Ok, settle in, it’s an Ironman®. Took a long time to do it (spoiler alert, a very long time – that’s the good, bad and ugly).
It takes a village to race an Ironman. Not just the Ironman Village of vendors galore (I got suckered into buying some lens-cleaning snake oil), but all the people who got me to the starting line and through the finish line. My wife Rachel, of course – for whom I tried to minimize my year-long chatter of training and concerns. She didn’t come with me to upstate New York for excellent reasons: she had to teach until 2 pm on Friday, and we had to pick up registration by 5 pm on Friday; and Rachel won Best Director of a high school play by the National Youth Arts Awards, http://www.nationalyouththeatre.com/news/news_nya_awards2019_eastern_evening.asp#awards, for her production of Laramie Project, and her cast won a number of awards as well, and her awards ceremony was on… race day!
A lot of other people got me to the starting line: in the weeks before, my Mom and Dad (“be careful, please”) and my sisters Jean and Louise (“we are so proud of you”) and Dom Chiaverini (who was with me when I fell and got scraped up running on the aqueduct, “you are ready for this, man”). And training runs with Zander or Dietmar. A pep talk from Coach Debi Bernardes at a rest stop during the 4 ½ hour drive. And I also called and chatted with cousin Rob Falk (“I dunno, I feel totally relaxed and not ready to tear up and conquer the race”; Rob: “Sounds like you’re experienced, now.”), and Jason Santarcangelo (“It’s a fast swim, because Mirror Lake is so small that the swimmers actually create a current…”), and total strangers, Mark and Becky from western Mass who talked with me during Friday’s dinner on the patio of The Dancing Bears (the mac and cheese didn’t have truffle oil as advertised, but I’m avoiding any negative thinking, and it’s still mac and cheese…).
And what a blessing literally to walk into Greg Bassett while strolling into town on Saturday who took me out to lunch (“Yeah, leave your car parked just off Main Street overnight”)
and right after, get a text from Bill Logan, who was visiting and having lunch in the restaurant across the street, and who took me in his classic car to drive the bike course.
And all their emails from the gang from the NY Sports Club breakfast club. So even though I came to Lake Placid without anyone else, I didn’t feel alone.
I was especially “eager” about the swim (avoiding words like “anxious” because I was trying to avoid negative thinking…): despite my form feeling good and pain-free, my recent workouts had been exhausting and slow. Ten days before the race, had a lesson with Joe E. at Swimlabs in Elmsford, and we found the silver bullet: slow down my cadence, reach farther to engage the lats and pull stronger, and everything became faster and easier.
Swam 20 minutes of the course on Friday after registration, had dinner; slept 9 hours Friday night, and Kenneth Ruterbois (who took 4th place OA at IM Wisconsin 12 years ago) later said “oh, if you got 9 hours sleep, you could not sleep at all on Saturday and be fine for the race”.
Saturday morning, swam for 15 minutes from the side of the lake near my supposedly 3-star Summit Hotel, rode for 15 minutes, and ran for 6 minutes (because the free pancake breakfast was almost over…). And racked my bike.
Saturday night I went to bed around 8:45 pm; sure enough, woke up at 12:22 a.m., and didn’t fall back asleep before the alarm went off at 3:15 a.m. Kenneth’s advice gave me solace. Had my Bullet Proof®-style coffee, two eggs, half a Sunbutter® and honey sandwich, prepped my whey protein plus Ucan® starch drink for sipping on the walk over and my Skratch® sodium drink for just before leaving transition and another sandwich… nutritionist Dina Griffin had prepped me well. A little after 4:30, checked and added some dry Skratch and my lucky Ironman Mt. Tremblant hat into my plastic Run Bag and Bike Bag, hanging from racks with our bib numbers.
I found a new friend having trouble with his pump and then pumped my tires (avoiding a 20-30 minute wait for the mechanics…); filled my bento box on the bike with nutrition. Left transition before 6 a.m. to get on a long, long line for the portable toilets (both athletes and spectators, but we all feared how long the line might be for 2,800 of us down by Mirror Lake).
