 1/2 hours in the saddle, it was not as easy as in practice. A harbinger of things to come?
My bike shoes “clip-clop” on the ground as I run the bike into transition. Carefully I place the front wheel back in its rack, jogged over to grab my B2R bag off the lower hook and head back into the men's changing tent. Off with the padded pants and stiff bike shoes and on with shorts and my lightweight running sneakers. Snapped on the elastic belt that holds my runner number. Then my Fuel Belt. Flip on my running hat and I'm out. Oh shoot, I forgot to take off my gloves while still riding. An extra 10 seconds or so before I was able to get them off and repack the bag with all my stuff.
THE RUN
Exiting out the bottom of transition, I'm on the run course 7 hours after I started the swim. The cloudless sky has warmed significantly since the 51 degrees I noted when we got in the car this morning, now hitting the mid-70s. The afternoon winds are unexpectedly light and the course provides very little shade. The question I've had in the back of my mind is approaching the forefront of my head. I knew I would finish the swim - regardless of how slowly. I was equally confident the bike was doable. However, having never raced nor even practiced for this long, I had no idea how my body was going to react to my first attempt to run 26.2 miles. It was a huge question mark.
Coach Laurie had been pretty adamant about the idea of practicing how you expected to race and to race the way you had practiced. Pace was the most important thing to keep in mind. Too many first-time Marathoner's run too fast in the beginning, only to result in "hitting the wall" in the second half of the race. While it's less likely for Ironman-distance triathletes - simply because the legs are not fresh when starting the run - Laurie none the less warned me about starting out too fast. My instructions were simple. Start at the pace you expect to run for the whole distance. For me, I believed I could maintain a pace between 8:30 and 8:40 per mile, which would get me to the finish line in about 3¾ hours.
Setting my GPS watch, it takes a few hundred yards to lock onto the necessary satellites before I can start it. Consequently, it will beep each mile mark about 1/10th of a mile after I pass the corresponding REV3 course placard. Having decided not to take the extra time to strap on the heart rate monitor, I rely solely on the watch to provide my mile times to ensure I stay within the prescribed range.
Running along the well-marked pathway across the expanse of parking lot, my legs felt heavy but no worse than during some of the difficult brick workouts I had endured over the last month or so. Approaching the 1/2 mile mark, I see Roger snapping shots and asking how I'm feeling. "Pretty good at the moment. Ask me again in a couple hours." Having mixed with the halfers, I have plenty of slower runners to pass, which always provides a boost to a potentially sagging desire to continue. Shortly after passing the one-mile mark, the watch beeps and I know immediately that my pace is too fast when it indicates 7:21. It's not Blake's first mile time, but it's still more than a minute faster than I should be running, so I physically slow my pace even though I'm feeling good. I just keep saying to myself, "Let's see how you feel at mile 20 before jacking up the speed."
I have some minor stomach cramping for the first two miles, but it eventually fades. Unfortunately, it is during the first mile or so that I realize that the Shot Blocks I put in the Fuel Belt must have slipped out somewhere along the way. It may seem minor but it does change my nutrition plan for the first half of the run. The second mile placard is in the rearview when the watch tells me 7:58, so I have to drop the pace and length of my stride again. At mile 3, I'm at 8:14 and reduce speed a final time, to what feels like a pedestrian pace. The next seven miles are within three seconds of my proper range, and together average right at 8:35/mile. More importantly, between miles 7 and 8, I spy-with-my-little-eye my favorite cheerleader from whom I steal a kiss. It's so nice to see Sandi out on the run course to keep my spirits up during this obviously trying time. I'd swipe another kiss from her just after mile 9...and 12.5...and 13.3! Hey, there's no time penalty for psychological assistance and I needed it.
