RACE DAY
Vineman Ironman Triathlon, Sonoma, CA




Cliff Notes Version:

What a day!

Definitely experienced all the ups and downs of the race, joy and pain. With the unexpected 97 degree heat it turned into a sufferfest, the medical tent was overflowing. Fortunately I avoided the tent but unfortunately I didn’t avoid ‘gastrointestinal issues’, cramping on the bike, vomiting and other misadventures on the run portion of the race.

I felt strong otherwise, but I missed the last run time cut-off by 13 minutes and 36 seconds and wasn’t allowed to complete the last loop of the run. It’s a quirky rule peculiar to this specific race venue. So it wasn’t a fitness or mental letdown, it was of all things, a nutritional letdown.

People have asked if I was crushed that I wasn’t able to ‘officially’ finish the race. Well, it takes a little more than missing a time cut-off to crush my spirit. I mean, I raced in my first triathlon, an Ironman(!) in brutal conditions and was only 13 minutes away from accomplishing what I thought was ‘impossible’ less than a year ago. I’ll take it! (Though I have some unfinished business with Ironman next year ☺) I’m mostly proud of the fact that I never gave up, especially with reports of other racers who quit mid race, unwilling to continue. Mostly I'm humbled and grateful that I'm healthy and strong enough to even attempt an Ironman.

Under the bright lights and loud cheers of the finish-line transition area, when the race official informed me of missing the cut-off and that my race had ended, I sought out my family and team. Before I could find them, a man I’ve never met came up to me, introduced himself and said ‘I know you may be disappointed that your race didn’t turn out the way you wanted, but I’m being treated for leukemia and I wanted to thank you for being such an inspiration to me and other cancer survivors.’

As my coach observed and recounted to our team the next day …”I watched this conversation between Roman and a complete stranger, and after racing for 14 plus hours, instead of just collapsing in exhaustion like others understandably would have done, Roman put his hand on this man’s shoulder and asked, ‘what’s your prognosis, how’s your treatment, how are you feeling?’ They walked away in discussion, and I knew it was the perfect day and the perfect race for Roman.”

Ironman was one of the hardest yet most gratifying things I've ever done in my life. And my coach is right, it was a day I’ll never forget.




RACE REPORT- War & Peace Version:

After 10 months of training-156 total miles of swimming, 3,485 miles of biking, and 700 miles of running, it was time to get it on. That's 4,341 miles of training. The race is only 140.6 miles, piece of cake. Yeah, right.

I’m up at 4:00 AM, about 5 hours of sleep. Breakfast is a glass of recovery drink and a PB-banana-chocolate chip sandwich. This will be the last solid food I’ll have for the rest of the day.

TRANSITION SET-UP
5:30 I’m at the beach, I get body marked, say hello to friends and teammates then set up my transition area. Lots of nervous tension around me with the other racers, some people need to chill out. I’m relaxed, focused. I go through my checklist, set up my gear, take a sodium pill and gu, water.

My goal is to finish the race under the time cut-off of 16 hours or less. My plan is to keep moving forward, enjoy the day, assess & adapt and mostly, have fun!





SWIM
My wave is about to start so I get in the water and take some warm up strokes, feel the cool water on my face. It’s a floating start so we’re all treading water, waiting for the start gun to go off. It’s the calm before the storm so other racers turn and start wishing each other good luck, to have a great race, have great swim. I do the same to others around me. A nice moment. My goal is to finish the swim in under 2 hours, I’ve done the course before in a practice swim in 2:02.

I hear the crowd counting down 10, 9, 8….3, 2, 1, GO! And we’re off. OMG, I’m doing an Ironman!

I’m prepared to be kicked, punched and climbed over so I relax and swim in my ‘bubble’. With the excitement of the race I knew my heart rate would climb so I relax and find my pace and tempo. Stroke…breathe…sight. The group starts thinning out, kayaks are lining the course.

After the first of two loops I’m under pace, wow. So if I just maintain this I should be close to my goal. Twinge of a cramp. I relax my legs. I’ve had cramps on long swims before and they’re not fun.

Stroke, breathe, sight. It’s a beautiful morning, almost peaceful. I see the shore and know I’m going to make the swim cut off. I finish the swim in 1:54. The team is yelling, ‘under two hours!’ Hahaha, that’s awesome! Slow, but awesome for me. I couldn’t even swim 10 months ago, ha!

TRANSITION
I strip off my wetsuit and walk to my bike. I don't run to keep my heart rate from spiking. I’ve been horizontal for 2 hours then suddenly upright so I don’t want to overly stress my system this early since it’s going to be a long day.









BIKE
I start the course in an easy, comfortable gear, manage my heart rate, take in food after 15 minutes so my legs get the blood before my stomach. I tuck in to my aero bars. People are passing me but I let them go, it’s a long day, the juice isn’t worth the squeeze. I stick to my nutrition plan and take in some Tums for cramps and start my sodium regimen earlier than planned. I allow myself a few moments to relish in the fact that I finished the swim, my main concern before the season began. I begin to tear up a little, how far I’ve come, why I’m racing, 5 years of remission from leukemia. When I was diagnosed I wasn't even guaranteed to make it this long. Enough of that for now, stay focused.

