Ironman Wisconsin 2016 was my 3rd Ironman race. In 2015 I bested my prior finish time by about 20 minutes, but had an Achilles injury that kept me from running for several months leading up to the race. When I signed up for 2016, I did so hoping that my Achilles issue would subside. If it did, I knew I could PR. To let things heal, I avoided running for the entire fall of 2015 (except for races obviously… still had to do races), and slowly reintroduced running this past January. I’ve strived for religious use of a foam roller, and limited my high intensity and long distance runs. My longest runs this year were 11 miles, of which I did 2 runs. I did perhaps a handful of 9-10 mile runs, but otherwise did the bulk of my running between 4 and 7 miles. The weather this summer was very hot for some stretches, and I made sure to run in the heat as often as possible. I recall one day after work the temperature was about 97 and not a cloud in the sky. The humidity was high as well, but I was running 400’s at the Pewaukee track. When the heat dropped back into the 80’s the following week, I ran 10 miles on a sunny & 85 afternoon and it felt refreshing. I’m formerly of the Upper Peninsula Michigan, and generally suffer in the summer heat here in Wisconsin. Training in the worst of the heat helps me to adapt.

Dedicating time for training was a challenge for me this year. I think I’ll write a separate post about my training this year because I know many people fret over their training plans and I’d like to add some perspective to that discussion. To summarize my training at a bird’s eye view… between May and September I averaged less than 9 hours of training per week. I did not even begin swimming until August. January through April I averaged around 8 hours per week—most of which was biking. The months of May, June, and July I averaged somewhere around 7 hours per week. There were some vacations in there with little to no training, which are included in the average. The month of August started with a week off, followed by 3 weeks of about 11 hours each before dropping off into a 2 week taper. My eating habits have been poor (can I attribute this to having a pregnant wife?), and I weighed in 10 lbs heavier than last year at check-in. Overall I felt confident in being positioned for a new PR this year, due to my perpetually over-optimistic expectations of myself and the very real potential for a massive improvement on my marathon (remember that I was injured last year and had run very little). I had two goals for the race: set a new PR, and run a sub 4 hour marathon. I also thought I could bike under 5:30, but didn’t care so much about that.

My wife and I were up early Sunday morning at the Clarion and rode the shuttle to the Capitol around 5 am. I had slept much better overnight than in prior years for a couple reasons: I put very little pressure on myself, and I managed to remain in complete control of Saturday’s schedule. My wife was instrumental in this. I know many people ask how they can best support their husband or wife doing an Ironman race, and I can tell you the day before is as important as the day of. Most triathletes are type-A personalities. They already have everything figured out. Everything. The best way to support them is to do your best to understand & implement their schedule, and to avoid adding stress. My wife did an awesome job this year, and we had a great day together on Saturday. Sunday morning, my first stop in transition was body marking, then into the bike corral to air up tires and drop off bottles. I keep my tires between 60-80 psi when I’m not riding, then pressurize right before riding. For this race I had my Zipp Flashpoints, with Vittoria Open Corsa Evo CX racing tires. It’s the only tire I’ve used for races in my 5 years of experience. In 5 years I’ve flatted one time during a race, which was last year during a frigid October race (I’ve never flatted during training, btw). I generally ride with my tire pressure around 90 psi, which is where I set my tires for this race. I overheard another racer instructing a volunteer to air up his tires to “120 in the front, 122 in the rear.” That sounded pretty high to me—I hope he had a successful ride. After visiting my bike I went into the bag rooms to verify my bags were in place, then my wife and I headed to a quiet area to relax and wait.

Eventually I slipped my wetsuit on and wandered down the helix to the starting area. The race start was only 20 minutes away but the line to enter the water was still very long. I ate a Roctane GU pack that had 35 mg of caffeine as I readied my cap and goggles. I’d never used a GU before swimming before, and had never tried Roctane either, but figured there was never a better idea. My wife gave me one last kiss of good luck, and I made my way toward the water. I could tell that at the rate I was going, the race would start before I ever got in the water. Fortunately, another racer began pushing his way past everyone and I fell into his slipstream, making it to the water edge with about 5 minutes to go. Many athletes were simply standing in the start area with no intention of getting into the water early. It was a shame, because many other athletes wanted to get into the water early to warm up and couldn’t due to the traffic jam caused by the timid gawkers. If you’re reading this and plan to do IMWI in the future, please get into the water and swim out ASAP. DO NOT stand in the starting corral or at the water edge. If you plan to enter at the last minute, wait up on the helix until the LAST minute.

