I am an Ironman. Since I have no tattoo to say it for me, I feel it’s my duty to say that to anyone that may have otherwise seen my IM tattoo if I had one… Two and a half years ago, I moved to Wisconsin from the Upper Peninsula. Shortly after moving, I decided I would try some things I’d never done—a half marathon and full marathon. That is when I picked up the sport of running—roughly two and a half years ago. I quickly became enamored with competing, and could see ways to train for improvement. I did several more half marathons that year, but eventually found myself frustrated and looking for something more. Just on the verge of pursuing a microbrewery business venture, I was bitten by the triathlon bug. In large part, this was due to a coworker who had been convincing me to give it a go. After watching some videos on Youtube, I was ready.

The first step was buying a bike, and the second was learning to swim. I was already an expert at running, having done it for nearly a complete year. 🙂 The bike came in the mail January 2012 (bought it on Ebay). Sometime after that, I made my first venture into the lap pool. That is when I picked up biking and swimming—roughly one and a half years ago. When I started swimming, I literally could not complete a down and back in a 19 yard lap pool. The ironman is 4,224 yards of swimming. That’s 222 times farther than my 19 yard lap pool. My first outdoor training ride was in April, 2012. Earning confidence was a challenge. My first 50 mile ride was in 2013. I knew I had a lot of work to do, but I made sure to focus on only quality miles—not quantity. By the end of summer I had done several 60 mile rides, two 80 mile rides, and one day (2 rides combined) I rode just under 90 miles. My longest training run was 15 miles, back in May. Due to my need to grow at swimming and biking, I couldn’t afford the energy for long runs. My longest runs in August were 12 and 13 miles. Nonetheless, I took on one of the most difficult courses in the world, and am now allowed to call myself an Ironman.

I probably haven’t taken enough time to write this all out well and do it justice, but here is my race report. A photo gallery is at the very end.

Swim:

I entered the water about 6:40 am, cinching the straps on my goggles as tight as I could bear in hopes of not getting them ripped off in the ensuing melee. After adjusting to the water and calming my nerves along the shore, I swam out into the chop and made my way among the other swimmers all the way out to the buoy line. I had about 15 minutes before the start. The thought of treading water for 15 minutes a year ago would’ve been unthinkable for me. Alas, it wasn’t long before the pro-starting gun went off at 7:50. Then it was a matter of trying to stay in place against the wind and wait for the start—and I prayed Psalm 25, “O Lord, unto you I lift up my life.”

As the moment approached, I placed myself behind the other swimmers on the buoy line, hoping to stay where I could catch a good draft but not get trampled. The cannon sounded, and in anticlimactic fashion we all started and didn’t go anywhere… kinda like being at a stoplight—even though the light turns green you still have to wait for the cars in front to make some space. It wasn’t long though and we were all swimming. I was doing my best to remain calm and just focus on keeping straight the first couple hundred yards. We were heading downwind, and I felt like we were going fast. I found a pair of feet in front of me, and they were moving fast. I fell in step and got very excited because I was drafting and knew that was a good thing! Suddenly I was knocked off course by a rogue swimmer from the side. Dang-it, I lost the draft. A little while later I found another set of feet and started drafting. Bam, hit again, lost the draft. It was pretty easy at 150 lbs to get bumped off course, which usually meant then that I was getting bumped into/onto another swimmer. At one point I had started watching a swimmer to my right under the water… his arms were the size of my legs, and there wasn’t much finesse about the way he was pounding them into the water just 10 inches from my face. Not something I want to see when other swimmers are bumping me from the left, nudging me closer and closer to the behemoth on my right. He looked like a solid 250 lbs, and I’m pretty sure I saw him a dozen or more times during my swim. This continued off and on until reaching the first turn buoy. I was still feeling good, knowing that I’d kept a good pace and drafted some of the way. However my eye sockets were starting to go numb from how tight I’d cinched my goggles. A few times I found myself just holding my eyes closed because that seemed to help.

