Race Coverage

 

By Dr. Ryan Wippler

 

HITS-Naples Full Race Report - It's 6 PM the night before my first IM distance race. I've been up since 3 AM-spent an exhaustive day traveling with wife and infant. My back is killing me from lugging my bike, tri-, and baby gear around the MSP and Fort Myers airports. Oscar, the profusely-sweating over-taxed local bike mechanic is telling me he is unable to put my bike back together due to a very specialized finger nail sized piece of carbon fiber (seat post clamp) has gone missing, either during the bike teardown or rebuild, with no replacement to be found at any bike shop with 100 miles and the local Quintana Roo rep isn't answering his phone. My dream of becoming an ironman is quickly turning into a nightmare.  I'm pulling my hair out, losing my mind.  I'm not going to race tomorrow!?  Was the last five months of training for not?  ...

 

After many phone calls to my local St. Cloud bike shop who helped my pack my bike and were tearing their shop apart looking for it, after Oscar had spent almost 2 hours tearing my frame apart, removing the crank and all internal cabling in the hopes that the piece had some how fallen within the carbon caverns of the bike frame, and my good friend Rick had consoled me that I would be racing tomorrow no matter what, even if I had to borrow a bike, or he would have to drive to Fort Myers or Tampa to pick up the needed part. It seem like time was running out, all potential solutions had been exhausted, the local bike shop was closing, this was really not happening. I was sweating, nauseous, on the verge of tears. In despair, I looked at my wife, "I'm not racing tomorrow."  When all hope was lost, dummkopf that I was, it dawned on me where the piece was,  in a little ziplock bag, hidden in a small compartment in my vector pedal box with the instruction manual. I quickly got word to Oscar, who had given up on the whole project to work on the hundred other things that he had to do before race day, he immediately found it, told me that it I could be ready in a half an hour, and got to work. Iron Man dream, still on! 

 

The next 12 hours were a blur, involving about four hours of sleep, totaling seven hours in the previous 48 hours (note to other triathletes, arrive at least two days early before Iron Man length event), and somehow I ended up at the start line at Vanderbilt Beach with my very supportive wife, Phuong, 14 week infant, Lily, and amazing friend, Rick. Rick zipped me up, shook my hand, gave me a hug and assured me that I would have a good day, stating that in every Iron Man race there's two or three things that go wrong, and since I've had such a major issue already, it would be smooth sailing. My wife reminded me to enjoy myself, and who I was racing against, "Only against yourself, Ryan.  No need to kill yourself." I promised her that I would have fun, stay out of the medical tent, and above all, "Not die". The gun went off, and we all ran into the ocean. After traversing about 25 yards and two sandbars I quickly got into a nice rhythm, and drafted off of the numerous swimmers that were in front of me. I continued to remind myself to relax, exhale underwater, and repeated the mantra, "This should be the easiest part of the day". After the first loop, all the half Iron Man distance racers ran up the beach, while I began my second lap. I high-fived the race official, said, "Nice and easy", and checked my watch. Wow, 32 minutes for 1.2 miles at a relatively easy pace in the ocean-that does not suck!  That new Blue 70 helix wetsuit was worth every penny. 

 

However, the second lap was a little bit more difficult. I was in the top five and there was a large gap between me and the other long distance racers. I concentrated on swimming rhythmically and comfortably, and tried to stay as straight as possible. I was mostly successful. To make things interesting, with about half a mile left on the swim, my right calf started to cramp. I had to ease off on my two beat kick, and most of the last half-mile was more of a pull set. With one quarter mile left, I suffered a severe cramp in my right calf and hamstring, which like a bolt of lightning, stopped me dead in the water.  I figure I lost at least a minute bobbing in the ocean, as I grabbed my toes to stretch my right posterior chain trying to get the cramp to release. Eventually it did, and I was able to limp swim to shore, albeit much slower than intended. Getting to my feet on the beach, I high-fived a few of the cheering crowd, gave my wife and daughter a kiss, and walked briskly to the transition area making sure not to over-tax my calf and hamstring. Once there, I deliberately took my time, ate a Cliff bar, changed into my bike gear, lubed up adequately and then some, grabbed my bike, and left T1. 