The Swim:

I was in the water much later than I wanted, and immediately began swimming out to the buoy line. By the time I reached the buoy line, there was 30 seconds to race start. I was hoping to have a good 5 minutes of relaxation to soak things in, but before I even had a chance to get upset the cannon had boomed and we were off. I knew my swimming fitness wasn’t as good as the year before, and I’m a poor swimmer, so my expectations weren’t very high. My goal was to swim a 1:20.

I actually got off to a great start, with a fast swimmer in front of me all the way to the first turn. I really dislike the stretch between the first and second turns, due to the sun being in our eyes and absolute melee that takes place as swimmers begin swimming in every direction. I had a surprisingly good leg out to turn 2, and made the corner uneventfully. The back stretch is long, and I planned to draft when I could but otherwise stay near the buoy line. I soon realized that I was in a pack of very good swimmers. My fast pace early in the swim had set me up great for the back stretch. I was swimming HARD to stay on the feet in front of me, and there were people to each side and behind me as well. I was socked in but everyone was behaving, so I just kept at it. I did zero sighting during this timeframe, but watched buoy after buoy glide past me within 10 feet to my left. Things were going awesome! Could I be headed for a 1:10 finish? We must be at this pace.

Eventually I ended up with a different set of feet in front of me. I hadn’t seen a buoy in a while, and lifted my head to sight. I was with a small group of swimmers that had broken off WAAAAY right and a kayaker was trying to corral us back toward the race. How did that happen! I made my way back toward the buoys but couldn’t get to the inside where I knew the faster swimmers would be. I ended up swimming toward the outside all the way to turn 3, which wore me out and slowed me down quite a bit. The last 2 stretches toward the swim exit were tough. I was tired and had a stomach ache that was getting worse and worse. I finally climbed out of the water at about 1:18. Good enough for me.

T1:

When I exited the water I had an intense stomach ache. I figured it would subside once I’d been upright for a few minutes, and I jogged toward the wetsuit strippers. Once free from my neoprene full body corset, I attempted to run up the helix. My stomach immediately cramped up and I nearly doubled over. I continued to jog while holding my hand against my tummy, feeling like it would burst. Grabbing my T1 bag was uneventful. I sat in the change room, put on my jersey, helmet, headband & sunglasses. I stuffed my swim gear into the bag, grabbed my cycling shoes and jogged out. I suddenly had to pee like mad, so I used a porta-potty. I made my way slowly to my bike, as my stomach wouldn’t allow me to move very fast. At this point I had figured out what was wrong—the Roctane GU I ate before the swim had mixed up with some water I swallowed from the lake, and with all the tossing around it must’ve produced a lot of gas that was now trapped in my system. It was sooo painful. A volunteer retrieved my bike as I neared the end of the racks, and I allowed another volunteer to hold it while I put my shoes on. A quick glance toward my smiling wife (I probably wasn’t able to smile back…) and I was away down the helix. T1 took me almost 11 minutes, which is about 5 minutes more than prior years.

Bike:

The next 90 minutes were absolutely brutal. I attempted a few times to use my aero bars, but it hurt my stomach badly and I threw up once. Eventually all the built up gas was moving through my system, and coming out both ends. I didn’t care which end it used, so long as it got out! I was about an hour in when I was able to drink anything. As soon as I could handle it, I began taking in BASE salts (lots!) and drinking water.

I saw my lovely wife and her dad on the climb into Mt Horeb, where I knew they would be. After the first pass through Mt Horeb I was finally able to spend short stretches in the aero position. For as bad as everything had been so far on the bike, I could tell that taking it easy and waiting for the issue to pass had worked. I would be okay. If I had tried to ride hard for that time period, I’m sure I would’ve dug myself a hole too deep to get out of. I was certainly behind on hydration, but I knew I was on track to recover well. I continued taking in salt and water/Gatorade, and overall the bike course was uneventful. The hills were no surprise. I had no cramping issues with my legs. I felt pretty good actually—but went a little easy to allow my hydration recovery.

I’ve heard others speak of poor etiquette and dangerous drivers out on the course. I experienced both. I was fortunate to avoid several potential crashes with riders 2 or 3 abreast blocking the road and swerving on downhills. I watched a car pull out far ahead of me on Hwy G and head in the same direction as bike traffic. There weren’t a lot of bikers in the area, but unfortunately there were some bad apples riding 3 abreast and absolutely clueless that they were causing a dangerous situation for everyone else. The poor driver of the car wasn’t able to pass safely due to oncoming traffic and visibility, and many of us faster bikers were soon traffic jammed behind the car. If the 3 riders in front were single file, the car would’ve passed by without issue. Instead, we had a dangerous scenario where bikers were attempting to pass the car on the right shoulder—which one guy finally did and scolded the riders onto the shoulder.