So here I am around mile 8, cruising along at my predetermined pace, when a guy blows past. His right calf indicates he's a full-distance athlete, 40-44 years of age. I say, "Great job! Keep it up!" to which he responds "I'm doing well, considering I did Louisville two weeks ago." Randall Howard is referring to an Ironman-branded 140.6 mile triathlon he completed just 14 days ago, finishing in 10:42! Although he had passed me in the second half of the bike – during my second potty stop – his first 6.8 miles were at 9:09/mile, while mine was 8:37 and I snuck past him somewhere along the way. He's obviously making up for his slow start with a significantly quicker 7:24 mile pace from mile 6.8 to 8.3 and will locate yet another gear, jacking up to "ludicrous speed" (7:13/mile) from 8.3 to 20.3, to finish almost 18 minutes ahead of me. That's the last I will see of Randall until Monday morning's award ceremony.
Perhaps as a result of delayed turbulence created by Randall's pass, miles 11-13 were a bit slow at 8:59, 8:49, 8:42 (3rd Sandi-kiss fill-up) as I approach the end of the first 13 mile lap. Here I face the toughest decision of the race. A mere 1/10 of a mile from the finish line, I can hear the cheering crowd as a steady flow of half-distance runners are completing their journey. The speaker announces the name of each competitor saying, "You made it! You've finished your race! Congratulations!!" I, on the other hand, have to make a 180 degree turn around a dumb two-foot tall, stupid orange friggin' cone and go back out for another 13+ miles. This is what separates the men from the boys, I tell myself while sniffling and crying, convinced I will return in under 2 hours. It's with this renewed sense of purpose that I run my next two miles in 8:09 (getting my final Sandi-powered smooch) and 8:21 before slowing again to 9:08.
The true reason the mile times fluctuate by as much as 40 seconds was because of the aid stations. Running my first Marathon in a cloudlessly sunny 75 degree day was not conducive to my original hydration plan. Necessity, being the mother of invention, forced me to reevaluate the need for additional fluids along the way. Thus, I'd walk for a bit at each aid station, consuming a Dixie cup each of water and sports drink. On every other aid station, I'd dump a small cup of ice into my running hat and flip it back on. While the frozen water contacting my head was a bit uncomfortable, the melting water flow down my face and neck was welcoming. For future races, I'm wondering if I could fit a small cloth bag in the hat to hold the ice and spread the cooling effect over a larger surface area of my chrome-dome.
At the aid station near mile marker 17, I did something I'd promised I would not do. I had committed to racing as I had practiced and not try anything new on race day. However, given my increase in fluids, I felt it appropriate to pop a salt pill that was being offered, knowing that if I wait until the symptoms of dehydration appear, it's too late. I must be proactive if I want to prevent dehydration and its ugly cousin - muscle cramps. I will take another salt tablet at 2-3 mile intervals for the remainder of the race. Other than a right quadricep cramp that lasts just a couple hundred yards, I didn't suffer any symptoms of dehydration during the run. Miles 17-20 are at 8:27, 8:45, 8:22 and 8:38, so I'm doing well to stay on target.
I've now reached the final phase of my Odyssey - the last ten kilometers or 6.2 miles. I have never been in this territory before. During my practices, I have thought a lot about what I had to do to get here. I have thought about what it means to reach this point. I have considered what I would do if I hit "the wall" and failed to finish. And although not the first or last prayer of the day, I thank Him for permitting me to have made it this far.
Coach had instructed me to keep to the pace through the 20-mile point. Then - and only then - could I make the choice to run faster, "if you still have the legs for it." And it is with all the excitement I can muster that I repeat the great motivational words of George HW Bush. "Not gonna' do it." I'll keep to the prescribed pace as far as I can, in hopes there's enough left to complete one last 10K run.
There is an aid station near mile 22, shortly after which is another dumb two-foot tall, stupid orange friggin' cone around which I have to make another painful 180 degree turn. At this point, my body rebelled against this particular choice to reverse its direction. Regardless of my intention to continue running, my legs vetoed the decision and began to walk. It seemed I had no choice in the matter and for the next 2/10ths of a mile, at least one foot was in contact with the pavement at all times. During this interesting period I blended effortlessly with the halfers who had been walking for probably the last 5 miles.
Very cognizant of my body's previous ruling, I resolved to make a change in order to control my own destiny - as soon as I hit that aid station just up ahead. Another cup of water. Another cup of sports drink. And another salt tablet. As Spiderman proclaimed, "I'm back!" and I started to move my legs once again. I picked up my knees and lengthened my stride. My watch beeped to announce mile 22 and I looked at it through cringed eyelids. 10:18. That would be my slowest mile of the day. Miles 23-25 were at 8:23, 8:18 and 8:36, proving I was the ruler over my legs and striking fear into the various body parts that still remained functional. I would not be denied.
