List,
Last Saturday I had the incredible experience of participating in the Duke
Blue Devil, my first Ironman Triathlon, which I finished in 14:05:52. What
follows is a race report of my experience for anyone who is interested.
This post would be incomplete without thanking several members of this list
who have provided valuable information: Thank you to IM Ken for his advice
on what to carry on the bike; Harold Buck for his race preparation list
(minus the teddy bear); Mike Tenannt for suggestions on special needs bags;
Bob Mercier for his suggestion to try Ensure Plus as liquid nutrition; and
countless others who - probably unknowingly - provided suggestions, advice,
and input that in many real ways got me through this race.
Note too that this race report was written with several audiences in mind -
so please forgive the portions that will seem trivial to the triathletes on
this list.
Thanks everyone,
John Hardt
Blue Devil '04
DUKE BLUE DEVIL RACE REPORT
OCTOBER 16, 2004
They say the important thing is to get a good night's sleep two nights
before an Ironman event. The theory is that getting sleep the night before
is hopeless. "God I hope they're right" I thought as I looked at the clock
for what seemed like the 400th time. It was only 3:00AM. The situation
wasn't helped by the construction crews working on the nearby highway all
night.
I had arrived in Durham two days before the race traveling from Ohio by car
with all my stuff. Thursday¹s goal was simply to get to town and get a good
night's sleep - which I did. Friday had been a day of organization; packet
pickup, filling my special needs and changing bags, checking in my bike and
picking up my wife Kimberly from the airport. She had traveled separately so
she could get in an extra day at work and stay with the kids another day.
Throughout Thursday and Friday I had been decidedly NOT nervous about this
race so much so that my un-nervousness began to make me nervous. Was I
not taking this thing seriously? Did I have a full understanding of what I
was getting into? Was my preparation so far off the mark that my brain knew
that finishing was simply laughable? My goal was, after all, simply to
finish. I'm a consistently weak runner, so my plan was to finish the swim
and bike within 9 hours and give myself the luxury of walking the marathon
if I had to. I was doing the race to raise money for charity so finishing
was the primary goal. When Kimberly had asked what my wildest dream was, I
said if I could actually RUN the marathon - at any speed - I'd be ecstatic.
I wasn¹t sure what was up with this whole lack-of-nervousness thing, but I
knew I had been more nervous about my first sprint triathlon three years
ago. Anyway, nothing I could do about it now, except waitŠ
PRE-RACE
The alarm went off at 4:30. It didn¹t matter, I was already awake. I
immediately went into my plan for the morning with the first order of
business being the consumption of calories. I had a huge bowl of cereal, a
banana, and a whole bottle of water before getting in the shower. I know,
it seems silly to take a shower before jumping in a lake, but the routine of
it made me feel better. After the shower, more calories with a Slimfast
shake, a bagle, and another bottle of water on the menu. All of it went
down easily - there was that non-nervousness again. We planned to leave the
hotel at 5:30 but were ready to go 20 minutes early. Kimberly and I carried
my stuff downstairs and headed out. The hotel staff wondered what these
nuts were doing leaving at 5:15 AM with numbered plastic bags. Kimberly was
driving.
Oh [censored]! What the heck is going on? We had only been on the interstate for
30 seconds before we saw the big flashing sign. ³Road Closed expect
delay². The noise we had heard all night was making sense now; the crews had
been demolishing a bridge a half-mile from our hotel and now the highway was
completely closed. Holly *#$@, there is no way I¹m going to let 9 months of
training go to waste before I even get to the start line. The only way off
this highway was to drive across a grass berm to our right and go the wrong
way down an entrance ramp. ³We¹ll give it 10 minutes², I told Kimberly,
³then I¹m driving down that ramp². It was 10 minutes of nervous hell, but
just as I was about to anoint myself the driver, the trucks up ahead began
to move. Sigh.
Kimberly dropped me off right at the transition area and went to park the
car. I went about my business placing my changing bags and special needs
bags where we had been instructed at the pre-race meeting the day before. My
biggest fear was putting the wrong changing bag in the wrong location. I
checked them a dozen times swim-to-bike changing bag goes HERE,
bike-to-run goes THERE. The park was pitch dark except for the portable
lights which lit up the transition area. I filled up my bike bottles,
pumped up my tires, and reset my bike computer to zero. Talking to other
athletes now there¹s a word I still have trouble using to describe myself
I heard dozens of stories but only a few variations on similar themes.
There was a LOT of first-time Ironman hopefuls like myself and a LOT of
nervousness in the crowd. More than a few self-described mid-life crisis
too. Kimberly later commented that the participants were generally older
than she expected - a reality of this sport that most non-participants find
surprising.