Walked down to the lake, put on the full wetsuit, splashed around for 5-10 minutes and rushed out for another potty break just as the pros start the race, finishing just in time to squeeze into the crowd on the beach for the “first” wave of swimmers, as the second wave was for those expecting to take 1:30 hours or more to finish…
I had been swimming what would translate to 1:18 finish for the swim, and Debi said to seed myself for a 1:13 finish, so I jump into the 1:10 to 1:20 corral and work my way towards the front…
And in we go! For the first time, in less than 100 yards, I’m in a groove, and of course I’m drafting off one, two guys in front of me and there’s someone grabbing my leg and I’m bumping arms and trying to avoid being kicked when suddenly a miracle happens: I find myself on top of the cable that connects the buoys, in a straight line. Sure, others are jostling to get there (interesting, the women find clean water slightly off to the left, it’s not worth the trouble; and the men are much more aggressive, really pushing to get the perfect fastest course), but I’m an attorney by day and I can be pretty aggressive too. So I’m not shaken off this line, I pull past the guys that are insisting on staying in my path, I swim under the twelve big pyramid sight buoys, twice feeling caught under the boat-like things (a little panic and leg cramping), and my arms swing around and over the little yellow ball buoys, but I don’t need to lift my head to sight for the next buoy and I never swerve off the path! And I see the guys around me with their fast and furious cadences and think to myself, “that’s not my style anymore,” I am grabbing bushels full of water and finishing the stroke and feeling unstoppable and relaxed.
Sure, when we get out and run across the beach for the second loop, I’m more tired, and feel I’m slower, but it’s over so fast, and ultimately it’s the same speed as my Ironman race at Mt. Tremblant, 4 years ago: 1:11. Solid.
T1 in sub-9:00, including the run through main street carrying the wetsuit that a volunteer had stripped off me, grabbing bag of Bike Gear and putting on shoes and helmet and visor, slathered with sunscreen, then run down the aisle to the bike – second to last row, second from end, a prime spot—and out the door, WHOOP!
Feeling great through mile 35 or 40. The descents into Keene are fast and thrilling. The ascents take a lot out of me, even though I was in a pretty low gear, but I start to feel I don’t have sufficient leg strength. Wished I had done more leg presses and other weight lifting.
About 1:40 into the bike, I take a pit stop – ah, this changing body! And I’m too well toilet-trained to pee while riding … I mess with my Garmin to take it off auto-pause, but I screw it up and have to stop and start the watch. Whereupon the helpful device advises me “[Take] 11 Hours [for] Recovery”. Ha!
First the more elite age group athletes, then other people pass me, on the hills as planned (Debi said to take it easy, and maybe I can go slower, but not much slower; I’m taking the hills in the small ring and 2nd gear on the cassette, sometimes the 1st gear). Tired at the start of second loop (though thrilled to see Greg Bassett again, waiting for me with special needs bag – and I’m flooded with emotion, I’m really not alone at this race, not just Greg but everyone else who’s watching me on the tracker app and the crowd is amazing (one spectator: “Look at this guy! He’s actually smiling!”))
But I couldn’t eat more than a bite of the sandwich, the honey instead of jam that had tasted great for breakfast now tasted way too dry (even though Dina and I had planned on the sandwich as big source of calories – more UCAN next time, if there ever is a next time?).
More pass me on the second loop (everyone seeming to be 44 years old) more and more heaviness in legs on the hills. Decent turnover but not great. At mile 85 it suddenly drizzles, then pours for 5-10 minutes, but we’re going uphill so it’s not dangerously fast and slippery and feels terrific. Dan Ostrowski, a younger guy from Kansas City (whose last name I learn because he’s miraculously in the video montage they show at the awards ceremony the next day) is leapfrogging with me, and tells me I’m looking strong, and I pick up the cadence, and he says “THAT’s what I’m talking about.” Man, does that help. Temp is in the 80s but I don’t feel overly hot inside the helmet visor.
But at about mile 85 or 90, I start feeling queasy. Poetically, just as I start to unravel, the tape unravels on one of my handlebars. By mile 90 I’m accepting that I am not going to do match the 6-hour ride I did in Mt. Tremblant.