THE FINISH
The last 1.2 miles were very special to me. I had provided Roger with a box to bring out onto the course at this point. As I entered the far end of the parking lot, he was waiting. As I approached, he began to jog so I would not have to slow down to put on the shirt he was holding out. In reply, I said "Stop! I don't want to run." I handed Roger my cap and pulled the white shirt on. Grabbing the brim of my Top Hat, I flipped it up onto my sweating head and started running again. Why the wardrobe change so close to the finish line, you ask? Tri For The Kids.
My fundraiser for this year was to benefit the Pennsylvania Masonic Children's Home in Elizabethtown. Hosting about 40 seriously disadvantaged kids from broken homes, they are provided housing, clothing, food, schooling and medical care. Social and other programs are available to prepare the children for life after foster care. If they get good grades, the cost of college is covered - tuition, room, board, books, etc. As Masons, we don't normally trumpet our accomplishments when it comes to doing the right thing. We just do it. I couldn't think of a more worthy charity and I wanted there to be a photographic memory of the purpose of my race. The shirt says "Tri For The Kids: Pennsylvania Masonic Children's Home of Elizabethtown" on the front. Having worked my way through the various positions of my own Masonic Lodge, I had been elected to serve as its head for the year 2013, during which time I was permitted to wear the honorary top hat. That's why I chose to wear it on the last bit of my 140.6 mile journey.
Unlike virtually every other race, there was no sprint to the finish; just the final yards to complete a 5-year dream. A dream that started with a 1/2 mile swim, 15.6 mile bike and 3.1 mile run in 2010, where I finished in the top 20% in my age group. A dream that progressed through sprint, Olympic, 50-mile and 70-mile triathlons to culminate in the designation I sought - that of an Ironman-distance competitor at the age of 52. I had done it. A true bucket list item.
I was told afterwards that my daughter Kristen had been tracking my progress online, and providing updates to her mother, who then shared the information with Roger and Melissa. They were aware long before I was, that I was not only the first of my age group to exit the water, but that I never relinquished that position during the bike or run, finishing ahead of the next fastest 50-54 year old man by over an hour and a half! When Roger had mentioned my being in 8th place at the start of my second run loop, I thought he was referring to my position within my age group. I truly did not understand how well I had done until I crossed the finish line and the announcer said that I was 7th overall!
Completely spent, I leaned over with hands on knees, while a volunteer placed the finisher’s medallion over my neck. I was surprised how heavy the thing was. Feeling my calves already starting to tighten, I walked over to sit for a bit. A medical volunteer offered a cool, wet towel around my neck and I'm very appreciative of it, eventually covering my head too. It is now that I really understand how well I had raced, having completed my inaugural full-distance triathlon in 10 hours and 48 minutes and earning first place among men aged 50-54!
Unfortunately, sitting only exacerbates the calf muscle neurons firing uncontrollably - termed fasciculations - often associated with such heavy and prolonged exercising. Finishing a bottle of cold water, I-spy-with-my-wary-eye, a large tub and immediately recognize its purpose. With assistance from Sandi and Roger, I'm able to stand and slowly walk over to the tub, stepping into the ice water and sitting on the side. The near-freezing water provides a welcome numbing from my knees down to my blood-blistered foot. After a few minutes, my legs are feeling much better and I want to make room for other finishers to use the tub, so I move to another chair and shortly to a cot in the medical tent to lay down for a bit. The medical personnel were very attentive, and provided ice packs for under my calves as I laid there for some time.
When I began to shiver, I was provided with one of those metallic foil blankets, which I draped over my legs and torso. Knowing that my sweating clothes were the likely cause of the chill, I asked Roger to locate my dry stuff. In the meantime, the medical personnel added something to my water that made it much less quenching, but was supposed to reestablish my metabolic equilibrium of salt, electrolytes and other stuff. I couldn't drink much of it, but when they offered me some soup broth, it sounded delicious. The warm liquid provided both the salt and helped to warm my innards. Roger returned in short order and I ambled over to the changing tent, taking much more time to dress than either of the previous two trips I'd made there during transitions.
