Ironman Coeur d’Alene 2011

This Ironman was the hardest one I’ve ever done for both psychological and physical reasons. After winning my AG here 3 of the last 5 years, I’ve got a certain mindset about what I’m capable of. But after I ran into that truck nine months ago, that really changed the program for this race, which of course I had already signed up for at the time of the accident. Two weeks in the ICU, losing 15 pounds, not eating solid food for months (tube feeding for six weeks), and left with residual swallowing issues and forearm/hand strength deficits, and continuing follow up surgeries for my broken jaw and 9 lost teeth – not only did that delay my return to training, but it also created some challenges in getting enough nutrition day to day and keeping my weight up while training to say nothing of similar challenges on race day.

My goal for this race had really from the start been all about finishing. At first, I thought I’d have to dog paddle, ride a tricycle, and walk the run, but once I got back into some semblance of regular training in March, I found I could swim, but a lot slower, and I could bike in the aero position (despite the 3 broken bones in my neck), and I could run just as fast as I used to. So I changed my goal to “test my fitness”. Here’s the report on that.

Swim: this was the coldest I’ve experienced in Lake Coeur d’Alene, and I’ve done all nine IMs there. My first lap was either 34 (what I thought my watch said) or 39 minutes, which is about what I expected. But I knew from my training swims that 45 minutes is when things start to go south. My little and ring fingers on my left hand start to flutter in the  water from that muscle weakness and I was ready for that. And it became harder to deal with the water which always comes comes into my mouth (my larynx had been crushed, and doesn’t work quite as well to protect the airway anymore). And I was ready for that, too. But then something new started happening, maybe due to the cold (as others reported it as well after the race) and maybe exacerbated by my forearm weakness: I started not being able to extend my fingers, and was basically swimming with “claw” hands, kind of like a fist swimming drill. I couldn’t get any grip on the water at all. So I think I finished in 1:24 , which was 4-6 minutes slower thanI expected. Not bad, considering I WAS basically dog paddling the last 15 minutes, but …

I was COLD. I couldn’t handle the strap on my wetsuit. I couldn’t buckle my helmet. I couldn’t pull up my socks. I couldn’t put my arm warmer sleeves on (this was not a problem with dry clothes on wet skin, but no grip in my fingers). I could pedal though, so off I went.  The day was coolish at the start, but sunny, and light winds. The first 22 mile segment is a cruiser, and I did that in an IF of about .65, 1:08, pretty much as planned. Next 22 miles is the hills, and that went down in 1:23, 0.74, again as planned. Coming back into town, I started feeling the wind a bit, but  I was still on target, with 13 miles in 39 minutes, IF 0.62 and VI of 1.04. The second set of intervals was 1:16, 0.60, 1.05; 1:34, 0.6, 1.15; 38:00, 0.63, 1.05. Meaning I was really slowing down on the second lap, after going a good 10 minutes slower than I expected on the first lap.

I spent a lot of time on the fourth and fifth intervals getting special needs, got to the porta-potti, and just generally feeling sorry for myself, knowing that I couldn’t/shouldn’t go any faster/harder. I thought I was setting myself up for the run fairly well though, and thru the first 10-11 miles of the marathon, that proved to be the case, I was turning over 9:15 to 9:30 miles, just what I always do and what I should be able to do based on recent training. My Heart Rate and sense of fatigue were doing just fine, I was not even breathing hard at all. But somewhere in the “neighborhoods” miles 11-12, it became obvious to me that the central governor in my brain was not going to allow me to keep going. The miles just hadn’t been put into the bank yet for a full marathon. I’d done about 40-50% of the long run training I usually do, and for a shorter time leading up to the race. So I started doing what I thought I’d left behind 6-7 years ago – walking.

It’s damn boring, walking in an IM marathon, but I was not going to let it get me down. I’ve dropped out of two IMs before in the run, and I was not going to let that pickup truck I ran into make me do it again. So I did what I could, when I could, and made sure to keep my nutrition and fluids up, and just got home. As I was rounding into the downhill run on Sherman to the finish, I thought about what I should do for my finishing photo. I thought of my mother who, at age 86, in the ICU for 3 months after her second hip surgery and subsequent pneumonia, finally getting her breathing tube out and able to talk. She’d already been thru a bunch of stuff before: heart surgery, cancer surgery leaving her with half a tongue, yet a practicing clinical psychologist into her 70’s – her cardiologist called her a “tough old bird”, and that was not the half of it. After she left the ICU, she had a “code” called on her, and the nurses and doctors were startled when she came back around after several minutes of “flat line”. My sister and I talked with her after that, asking her if she wanted to have future codes called, and just what her goals were, She said, “I just want to go home.” Not sure what she meant, I asked, “What do you mean, ‘home’?”, thinking maybe she wanted to give up, pack it in, and let it go. “Back home to La Vida”, her retirement home in Solana Beach. OK, if that’s what she wants. Leigh found her a great rehab hospital, and it took six months there, but she got back home for another 2-3 years, sometimes to weak to walk around the block, but sharp as a tack until the moment she died.

Figuring whatever was making me do this came from her, I decided to raise one finger to the sky, and finish with my hand over my heart, recognizing her contribution to this day.

And now, a few days later, getting asked a gazillion times about “how’d it go?”, I’d report that I finished, but went two hours slower than usual. The response would invariably be, “Well, that’s just awesome [or great, or unbelievable, or …], you should feel good about that.” I don’t actually feel good about how I did, but I do feel good about hearing that other people think I’ve accomplished something special just by getting back and finishing. I’ve just never quite gotten it into my head how seriously I was hurt, how close I came to dying, or how hard it might be to come back. I’m just too ambitious for my own good sometimes.
I’ve still got some work to do. November 20, 2011, Ironman Arizona. I will race again, not just finish this time.