Finally, I’m finishing the 112-mile ride. Less cheering (other than the fiercely loyal TriLatino crowd, waiting for their teammates) — almost hitting the curb at the hairpin turn just before getting back into town. Yep, I’m tired. I later learn (because I’m only looking at the watch for feeding times) that I finish in 6:33 = 16.7 mph average, slower than I had expected, but all that I could do today.
I take over 11 minutes for T2, between putting on shoes, learning that passion fruit-flavored Skratch drink that’s been in the sun doesn’t just get hot, it FERMENTS (so I dump it and make another flask of the stuff with the powder I brought as backup), going out for sunscreen, going back for another bathroom break…
Finally, I start the run.
Debi said I was required, which now felt “allowed,” to run in zone 1 HR for the first 4 mile. Honestly, I am ready to quit after 4 miles. But I’ve spent so much time training, so much money getting to this race, so many people are tracking me. I remember what Ziv Abramowicz had texted me on Friday, “if you slow down, know that I’m yelling at you” – and somehow that helps: the hell with anyone who says I’m too slow, this is all I can handle today, but I will not DNF.
And I suddenly remember that I’m part of the Hastings High School science project of Ali Manly, who has those of us in the Hastings Running Group reporting our average cadence, so I try to pick up my cadence on the second loop (not speed, just number of steps) and damn, it feels better and sustainable. I still keep stopping at every rest stop, indulging in water and fruit and a pretzel (ugh! So dry!) and coke (ugh! So bubbly!), and maybe I could minimize the stops and shave off 15 minutes from what is looking like much more than the 4-hour marathon I had wanted but walking feels so good…
Back to the higher cadence “run”, and there’s a younger guy lying on his back on the outbound side who sits up as I pass him, on the way back there’s a guy around 50 sprawled on his stomach and they’re getting him an ambulance, and some white-haired guy a little later on a stretcher… so, maybe my “giving in” to what my body can do today is the smartest thing I’ve done in a while. At the turnaround, the heavy guy sitting in a chair says “you have to finish this run in 5 ½ hours”, and I misunderstand him: I think that whenever we start the run, we have only 5 ½ hours, later realizing he meant that’s how long we have until midnight, but it inspires me to walk less and run more because if I walk the whole way I might not make what I think is the cutoff and, hey, it would be nice to finish in less than 5 hours, I can do that I think.
And I’m walking the long hill by the ski jump, and on the hill into town some spectator says “this hill can’t beat you” and I say “that’s why I’m walking it, I’m in control of this hill” and there’s the out and back along Mirror Lake where I had thought my swim was going to make for a great race and the downhill towards the 1980 Olympic speed skating oval is glorious and I’m in the shoot and cross the last beeping sensor (there’s been one virtually every mile to make sure we don’t cheat!) and the famous Ironman announcer Mike Reilly calls out those roaring words, “Mark Kaufman of Hastings on Hudson, New York: You. Are. An. Ironman!”
I don’t even look at my results until I talk with Rachel, over an hour later (after sitting in the athlete eating area, staring into space and gathering strength to get my stuff up to my car – safely parked a few blocks away, but up up up a hill next to the Crown Plaza Hotel).
And I finally learn my final time: 13:03. The run in 4:58. Not what I planned, not what I wanted, but I realized: I just completed an Ironman. AND I’m 25/172 for my AG, and suddenly delighted. Because once again, you never can tell during the race that you’re actually doing relatively well. Even though official results deduct the 35 guys who started but got DNFs (Did Not Finish), I’m including them, thank you: they all trained their butts off, too, and thought they could do this, and tried as best they could.
AND, George Koefler? Who took 2nd Place for AG when I took 3rd at the Devilman Olympic Tri this past May, and said hello when we racked our bikes on Saturday? He came in 45 minutes after me at this race. When I saw that, I realized: he’s a great athlete (man, watching him run at me in May, returning from the out and back …) but he was set back by this tough course and the heat, too. And, just recognizing that even top competitors, my peers, are humbled at this race, that makes me feel better. Tough course, we’re getting older, we do what we can.
Next race, I want to approach the triathlon like I approach playing saxophone: it feels amazing to make music. I want to be thrilled to be racing and pour my heart into it and leave nothing behind on the course. But this race, this was what I could do, and I’m okay with that. And I finished an Ironman.