I ride through vineyards and beautiful countryside. I’m familiar with the course since we’ve trained here numerous times in preparation. I get to the halfway point, mile 56 feeling good. I see my Dad but am going too fast to spot the rest of my family. I’m under my time goal, yes! I want to have enough time and energy saved up for the run, so I’m in good shape so far. How quickly things change. Two miles later I feel a twinge in my leg followed by a full blown leg cramp. Argh. I get off my bike to stretch my leg. I realize how hot it’s become. I slap on some more sunscreen and take in more Tums and water as other bikers stop in the shade for some relief as well. I’m itching to get going again, I don’t want to waste more time but my leg is still cramped.

I try to stay positive and adapt. I adjust my nutrition to get in more fluids and sodium. I soft pedal to keep from cramping. I had planned to pick up the pace on the second loop but with the heat and cramps I need to actually slow it down. Rats. I come to gradual incline and put it in my easiest gear but even the small effort starts my legs cramping again. There’s no shoulder on the road so I have to jump in a two foot ditch, sitting on dirt and leaves, grimacing in pain as I try to massage and stretch out both of my legs from spasming(?). This sucks. I'm in a bad way.

I would have to stop a couple more times to try to get the cramps under control. Many riders were having the same problems. Even though I’ve increased my fluids I haven’t had to pee in a while, which is a concern. I start drinking more Gatorade at the rest stops, a decision which will come back to haunt me.

I get to the top of a climb and I see my coach, Rand. He runs besides me and says I need to at least keep my pace in order to make the 5:00 PM bike cut off. There’s about 25 more miles until the finish. If I pick up the pace, the effort may trigger my cramps again. But if I hold back I may miss the cut off. I have no choice but to hammer.

I stop at the next water stop for ice and water for my last push to the bike finish. I catch up to some other Team in Training teammates and they look absolutely horrible-salt on their faces, exhausted and miserable. I’m thinking, ‘OMG, do I look like that? This is bad.’

I say to them, ‘guys we gotta go, gotta make the time cut-off.’ They say, ‘oh no, the cut off is at 5:30, we’ve got plenty of time.’ I tell them that my coach just said that the cut off is at 5:00, not 5:30. One of them says, ‘Well I think he may be misinformed.’ I think to myself, ‘well what if YOU are the one who’s misinformed.’

Who do you think I’m going to listen to? The one I’ve entrusted to train me for the biggest race of my life, or someone I’ve just met.

I’m outta here, see ya! I hammer start passing people for a change. I make the cutoff with time to spare. My coach is at the transition yelling ‘you did it!, great job!’

Even though I make the cutoff, my ‘insurance’ time has been eaten up. With my slower pace, cramps and more water stops I lost 50 minutes on my second loop which I wanted to have for my run.



TRANSITION 2
I’m a little ‘wonky’ now so I take in some ice water and go through my transition so I don’t forget anything. Change into my running shoes, put on more sunblock, grab my running hat and fuel belt, down some Advil, Tums and sodium pills and head to the run course for a little ‘cool down’ run, just a marathon in front of me now, ha!

RUN
As I leave the transition, coach is yelling, ‘stick to the plan Roman!’ My original plan is to walk through each rest stop every mile. The way I’m feeling, I might have to walk more than that. I’m thinking with this heat, my plan is out the window, already readjusted my nutrition regimen.

I’ve feeling light headed. I’m guessing this is pretty normal after 10 hours of racing in the heat so I press on. As I start to run, my fuel belt feels a lot heavier than in training so I grab my sodium pills and gu and ditch my fuel belt and bottles at the first water stop. I’ll just drink at the water stops instead.

I know it will be a few miles until my legs feel closer to normal so I just push on ahead until my body adjusts. Only it’s not adjusting quickly enough. My new plan is to walk the hills, run the downhills and run on the flats. As I reach the turn around of the first loop, I’m behind on my race pace. I know I need to pick it up if want to finish under the time cut off. I’m feeling awful. Duh, Roman, did you think it was going to be easy? It's a freaking Ironman. I see a couple of my teammates up ahead and they’re walking, slowly, with their hands on their hips. And these are the ‘runners’ on the team. Oh boy, everyone’s suffering out here. If those guys are walking, I’m in deep doo-doo. I catch up and walk with my teammate a while. She says this is the worst she's ever felt in her life. I believe her. We encourage each other to stay strong. At the moment, we’re in survival mode, just finish the race in one piece.

I see a friend cheering on the side of the road. He asks how I’m doing and I say feel like crap. He says, just put that out of your mind. I’m thinking, easy for you to say. If had the strength I would have slapped him upside his head. Man, fatigue makes you cranky.

I pass through the water stop where most of my friends and family are camping out. They’re whooping and hollering and I smile and wave as I go through. What awesome support, I would need it.