Coming around the first turn buoy was like hitting a traffic jam. Swimmers everywhere, everyone trying not to be the one who gets shoved underwater never to return. I’m told swimmers are supposed to “Moo” at the buoy coming around this corner, but I was tuned out to everything but survival. It was not a fun place for a weaker swimmer, but after much fighting I made it around the corner and started back into the chop. It was very crowded, and due to the cross wind there were people going in too many directions. It felt slow, but I eventually made it to the 2^nd turn. I was very nervous for this one. Turned out to be a similar story to the first turn. Lots of people swimming on each other, arms flying, legs kicking. Here on this corner I got clobbered on my goggles. I didn’t lose the seal, but it felt like my eye was going to explode. My eyes were already going numb before. I needed to get out of the fray, so I swam hard toward the outer edge of swimmers. From there I tried to parallel the other swimmers I could see from my left. I wasn’t drafting at this point, but it was safer to me. I’m almost certain this decision is what led to my longer than anticipated swim time. Now I had no swimmers to draft while heading straight into the wind/chop for the longest stretch of the course—over a mile. In retrospect, it was also unwise to attempt paralleling the swimmers I could see. They likely were swimming nothing close to straight lines. I did get told by the volunteers on several occasions that I needed to swim in closer to the course, so I know I was zig-zagging. I got very tired. It hurt. I swam quite a bit with my eyes closed, since that felt better.

After the final turn the insides of both arms started to cramp up. I’d been swimming already for longer than ever before in my life, and I still had a few hundred yards to go. I started to wonder what would happen if my arms seized up completely—then I’d be forced to kick my way to the finish, and then what if my legs cramped up too? I just needed to be done. One stroke at a time. Just keep going. The crowd was getting louder. I could see the end. My arms were going to make it. Finally I felt my hand hit the bottom. I stood, on both feet, ripped the goggles and swim cap off my head, and just stood there for a moment, letting the feeling return to my face. Suddenly I was walking out of the water and across the timing mat. I looked at the clock to my left and saw 1:38. It was nothing close to what I pictured. I was already 30 minutes behind the racers I wanted to be with. I just laughed to myself, and started running.

T1:

Transition 1 was very simple. The transition is something like a half mile long, so it takes some time. I started running up from the water, ignoring the volunteers who wanted to rip my suit off for me—my plan had been to do that myself. The next thing I knew I was laying on the ground having my suit handed back to me by the volunteers who stripped it off. Well that was easy… I ran up the helix, into the change room. The busy period was already over, so it wasn’t too hectic. I got my gear bag handed to me, ran to the far end of the change room, and dumped my bag on the floor. I put my socks on, glasses on, then my helmet, grabbed my shoes in each hand, and asked the volunteer to deal with my things… thanking him on my way out. My bike was ready and waiting for me when I reached it. I ran the rest of the way to the mounting line, put my shoes on my feet, and ran out. My friends and family were all there cheering for me, and for the first time since before the race started, I smiled.

Bike:

Once I was on my bike, I felt great. I had energy, I felt powerful, and I was ready to go. Something I wasn’t prepared for though, was the first several miles of the course with hundreds of other riders. One major issue with coming out of the water so late was that I was now behind a very large number of racers—nearly 2000 of them! Due to the logistics of the first few miles of the course, the riding is already very slow and much of it is even no passing. I had several hundred riders immediately in front of me who were much slower bikers, and I had no opportunity to pass. By my gps, I averaged 15 mph for the first 3 miles, though I know some stretches were so slow I felt I would fall off my bike. When we finally reached some open road, I let all my frustration out. I went hard.

Over the next several miles I picked my pace up to 23 mph. Somewhere near mile 10 I heard my name and saw my friends cheering for me—I didn’t expect to see them so quickly, and thought about how much effort they were putting in for the day to spectate. I rode even harder. The next 10 miles I averaged 24 mph. It was exhilarating. I was passing people continuously. I rode the centerline, as it was the only place I could avoid the other riders. I knew the course, and I knew my body. I was pushing it, but not to where I would be jeopardizing my 2^nd half. I kept my eyes on my power meter, keeping myself in the 220 watt range as much as possible. On the steep hills it wasn’t possible—I’d easily hit 300 watts just to keep going.

Near mile 30 I came up the big hill into Mt Horeb. My college friends were there cheering for me, which felt great. As I came into the aid station, I ditched my 2^nd bottle (I had ditched the first at the mile 20 aid station) which wasn’t quite empty but I had no need for it anymore. I grabbed a bottle of perform as I rode through and slipped it into my bottle holder. As I exited town through the roundabout still riding hard, I got a mental boost from Tim, Catherine, Deb and Chelsea all cheering me on! Awesome to have such great people in my life!

