There is no crying in Ironman!

Sunday, April 25th was my first attempt at a half Ironman distance triathlon. I gave it all I could, really I did, and came up a bit short, 9 miles short to be precise. The first thing I need to say is that this is a HARD race. In hindsight, I wonder if I underestimated its difficulty a bit. That is putting the cart before the horse; let me start at the beginning.

I woke up one morning last week with a scratchy throat. That had happened a few weeks ago and ended up being allergies so I thought nothing of it. I used positive thinking and everything else I could imagine to prevent or postpone the cold. While I was unable to stop the inevitable, my efforts did lessen its severity somewhat.

Race day came, and for me it was a couple of days too late in my cold cycle. I don’t know it for sure, but I do think I would have had a better chance had the race been shifted a couple of days in either direction. But, it was what it was and I was going to give it my all.

As usual I was worried about the swim. This was my longest open water swim ever, and it looked far. I had let that intimidate me in each of my previous races, but felt this time that not only I could do the swim, but I could do it faster than most of the people in my wave. It was a deep water start, which I hate, but I was glad to get into the water so I could pee and blow my nose. Man, did I feel better after that! We started and I just got into it. I put my face down, hit a groove, and focused on breathing and stroking. It was very physical out there in the middle of the pack. After taking a few good hits and kicks I decided to quit giving up my space and fight for it and started giving as good as I got. I remember one point where two people tried to squeeze me out, so I shoved both of them away and reclaimed my spot. It was a long swim, but one of my favorites ever!

The rest is pretty much a blur. I felt horrible on the bike: my stomach was upset so I couldn’t drink, my lungs hurt when I had to breathe hard, and my legs were fatigued right away. 3.5 hours is a long time to be alone with your thoughts when things aren’t going well.

I finally got off the bike and started the run. I don’t remember much of this either, other than I decided to walk after about 3 miles. I never ran again. A mental evaluation of my condition told me I was out of gas, dehydrated and overheating. I wasn’t able to stomach any GU, and barely a sip of water at a time. I got to a point where I wasn’t sure I could even walk to the next aid/water station; and it was then that I decided to quit.

Quitting was an easy decision, dealing with it afterwards hasn’t been. I know it was the right thing to do, but I was/am so disappointed. In hindsight, walking up to my family, still looking out on the course for me, was the most painful. I so wanted to be this stud that had competed and finished in this amazing race, only to walk up and say I’d quit was devastating. It is debatable whether I would have felt worse for them to find me in a gurney in the medic tent or a hospital bed.

There is no crying in Ironman. I might have shed a tear or two after the race (maybe that’s why I’m not an Ironman yet), but I have already moved on. I don’t believe there is any way I could have physically finished that race so I’m not going to emote over it. I’m going to savor the nasty taste that quitting left in my mouth and use it as racing fuel. In the future, when things are tough and I want to quit, I’m going to remember Lonestar 2010.