 

Because I had taken my time during the transition, realizing that this is going to be a long day, I could not see any cyclists in front of me. I clipped-in and started peddling smoothly.  Briskly I came to the very first intersection, approximately a quarter of a mile from T1. There two police officers waved me north (left). I took the turn briskly, thanked them for their service, and got to work. The road I was on was a residential road, with no bike lane or shoulder. There was not a lot of traffic, but I did not see any competitors either. After about a mile, I began to worry slightly. I turned my head back and saw at least one other racer behind me. I was trying to remember the bike course map and how far it was to the next turn, which I knew to be a right turn.  The map, as I remember it, was not to scale and I could not recollect the road names. I was starting to get worried that perhaps I had missed a turn. However, I took some comfort, from the racer behind me. My concern grew as I pushed the pace faster than race pace to see if I could catch up with those racers in front of me. After I had biked for nearly 15 min the road I was on came to a "T". At the "T" there were no race direction signs, and I had not seen any mile markers along the way. I looked at my Garmin, which indicated that I had traveled 5.5 miles. I was really starting to worry now. When the next competitor behind me caught up, I asked him if he knew the names of the roads were supposed to go on. To my dismay, he indicated that he did not speak English. You can't make this up!  I tried to see if he had a map function on his bike computer, stating that I knew we needed to head east towards Anna Maria. As he fumbled with his bike computer, I grew anxious, and decided that we should head back. Another group of six racers came upon us, and their story was the same, no one knew which way to go or the names of the course roads, but all were adamant that they had been waived onto this godforsaken road by those two officers, and had been following the racers infront of them ever since. Dammit! I made an executive decision, that we should all turn around and head back to where we started, which we did en mass, at a leisurely demoralized pace. Once we got to that very first intersection after traversing another 5.5 miles, and spotting no mile markers or turn signs along the way, we came upon the original police officers who were directing racers and traffic. We asked them which way the race course was. The police officers pointed due east (straight on the course), and said in a matter of factly, "That way, obviously."  The eight of us wanted very much to harm them, but instead decided that we had some riding to do. So, after being on our bikes for more than a half an hour we were just starting the 112 miles of riding.  Wasn't IM hard enough? Can my first IM experience get any more interesting?

 

With false levity, I tried to convince myself that this will be something to joke about in the future, and got into a steady rhythm. I had great concern about the ability of my arms, backside, and lower back to take 112 Miles in the aero position after swimming for ~70 min, let alone 123. By starting 11 miles behind the other competitors, meant that there were a lot of people to pass along the way. Reeling them in became a game, a distraction from the reality of an extremely long bike ride. Unfortunately, the first Aid station, was approximately 35 miles into the bike leg, which meant 46 miles for the detour group. I had run out of water 12 miles before the aid station, and the unseasonably hot 80+ degree Naples weather, wasn't doing me any favors. Although I've been taking in calories to the tune of 500 per hour in the form of Cliff bars and energy gels, I had to stop once I ran out of fluid, realizing the risk of G.I. issues was too great to chance.  I stopped at the first aid station, answered the call of nature, asked if the aid attendants could contact the race director to let them know that our police escort had waved approximately 10% of the finishing field down a very long demoralizing detour, and inquired about the possibility of cutting the bike leg short so that we would still complete the iron distance, but not 11 miles extra.  Instead of waiting for a response on the radio, I decided my time was better spent on the road. I loaded up on water and gels and was on my way. The scenario repeated itself at each successive aid station, and by the last one, I was finally told by a race official that before the final turn around, that "...it sounds fair if you shaved off a few miles".  His answer was somewhat noncommittal, but then I reminded myself what I was racing for, and who against. The official results do not matter, Ryan. You'll know what you've done, even if you are DNF'd. So with 4.5 miles to go on the last bike out and back loop, I cut the turnaround short. At the time, I felt like a criminal, but I was extremely glad that the race official had said what he said. My shoulders and ass were killing me from being in the aero position for nearly 5 hours, and my lower back was starting to severely cramp up. Those last 5 miles on the bike were most likely the least pleasant of my cycling career. I must note that somewhere around mile 75 on the bike, my entourage drove beside me in our rental SAG minivan. I felt like I was riding in the tour as my friend handed me a water and energy bars out his passenger window. Unfortunately for them, one of the on course  policemen pulled them over for doing such a dangerous thing. I do not think they got a ticket, but it's experiences like this, that I will remember long after my racing days are done.

 

When I arrived in T2, I gave my bike computer to my friend Rick, which showed that I had biked 114 miles, albeit a little off-course, and told him to show the race director in case they thought there I was up to any shenanigans. He told me not to worry, and helped me put some sunblock on. I slowly put on my running gear and enjoyed the respite from my saddle. Although I must've looked terrible, my wife and daughter gave me kisses and words and gurgles of encouragement, which meant more to me than they will ever know. Although, I was physically tired from the 2.4 mile swim, 114 mile bike, and the continuing to mount major external stressors, I was really (? Yes really.) looking forward to running a marathon just to work the cramps out of my lower back.