It’s not necessary to spell out all the details of the race. I passed over 1000 people in my first 50 miles. The hills were incredible. Old Sauk, Timber Lane, and Midtown were just crazy. Hundreds of spectators on each hill, with music and absolute craziness. The crowds would squeeze in from each side, leaving a narrow tunnel for the riders to come through, usually in their lowest gearing fighting to make it up the hills. I’m a lighter than average rider, so I took the hills a bit faster than most, which was such an exciting feeling to be passing 10 or 15 riders with hundreds of people next to you cheering “yeah Tri Wisconsin!”

At each aid station I would throw away my finished bottle of perform, and grab a new bottle of perform. At the Cross Plains aid station on my 2^nd loop, the top popped off a new bottle of perform that I had grabbed. Fortunately I was able to ditch it and grab another. In terms of nutrition, I stuck to liquids the entire race. I had my 2 bottles of accelerade at the start of the bike, and then I had 6 bottles of perform throughout the remainder of the bike. On the 2^nd loop, I had some cramping start on the insides of each thigh. I took some endurolyte pills (electrolyte mixture) just after Old Sauk at mile 85, and the cramping disappeared within minutes.

The bike ride didn’t go quite as well as I wished. The first loop went to plan, but around mile 60 I had a twinge in my left knee that grew worse and worse, to the point where I was coasting to stretch it out at every opportunity, and had to really tone back on my power output. By mile 70 I was having to ride down near 150 watts—the pain was bad enough that I was not okay with pushing through it. My legs felt fine otherwise, plenty of gas in the tank. I especially had to tone back on any incline, and unfortunately I had to compensate by using more energy from my right leg on some stretches. Periodically I would get passed by someone while I was riding slower, but I generally passed the person again later. I did allow myself to push through it on the big hills with all the people, obviously… But I was doing a tremendous amount of coasting when I could, and I was getting very seriously worried about whether or not I would be able to run when I got off the bike. By mile 95 I was no longer passing anybody. My last 15 miles I was nearly in tears as I had to pedal through the knee issue into the wind. During my last 40 miles, I averaged a paltry 15 mph, and only 150 watts. I promise that my legs were capable of doing more, but my knee was not cooperative. Why the knee problem? Did I go out too hard? I have no idea. I’m not really interested in contemplating it, to be honest. It just happened.

At the Timber Lane hill near mile 87, a fellow racer on my side said to me, “your helmet just made my day, thank you.” On each side of my helmet I had written: “Psalm 25 – O Lord, unto you I lift up my life” and “Love one another as I have loved you – Jesus.”

The Monona Terrace finally came back into sight. I’ve never wanted to be off my bike so badly in my life. Final push up the helix and down to the crowd. A year before I saw this from a completely different perspective, but now it was my turn to become an Ironman. I unclipped a foot, hit the brakes, dismounted, grabbed my gps, and thanked the volunteer. Off I ran.

T2:

I tried not to think about my knee as I came into the terrace. I needed to find my gear. Unlike T1, this time there were still a lot of gear bags left to be claimed. I’d been in nearly 2000^th place starting the bike, but I’d passed around 1500 racers before coming into T2. So I made up some ground. A volunteer had my bag ready for me, and off to the change room I went. It was very busy. I found a chair and sat. My helmet and glasses came off, bike shoes off. Slipped my running shoes on, and grabbed my race belt and baggie that had my watch and endurolyte pills. There were no available volunteers, so I packed my bike gear back into my bag, and carried it over to the wall for safe keeping. As I ran out of the room, I clipped my belt around my waist. As I exited the building, I suddenly had to pee and there was a long row of porta-potties. So I stopped and peed. I then ran out of transition onto the run course. As I exited, I heard plenty of cheering from my friends and felt a tremendous surge of confidence. My knee felt fine, and I was new person on my own two legs and no longer relying on equipment. I had predicted this moment would be a great feeling, and it sure was.