Roger was still with me in transition and helped grab the S2B and B2R bags and the large wheeled duffle, while I used my bike as a walker out to where Sandi and Melissa were waiting. Slowly moving toward the parking lot, I noticed the official photographer that I had missed when my path deviated into the medical tent, so I took the opportunity to get my final photos. We put all my gear into our Honda CR-V and agreed to meet up at a restaurant a couple miles away, where we enjoyed a nice dinner and recap of the day's events. Just getting up to use the bathroom was a painful experience.
Back at the house, I took two ibuprofen and called it a night. Monday morning, we arose at a much more reasonable hour and headed back to Cedar Park for the full-distance award brunch. On the tables were boxes of Power Bar Performance Energy Blends that each triathlete was to take several packets from. However, due to the low turnout of participants present, each of us was able to take 2 or 3 boxes - Score! After finishing our meals, the announcer started by talking about what makes this race unique - that being the swim in Lake Erie - and the difficulty many competitors had with it. He surprised me when he said that between the half and full racers there were 60 who did not complete the swim. However, when I looked at the online statistics later, while there were 90 people who registered but did not start, there were only 5 and 7 who started half and full, but did not finish the swim, respectively. Personally, I had invested too much time, effort and money into ensuring I was as ready as I could be and although I knew the swim was difficult, at no time did I ever consider not finishing it.
The top three finishers of the men's and women's races were introduced and given their prizes. Then they read out the top three, men and women, 39-and-under times in reverse order and then the Master's division (40-and-older). When he mentioned the 3rd place time, I realized I would be in the top two. I finished 2nd of the 88 in the Master's category who completed the race (and did not get disqualified), with Randall Howard taking the top spot. I received another box of Power Bar Performance Energy Blends, a nice beer glass, a neck warmer, a $25 gift card, and a new pair of swim goggles. Most surprising was receipt of an envelope, which I discovered contained a $350 check, the proceeds of which would be forwarded on to my Masonic Children's Home charity. Sweet!! After sitting again, he went through announcing the top three times in each age group. It was when he stated the 2nd place time in the men’s 50-54 age category, that I realized I’d beaten the guy by over 90 minutes! In addition to my finisher's medal, as winner of my age group I was awarded an additional heavy medallion.
Heading back to the house, we packed up the car and Roger provided a thumb drive with all his race photos. We thanked him and said our goodbyes, following Melissa to a local candle shop. Afterwards, we bid her adieu and headed south for Dreslin; headquarters of Longaberger Basket company. We spent Tuesday visiting the giant basket building and Longaberger's factory; having lunch in their restaurant; and turning east again for another night in Shippensburg and a final visit with the girls. Breakfast with Rebecca on Wednesday morning and back home by early afternoon in time to unpack and relax a bit before the dreaded return to work.
THE END
POSTSCRIPT
Many people have asked me if I expect to do another Ironman. After reminding them that while I did do a full-distance triathlon equivalent (it was not an Ironman-branded event), I respond, "probably not", because I truly believe that I accomplished everything I set out to do.
On October 13th, I checked the USATriathlon website to discover that I now have a national ranking in my age group for 2014. To get ranked, you have to be a USAT member and have completed at least three triathlons during the year. I had done the Bassman Half (May), Philly Olympic (June) and Cedar Point Full (Sept). My rating scores were 83.644, 84.247 and 88.091 respectively, giving me a ranking score of 85.283. Of the 2,206 ranked men in my age group, I was 187th. And because I was in the top 10%, I earned All American honors! The icing on the proverbial cake, I’d say.
===================================================================On Wednesday, October 22, 2014, Sandi and I drove to the Masonic Children’s Home in Elizabethtown, PA. We met with Virginia Migrala, Director of Children’s Services, to whom we presented the donations from Tri For The Kids. Including the online donations, cash and checks from friends, coworkers and family, plus money given by my lodge (Fritz Lodge #308 in Conshohocken, PA) and individual members, we raised approximately $1, |