My plan leaving T2, was to run a mile, walk a minute, repeat, in an effort to keep my heart rate from rising too much, keep in adequate blood flow to my G.I. tract, and prevent depleting all my residual glycogen storage. I did run the 1st mile, But my heart rate and risen 25 bpm, well above threshold. I walk for minute, and watch my heart rate dropped back to where it needed to be, under 120. The next time I ran for only half a mile, but again, my heart rate rose above 140. I then tried running a quarter of a mile, same effect. I'm not sure if it was the metabolic demand of changing from cycling to running that my body was having trouble with, or the 80+ degrees in the shade free sun, that's hard to train for in the middle of a minnesotan winter. Regardless, I ended up running for two minutes and walking for one minute for much of the first loop. At each aid station, I repeated the following routine. I would take two ice sponges, putting one down the front of my shirt and one down the back of my shirt making a Ryan sponge sandwich. Although I would lust after the potato chips, I would down half a Dixie cup of heed electrolyte and energy drink, and wash that down with half a Dixie cup of cold water with the rest of the couple water going over my head.  

 

At the start of the second of four loops, my wife, daughter and friend Rick were there to greet me. I gave my daughter and wife a kiss, and my friend a high-five. After walking for a minute, I started to run again and something had changed. Maybe it was the wind that had started to pick up, a shift in my metabolism, or that the size of my heart has grown with the support of my friend and family? Suddenly, my heart rate was not spiking after a minute of running. I saw how far I could go, and ended up running an entire mile, without significant heart rate rise. To be on the safe side, I walked for a minute after that, and then started to run again, ranging between intervals of 1/2 to 1 1/2 miles in a row with a minute walking, in between. It worked out to be a very good way to maintain a decent pace, keeping heart rate and skeletal muscle oxygen demand low enough so that some blood was still going to my gut, and I could digest liquid calories. People around me who were eating solid foods were getting sick. I just knew if I eat anything solid, including energy gels, it would sit there like A brick, or worse, come back up. I continued this successful strategy for the remaining three loops. As the running portion of the race continue on, I made it a point to thank each volunteer for being there each time I passed them, encouraged the runners around me, and tried to smile as much as I could (fake it until you make it). I told those around me, specially those that looked really truly terrible, that they looked great, and that they must be winning the race because they look so strong each time we crossed paths. In reality, none of us knew who was winning the race because of the multiple out and back loops and the fact that everyone was struggling with the heat. On the last lap, my smiles were genuine. I was so very much looking forward to the pain to end and realized that I was going to become an Iron Man today. At the second to the last aid station, I again consumed some liquid calories and for the first time felt that my innards felts like water sloshing around in a washing machine. It was apparent that my body was not going to except any more fluid or calories as long as I keep moving. With energy levels waning, I decided at that point that if I stop running, I might never start again, and just went for it. I ran the last 2 1/2 miles, probably faster than any miles I had run the previous 20, and tried to smile the entire way realizing along the way that a tired smile and a grimace, are very much the same thing. When I crossed the small bridge for the fourth time leading into the final turn, my eyes begin to well up, at the realization that after the nearly half year of training, the sacrifices of myself and family, and the last two days of physical, emotional, and spiritual exhaustion we're soon coming to an end. I could see my wife and daughter in the distance at the finish line. I started to choke up. As I cross the finish line noting the ridiculous time of 10:35, I gasped for breath. The emotion that overwhelm me, was making me sob, but after such a sustained effort, any, even momentarily, cut off of oxygen was not a good thing. Two gals came up to me, congratulating and wanting to put a metal around my neck. I bent over slightly at the waist to try to catch my breath, but suddenly the two gals in front of me started to have a wavy appearance, like out of the movie vertigo. I saw them rush forward and I collapsed into their arms. A big burly man came and lifted me to my feet. They half walked/half drag me to a chair, and plopped me down. They gave me some water and sports drink, and asked me questions about who I was, where I was, etc. I was having a hard time answering them, because I was crying. Sometimes the emotion is so strong, that the body weeper. My wife tried to console me, and told me that everything was all right. She gave me a giant hug. My friend Rick congratulated me on a fabulous day, and amazing IM debut. I was so happy and relieved, buts lo I could do was cry like my infant, who at the time had her emotions under better control than her father. Eventually I got it together, and ate some of the potato chips that I had been lusting after the previous 4 hours of the marathon.The paramedic who help me to my throne, took my vitals signs. He was surprised to find that two minutes after fainting and completing my first Iron Man, my pulse was 78, and my blood pressure was 118/77. "Your vitals  are better than mine. he exclaimed. I felt surprisingly great and horrible at the same time. That gamut of physical, emotional, and spiritual peaks and nadirs was the microcosm of the Iron Man experience. My family and friend helped me gather my equipment, and we headed home. (First time Iron Man participants, make sure you have someone to help you with your gear after the race, you will be in no condition to do this on your own.) 

 

It wasn't until the next day, that we realized I had placed third overall.  It was a team effort and added honor, but ultimately mattered little. I had my health, the continued love and support of friends and family, and could call myself, ironman. RESULTS