On one other occasion, a car pulled out into heavy bike traffic headed down from the top of Garfoot. Pulling out when the vehicle did was ill advised but again there were slower bikers ahead that caused a dangerous situation as very fast bikers descending the hill had to brake to stay behind the car. Some riders literally didn’t even touch their brakes as they flew past the car on either side. I felt like throwing my water bottle into their spokes. Riding a bike is dangerous enough without idiot bikers making things worse.

I was thankful for my wife and father in law for spectating out on the course. I saw them one last time at Midtown before heading toward Madison. I did have to stop in Verona to pee. I didn’t think peeing all over my bike was worth it, and I had to go really bad. That was the first time in any race that I’ve peed during the bike. One other neat thing that happened was maybe 80 miles into the bike another rider was just to my left, and I noticed it was athlete 457. I was 458! What were the chances of that? Coming into the final aid station on the bike was spectacular. What a great show of support and USA pride with all the flags, volunteers, and first responders. I finally reached the transition and handed my bike over to the volunteers. I saw that my split was 5:48, which was 14 minutes slower than 2015, and only 2 minutes faster than my first IMWI.

Run:

T2 was simple. I got my bag, put my socks & shoes on, grabbed my race number & garmin and headed out. I peed again before hitting the course. I saw my wife at the run out, and started my real race. I was almost 18 minutes behind compared to the year before, but this time I had actually done some run training. I knew a PR was possible, but I’d have to work.

The sun was high and bright when I started my run. The stretches in the open were pretty hot. I walked every aid station long enough to grab water & ice, and whatever else I needed. Not sure how most people do it, but I always add my ice to whatever drink I pick up. For example I’ll dump a cup of coke over ice before drinking it, then I’d dump water over the remaining ice and dump that over my head and spill the ice down my jersey. It worked well, actually, as the jersey was tight enough to hold the ice in and cool me down sometimes for several minutes. I used a GU about every 4 miles until the halfway mark, after which I think I only had another 2. I used BASE salts several times as well.

As I mentioned, I walked the aid stations long enough to take in my fluids. I stopped to pee at Camp Randall, and I walked up the big hill on loop one. Other than all that, I ran without stopping or lollygagging. My halfway time was 1:50, but I knew I was slowing down a bit. I’d done the math, so I knew my pace was good enough to PR but I wanted my sub 4 hour goal. Just keep moving. Just keep running. The crowd always gives a boost of energy, but I was especially motivated around the course seeing my wife, father-in-law, and several friends I hadn’t seen a long time. In the last 3 miles I spent less time at the aid stations since I knew I had what I needed already inside me. It felt good to grab ice & water to cool off though. The last mile of the day, I ran in just over 8 minutes—not bad considering the hill we run up.

Coming around the Capitol to the finish has always been emotional for me. A whole year of training coming down to only another minute or two. The crowd is always spectacular. This year was special. I had been down and made a comeback. For the first time in an Ironman race, I felt like I had done something special. That’s probably weird to hear, since becoming an Ironman is pretty damn special. But we all have different experiences out there. Different expectations, hopes, dreams. I usually set the bar pretty high for myself, and rarely feel a true sense of accomplishment. This time was different. To be honest, I had doubts at the run start that I could PR. I can remember telling myself that my wife believes in me, and that’s what kept me from walking time and again when the pain was bad. My wife who sacrifices willingly to help me train and is always cheering for me at every event I enter. My wife who is 5 months pregnant and running back and forth on the course to find me and cheer me on. I kept going because she believes in me, and I came through the finishing chute in 3:51:52, accomplishing both goals I had set for myself when the day started. My total time was 11:14:32, more than 24 minutes faster than my previous year. My run was a 43 minute improvement.

When I crossed the finish line, my left hamstring gave me a congratulatory Charlie-horse and I had to be carried to a chair. I received my finisher’s hat and tee-shirt, along with a bottle of some kind of recovery drink that made me want to vomit. When I was finally able to walk, I found my wife and we hugged until my tears stopped falling. What a day.

Will I sign up again next year? I don’t know. My overall results are improving dramatically with each race, and I really haven’t been able to put in the training hours that other athletes do (granted, I believe my training hours are higher quality than most). I believe I could do much better with the right training—I’m just not sure I can or even want to make the sacrifice. I’m excited for the life change on the way this January when my wife is due with our first child. Maybe Ironman will fit our family in the future, but I’m confident our priorities will not be the same.

Thanks for reading!