|
I'm a Florida Ironman!
Feels good to say it. Feels good to type it. Getting to Florida's beautiful "Emerald Coast" to its famous Spring Break hot spot, Panama City Beach was itself the first adventure. About 12 hours door to door with a 4:00 am start with some sleepy kids and trusted supporters Rich and Dave. Once in Panama City, we negotiated yet another room upgrade and began scouting the surroundings. The kids bee-lined straight to the beach while I gathered my registration materials and enjoyed the pre-race carbo meal. The bike drop off service brought my shiny new Guru tri-bike (painted in Brendan's Buddies logo colors picked out by Brendan himself) straight to my hotel parking lot for pick up. Great valet service. No scraps but a little low on tire pressure. A couple of pumps and I was off for a practice ride. I then surveyed the swim course full of 6 outbound yellow buoys with 6 corresponding red buoys for the return. 2.4 miles in total once you circle the buoys twice. The practice swim was filled with really cool bottom feeding stingrays and the occasionally bobbing jelly fish just below the surface as not to bother me. A bit of concern about the strong current however. Could pose a problem on race day I thought. My training buddy and fellow Ironman Rolf showed up and joined in the pre-race rituals of wetsuit fitting, tire pressure checking and all taking the inventory of all the little gadgets needed to survive an Ironman: race GU, salt tablets, spare tubes, CO2 cartridges, sunscreen and all kinds of other products I'm not allowed to mention in an email (if you've been there done that....you know what I mean). Sleep and anxiety are not a good mix so every night before a competition one tries his best to settle in. Brendan kicking me all night in bed didn't help much...but it did keep reminding me of why it is I compete to raise money for the NICU where he was born. Every kick just felt good that he is alive and so many other tiny babies have a chance. I smile and then try to fall back asleep again. Race day starts 5:00 am with more carbo loading. Rich does a great job whipping up pancakes while Rolf poaches some eggs. Dave helps out with passing out the water and Gatorade. A team effort is needed to get through the day. Great to start it off with "the team". Like two men walking to the gallows, Rolf and I make our way to the swim start located just outside our condo hotel. I'm forced to leave my glasses behind so I don't loose them on the beach before my bike ride. Rolf becomes my seeing eye dog. Because the clocks have not turned back yet, we must make our way through the pre-dawn darkness. Kind of reminded me of that scene from the old James Bond movie Dr. No where the three blind men were being led around through the Caribbean. Very comical with no glasses, bare feet and darkness. Yeah, I say to myself, this is suppose to be fun. With the cannon blast, the race starts on time at 7:00 am. 2,200 athletes race across the beach front like an invasion going the wrong direction: out to sea rather than onto the beach. Anyway, I dive in with the crowd wondering if I will pass Rolf somewhere out there into the void called an Ironman. About 400 meters into the swim I pause. "What the #@*& am I doing way out here getting kicked by hundreds of wet suits?" Yes, a moment of doubt in a headstrong push over the last 6 months to get to this point. I look around with a full 360. WOW...this is pretty cool. I aimed straight for the next yellow buoy and off I went. Good coaching from my main guy Steve Fluet who taught me to focus on the next task. The Ironman is a series of small tasks to be taken in even smaller steps. Steady effort and the results come. One buoy at a time. Problem here is each buoy seemed farther away because the tide kept blowing us swimmers all over the place. Kind of being on a swim treadmill...you move but get nowhere. Following other swimmers was an exercise in the blind leading the blind. Each buoy was its own race. Its own effort. Its own result. Victory is afforded at each step to be followed by yet another trial. Another buoy. At the first corner turn, about 300 swimmers were fighting for position
around a 10 foot buoy. Quite the sight. Reminded me of my old Boys Club days
when 50 little kids were thrown into the pool for swim lessons. Each kid jumping
over the next to get into some space. I couldn't help but laugh. What else could
I do as I ninja kicked another swimmer off my back. The left turn straightaway
flew because the tide carried me. WOW that was fast I thought. Then I had to
make my way 6 more red buoys back to the shore....then do the whole thing again.