I felt clam and organized even after the event I¹m still not sure why. I
felt like I had just the right amount of time to get everything ready but
not too much time to obsess. Just as I was ready to pull on my wetsuit, I
found Kimberly again. She stayed with me through the body marking process
and then helped me zip my wetsuit a simple luxury that I was extremely
happy for. I had had difficulty earlier in the summer with my wetsuit¹s
Velcro closure rubbing the back of my neck raw - a nasty situation that can
turn even the shortest swim into agony. Kimberly had zipped it up perfectly
during a practice swim the day before and did again on race day. While we
went about our business she told me stories about how the shuttles from the
parking lots were full and some spectators were angered by her suggestion
that they let the athletes get on the shuttles first. More than anything I
was happy for the small talk in these final minutes with nothing to do.
We found our way down to the beach where the air was cold (45F) and the sand
on my bare feet felt even colder. The starry sky was amazing and I remember
thinking I was grateful that I had had the chance to notice. Athletes were
standing around chatting, telling stories and asking each other questions.
Before a race starts it seems like there is always someone who asks ¹the
question¹ and this event was no exception: ³How deep is this lake?² a voice
from the crowd asked. This question always draws a laugh. ³It doesn¹t
matter² came the simultaneous and standard reply from every direction. The
nervous laughter tells a story about these events. It¹s true, it really
doesn¹t matter how deep the water is, you either swim or you don¹t there
are really only two options. Fortunately, people are generally well trained
and well prepared for such things and there are rarely any issues, but the
reality of swimming 2.4 miles carries a certain weight that can¹t be ignored
or at least shouldn¹t. OK, NOW I¹m nervous.
After a soaring rendition of the National Anthem that echoed eerily off the
opposite shore of the lake, the race director announced: ³you¹re going in 45
seconds!.² Huh!? It's still DARK! One last time to check the goggles for
fit, position my swim cap (I hate these things, but they make you wear them
during races so they can see you in the water). ³Fifteen seconds!². ThenŠ.
the horn.
SWIM
Now THIS was a new experience. The race director has insisted the thing was
going to start on time, but I never really believed him. Race start was
scheduled for 7AM, but sunrise wasn't until 7:30. Yea, right I had thought
to myself, these things never start on time. Oh, but this one did. Now I
found myself swimming in a pack of 230 swimmers. Elbows, feet, hands flying
everywhere. Trying to find a rhythm. Trying to get into a groove. Trying to
keep my goggles from getting knocked off. Did I mention it was dark?
Everyone was swimming toward the same little white light on a safety boat a
half-mile in the distance like some sort of deep sea school of fish. I
began to think about the swim leg I had experienced at the Pineman race in
Ohio a year before in a thick fog. OK, I told myself, this isn't nearly as
bad - at least I know which direction to go. Just follow the light.
Within the first 10 minutes the skies began to lighten and my attention
turned to other things - like how to get out of the crowd of flying elbows.
The course was set up as a giant rectangle with all left turns and I had
taken the "outside track" - a tactic of staying far to the right of the main
group to try to find clear water even if it meant having to swim a few yards
farther (essentially like taking the outside lane at a track meet). It
hadn't worked. Apparently there were enough people with the same idea that I
now found myself in a pack of average swimmers like myself. None of us were
gaining any ground and the same people kept bumping into each other over and
over. About 15 minutes into the race, halfway to the first left turn, I made
a discovery. The fastest swimmers - who had taken the "inside track" tight
to the course marker buoys - had moved out in front and left a path of clear
water behind them. It was amazing, all of the average swimmers were
fighting each other to stay outside while the inside (and shorter) track was
clear and available for anyone who noticed. I immediately adjusted my
course and cut an angle through the main pack to get to that clear water. I
had to fight my way through the pack and took more than a few elbows along
the way, but once I got there it was heaven. I didn't bump into anyone for
the rest of the swim. The only person I interacted with was a guy who had
made the same move I did. He and I were within 30 feet of each other for
virtually the remaining 2 miles.
For the rest of the first lap, things went great. I fell into a groove at my
own comfortable pace and managed to stay on course. Each time I picked up
my eyes to "sight" I found the next big orange buoy right there dead ahead.
This in itself was a miracle, because in training swims I had a habit of
drifting to the right. For some reason on this day I was able to swim
straight as an arrow. I finished the first lap in 36:00 and sprinted out of
the water to find Kimberly waiting and cheering me on. "You look great,
you're making great time, how do you feel?!" she shouted. Of course my
brain knew that "Thanks for being here" or "I love you" would have been
appropriate answers, but after exerting myself in a horizontal position for
36 minutes and then standing up, I tend to get dizzy and more than a little
winded. [Pant, pant, pant]Š "hi" Š[pant, pant, pant] was all I could
manage. Although it drew a laugh from other spectators, it was a response I
knew I'd get grief for later (I was right). A quick swallow of water and
quick glance at my watch told me I was going way too fast - almost 5 minutes
ahead of my normal pace - then I was off 20 yards down the beach and back
into the water for lap two.