Another friend runs beside me and say I look bloated. What the heck does that mean? When it gets hot, your body’s digestion system shuts down is unable to process food efficiently. So all that sugar in the Gatorade I’ve been drinking hasn’t processed, it’s ‘stuck’. That’s why I feel so awful.

I just keep moving. As I pass other Team In Training teammates we high five or Go Team! By the end of the race it’s just grunts and groans, haha. Suddenly I have to stop, go to side of the road, bend at the waist and start heaving my guts out. Good. I actually want to throw up so I’ll feel better. The other racers are probably thinking, yep, that’s what happens in an Ironman, poor chap.

I get to turn around point and I look at my time. I have to PR the next 5 miles if I want to make the cut off. I know it’s unlikely, but I didn’t come this far to give up. I start to run and try to block out the pain. I see another coach and participant and they ask how I’m doing. I say not good, I have to run the race of my life if I’m going to make the cutoff. They say let’s go for it and they’ll pace me in. So I run with their pace, nice and steady. One of them runs ahead and grabs coke and water for me so I don’t have to stop. What a guy. We start to settle into a nice rhythm. I’m actually feeling the best I've felt all day. What’s that about!? Where’s has this been?! Why only now?! I realize that it’s because it’s almost sunset and it’s a lot cooler now plus I was able to throw up.

It’s getting dark and I only have my (prescription) sunglasses. My regular glasses and headlamp are still at the aid station, I didn’t anticipate it getting dark so soon. They’re no street lights on the course since it’s a country road. So I can’t see. I’m liable to run into a ditch or a tree for all I know. Other runners are wearing glow sticks and they look like fuzzy UFOs whizzing by me in all directions.

So the coach turns on his headlamp and gets in front of me and my friend runs behind me. I feel like the President running with Secret Service Agents. I’m now at the mercy of my 'bodyguards now', if they run off a cliff, I’ll be right behind them. We're flying now and as we approach all our supporters at the water stop I say, 'do not stop, keep going!' They're screaming but I have to run through, head down, no smile, no wave.

As we round the final corner I see the glow of the finish line lights and hear the cheers and energy of the crowd. I’m exhausted but the crowd gives me a lift. I run toward the transition area and see the race official waiting. I know what’s next.



‘FINISH’
He asks how I’m doing and apologizes because he has to take my timing chip and ask me not to continue the race, I’ve missed the cut off. I say I know, thank you for being so gracious. I ask him how much I missed it by and we both turn and look at the race clock. About 13 and half minutes.

Argh. So close. That’s just a few less stops at the water stations, a few less stops to stretch my cramps, a minute here, a minute there. I find my coach and we hug, knowing my day is done. I meet a young man who has leukemia and he thanks me for racing and being an inspiration to him others with cancer. Wow.

Friends and family are starting to gather, hugs and kisses. Some are crying. This race meant as much to them as it did for me. I’m drained but surprisingly upbeat. Would I like to have made the cut off? Duh. But I know I raced my hardest, I managed my race well and stayed mentally and emotionally strong. It came down to nutritional issues.

Some people are saying I can still go out on the course and finish the race ‘unofficially’. There’s no doubt I could have finished the last loop, I can just walk it if want to. But I’m thinking ‘why?’ Just to say I finished? I mean, if that were case, I can just come back the next morning and finish. To me it’s also disrespectful to the race organizers' wishes and especially to the other racers who trained and raced the same course I did under the same conditions. Do I just set some arbitrary time limit for myself? I know it sounds a lot better to say ‘I finished an Ironman’ but my goal was to finish under the time cut off, and unfortunately I was just 13 and half minutes short. I would take no pride in an ‘unofficial’ finish, it would be a hollow victory.

So I grabbed some hot chicken noodle soup and a space blanket and cheered the other racers across the finish line and encouraged the ones who didn’t make the cut off. More tears, smiles, hugs and kisses.

Before I left, some one gave me a finisher’s medal. I greatly appreciated the gesture but I haven’t worn it. But I will when I earn it. This was just a temporary set back and will make my ‘official’ finish even sweeter. The next day, one of the other racers who heard my speech gave me an Ironman logo necklace. I’ll wear that for sure!

I would learn later that it was the second hottest day in the history of the race. There was even a waiting list for the medical tent and it looked like a war zone. Even the overall winner said it was one of the hardest conditions he had to compete in and he had to change his entire race plan to accommodate the heat. So it was tough, tough day for everyone.

WRAP UP
I feel so privileged to be healthy and strong enough to have raced in an event that most people neither have the desire, opportunity or ability to race. I’ve learned even more to respect the distance. I know what it takes, the training, the nutrition, the cumulative fitness and experience to be an Ironman.

I was only 13 minutes away from what seemed ‘impossible’ not so long ago. Not too shabby. The whole experience changes your mindset, it makes it very difficult to say ‘I can’t'. It enlarges your heart and broadens your limits of what is possible. It forges unbending bonds with your teammates and those who selflessly support your endeavor. It reminds you of the power and the passion of the human spirit.

I’m so excited for next year's race season.