More effort...more results....more one buoy at a time victories. Exiting the
water I was surprised to see my time be just a bit over 90 minutes for the 2.4
mile swim. Well under the 2:20 cut off time. The seawater didn't taste so good
however. I kissed the sand when I landed and off to change for my bike ride. For the first time, the family split as I took Brendan and Keith with me
while June and Tommy stayed home for his New England championship game. Mile 10
came quickly and so did mile 20. I was moving along with the same steady effort
by counting 10 mile markers rather than yellow buoys. The volunteers on the race
course were jumping with free bottles of water, Gatorade and cola. All I had to
do was hold my hand out and grab one. Instead of open bar at spring break
Florida, its open Gatorade at Ironman Florida. Not quite the same as college
break but it feels a bit better for my age adjusted body. I was zipping along
passing faster swimmers who smoked me an hour earlier. Hunter instinct kicked in
and I imagined each biker I passed as one of those wetsuits trying to jump on my
back around the buoy. Go figure that each faster swimmer became a casualty to a
faster biker. I was really hunting for Rolf. I knew he was up there somewhere
because he swims better than me. Each block of riders I would pass would cause
me to pause and look for Rolf's blue Specialized bike. With all the sunglasses
(yes I had mine on by now), helmets and bike shirts, it becomes hard to spot
someone you know. Finding their bike is sometimes the only way. No sign of Rolf
when I hit the 56 mile halfway point. By my quick calculations, I figured I
might find him by mile 100 or so. I bear down and continue my hunt. No shade for the Ironman wannabe, just lots of sunny blue sky. My thoughts
wandered to the nice volunteer lady at the bike tent who insisted slapping on
extra sunscreen because I had so many freckles on my back. Always trust local
knowledge (and someone who could be your Mom). As I trucked along about 18 mph,
I headed past mile 60 full of steam. Another right hand turn then POP!!!! My
rear tire went flat. Chasing down Rolf became a bit less important at the
moment. Pulling over and finding some shade would be a good idea. Going to
business school doesn't equip oneself from the engineering particulars of
changing a flat tire in the middle of a race. I proceeded with my trusty fix-it
kit. Darn...each time I attempted to pull the rubber from the rim, I felt either
the tool nearly break or the rim become bended. Not a good spot to be if both
break. Easily a DNF (Do not finish) if one doesn't manage the situation
responsibly. A good Ironman is a finished Ironman. No questions. No debate. Man
and machine must pass the line together. So I calmly waited for the bike geek
who travels the race course to drive by and help. I continued to tinker with the
tire though careful not to make matters worse. A race official came by 30
minutes later who then radio signaled ahead to the bike geek who followed 20
minutes after. This guy was out of the movies. A throwback to the 60's. Long
shiny blonde hair down to his elbows, sandals and a shiny smile blurting out,
"Hey Dude, want some help?" Some people just don't leave that Florida spring
break life I guess. Incredibly in less than two minutes, this poster boy for the
Spring Break Chamber of Commerce changed my flat tire. Most impressive. I wanted
to buy him a beer. His parting words of "Have a good time Dude" still echo. It helps to imagine each Gatorade/water station being another open bar...well you know what I mean. Whatever it takes to finish I guess. Each station...more effort. Each station...more results. Back to the focus Brian. Lots of time to celebrate later. Another station. Another result. One after another. When the fatigue sets in, I reach for motivation. Seeing my kids at the finish. High 5's with friends. Calling my wife June and my parents when its over. Dig. Dig. Dig. Looking up I see Rolf coming towards me because the run course goes out and back. He waves hello and we both try our best to force a smile that we both know will be much easier when we are done. I'm pleased he suffered no ills in the race thus far. The Ironman can be unforgiving and cruel to the best prepared. Face it. Its a long day. Lots of things can go wrong. And they do. The Ironman spirit comes from dealing with the difficulties the day presents to you. Nothing comes easy. Every effort yields a result. Some results get reversed with setbacks. If so, get more effort. Get another result. The run magically turns around in a state park littered with Monarch
butterflies along a sandy beach. This is the Florida I want to remember. I wave
at the spirit of my deceased brother who loved Florida so much. I wave at the
sand dunes. Get some more strength. Get some more effort. Get more results. I
look at my watch which tells me if I limit my walking breaks, I can beat my 2006
Lake Placid Ironman time of 14:34:07. I'm not sure. Just try doing motion
equations at mile 18 of an Ironman marathon. No time for walks. Jog. Run.
Sprint. Do whatever to get done. No doubt here like at 7:05 am on the 400 meter
buoy. Look ahead and start passing as many runners and walkers as possible. Let
no one pass me. No one. If one does, hunt them down and return the favor.
Effort-Result. Effort-Result. Effort-Result. Like tom-tom drums, the words ring
with each foot strike to the pavement. Darkness overtook the marathon three and
a half hours ago. The luminating glow sticks around the remaining competitors
necks are the beacon for the finish. Mike Reilly, the famous "Voice of the Ironman", gets prepped for my arrival
as I cross a chip mat that alerts him to my identity. "Brian
Carroll from Woooosster Massachusetts....you are an IRONMAN". Outside of
my wedding priest announcing "you are now man and wife", few words have meant
more to me. 14:24:04 official minutes later, time stand stills as my feet cross
the finish line. Beating last year's time by 10:03. Unofficially, destroying
last year's time by 60:00:03 (if my coach lets me).
|