Two hundred yards into the second lap a strange and wonderful thing
happened. For some reason, during one stroke that was no different than the
thousands of others, the 'Ironman" logo on my wetsuit arm caught my eye.
"Ironman?Š Am I really doing this?Š How cool is that?" I can honestly say
at that moment I felt unbelievably lucky. I noticed the beautiful sky from
the rising sun, I noticed the crowd watching from the beach, and I reminded
myself that I had a beautiful and loving wife in that crowd cheering me on
and two step sons who would think this was "soooo kewl". I also noticed my
own breathing. I became aware that I was doing an ironman triathlon and I
felt as good as I had in any shorter race. "Wow, I'm actually prepared for
this" I thought "I used to weigh close to 300 pounds, can't believe how
lucky I am to actually be doing this." And I couldn't believe, dare I say
it, how "easy" it was (although I knew that would change). It was this part
of the race where things were going so well I had the opportunity to "smell
the roses" for almost 30 minutes and I was extremely grateful for it.
Performance wise, the second lap of the swim was much like the best part of
the first. I found a comfortable pace, didn't bump into anyone and managed
to sight my way around the course again almost perfectly. This time around
the rising sun did present some visibility issues, but during my practice
swim the day before I had picked out a series of unique trees on the shore I
could use to guide me when the buoys became hidden by the sun's glare. One
of those trees - shaped like a child's mitten in silhouette - became my best
friend for a few hundred yards as I headed directly into the sun.
T1
The swim ended almost too quickly. I knew that the 45 degree morning would
start to come into play as soon as I got out of the water and I was right.
The moment I stepped out of the lake a volunteer yanked the zipper on my
wetsuit. 20 steps further up the hill and I stepped aside into the corral
where a pair of great volunteers pulled off my wetsuit in what seemed like a
nanosecond. Ahh I could feel it now, there was that cold air. Up the hill
into the transition area and there was Kimberly cheering me on. This time I
stopped and kissed her "Thanks for being here, I love you" I think I said -
or meant to. I grabbed my changing bag off the rack, ran into the changing
tent, found a chair and immediately began putting on my biking gear. The
tent was crowded and the volunteers were great offering the participants
absolutely anything you could imagine anyone would need - kudos to both the
volunteers and the race organizers. "Leave your changing bag on the floor,
we'll get it" they said. I did and they did.
I ran out of the tent and grabbed my bike - I was lucky to have my assigned
rack directly outside the tent - ran to the transition exit, jumped on my
bike an off I went. "Now the hard day starts" I thought. I also thought
about Kimberly who now had seven hours to kill while I rode through the
North Carolina countryside.
BIKE
The bike course is a lollypop shaped course with a 10 mile stem and a 46
mile loop which participants go around twice. The first 30 miles (the 10
mile stem plus the first 20 miles of the loop along New Light Road and
Purnell Roads) are riddled with short, steep hills which represent the
course's most challenging terrain. It was that first 10 miles on the "stem"
that I had the least experience with since they are located primarily on the
busy State Highway 50. On normal days - without race officials and traffic
control - you don't want to be on this road on a bike. So this was a new
experience, and the hills were steeper than I expected. The dizzying pace
of T1 had me a little out of sorts too. "Calm down" I said to myself, "It's
a long day, so just take it easy". I had been on every part of the course
except Route 50 at least three times, so I knew there was nothing here I
couldn't handle. Fortunately I was able to take my own advice. After
settling into a comfortable pace, I climbed the hills one after another and
made it thorough the first 20 miles without incident.
About 15 miles in I ran into my first mental challenge. There was a sheriff
directing traffic at the intersection of Purnell and Bud Smith Roads telling
cyclists to go straight when several of us knew the published course was
supposed to turn left. I had been through a similar situation earlier this
year where the entire race field followed the directions of a misinformed
volunteer and followed the wrong course. In that race, virtually everyone
had followed the same course making things inherently "fair" - but the race
director had acknowledged afterward that the few athletes who ignored the
volunteer and followed the correct, shorter course were "in the right" -
resulting in comparatively good race times for an informed few. What to do
here? At the last second I noticed an orange arrow on the pavement pointing
straight. "OK", I thought, "at least I know the race director wants us to
go this way for some reason". So I took the safe bet and went straight
along with everyone else.
But this was itself a problem. A month earlier I had traveled to North
Carolina for the specific purpose of becoming more familiar with the course
- especially the location and magnitude of the hills. I was now on a road
that I had never seen before. Were there hills up ahead? Almost certainly.
Big ones? Who knows. Would this road eventually merge with the course I
knew or was I off on a 112 mile journey I knew nothing about? My mind began