Run:

The run was truly a tale of two halves. Right out of the gate, I was off to a good clip. I’m used to the run being difficult coming off the bike, but I was a new person. I got my wristwatch out of my plastic baggie and strapped it on while running. Stuffed my endurolytes down my shirt and settled in. Maybe it should’ve alarmed me that I was passing everybody, but I just felt great. I wasn’t pushing it at all. At the first aid station I grabbed a coke and gulped it down. WOW! I’d been skeptical of the phenomena before, but after my first cup of cola I was hooked. Couldn’t wait to get to the next aid station for some more! I had lots of moral support on the run. Friends and family were jumping around the course to cheer, and since my bib had my name on it the general crowd was great about saying my name too. As I hit mile 2, I hit the lap button on my watch and took a glance. 14:28… Okay, I’m running 7:14 miles… That’s not bad at all. The eventual overall winner averaged 7:06 miles… So I may have made a mistake in going so fast.

After the 2^nd aid station, I did decide to make sure I walked each aid station long enough to get down a coke. Usually this was only a few seconds, until the 2^nd half of the run. I gotta say, I really did feel great. I was going strong and happily. On my first pass up Observatory Hill, I made sure to really stride it out because I knew Jim Cummins would be up there watching. I got to the top, and nobody was there. Dang it! Turns out he and everyone else was at the top of the 2^nd hump of the hill. I was still running, but not as fast. State Street was fantastic. It was super loud with lots of people shouting. I got lots of encouragement and saw people I knew, and had a surge of energy. Coming back toward the capitol, for the 7^th mile, 8^th mile, 9^th mile, and 10^th mile I averaged 6:52 per mile. That was cooking! I was just so energized by all the support! Unfortunately, that was an unsustainable pace for me. Please also remember that I was stopping to drink coke at every aid station, and I was still hitting that pace! Combined with the hilly stretches from earlier, my overall pace through 10 miles (including the walking) was 7:39 per mile. I thought this was supposed to be difficult?

I don’t know exactly when it happened—probably at an aid station when I had stopped to drink—but somewhere around mile 11 or 12 I fell off the cliff. I went from running on a mission, to barely hanging on. It started to hurt, real bad. It was like my legs just decided to say, “nope, we’ll catch up another time.” From the halfway point onward, it felt more like a death march than a run. But I kept going. I was running slower, much slower, but still running. All I wanted to do was walk, but I kept running. I continued to walk the aid stations while drinking coke. My rule was that I could walk until I finished my coke. Now instead of a few seconds, this was lasting half a minute. When I came to Observatory Hill, I planned to walk up it. Tim rode beside me as I approached and told me Chelsea would be on the hill. This was bad news. I couldn’t let her see me walk. So I didn’t. Chelsea and Deb met me on the hill and ran up it with me. It may have been slow, but I worked as hard as I ever to make it to the top. They saved me from walking it, that’s a guarantee.

Rounding the top of the 2^nd hump I noticed a smurf was running alongside of me. This was something new to me. Why on earth was this smurf running alongside me? I thought maybe I was imagining things, but then I suddenly heard a familiar voice of Jim Cummins. The voice said, “You’re not dying, Nils. Keep going.” I still wasn’t sure I saw a smurf, but I was convinced that I wasn’t dying and that I would keep going. This was about mile 19, and every step was a battle. A battle that I had chosen for myself, because of the mistakes I had made. I was paying bigtime. State Street was not as fun the 2^nd time around. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want people to see the sweat on my face was actually tears. Mile 20. How many miles are left?

At mile 21, into the aid station, I stopped for the first and only time of the run. I had a bad kink in my back, and I stopped briefly and cracked it. Someone asked me if I wanted some chicken broth. Gross. I grabbed 2 cokes, a cup of ice, combined them and started walking. It was the longest walking stretch I did of the entire run. I tried to walk fast, and when I eventually finished my drink I started running again (if you can call it running). I wasn’t dying, I kept going. Mile 22, mile 24, there’s Chelsea and Deb again. I’ve got this. Coming into mile 25, I knew I had 2 more aid stations—2 more cokes that I could get. Suddenly I saw Gregg, the study leader of our FCA-Endurance group. Gregg ran beside me for a good ways, encouraging me—“the pain is only temporary.” I got to the aid station, and rather than walk and drink a coke, I decided to keep running. The pain is only temporary, I’m not dying. Mile 25.5, more friends cheering for me. I’ve got this, pick it up!

When I started the final ascent to the capitol, I was overcome with adrenaline. I could hear the finish line crowd. One year of training. So many friends and family members there to support and encourage me. “O Lord, unto you I lift up my life.” I was running again. Really running. Mile 26, the last aid station—I blew right through it. Around one corner, around the next corner, the energy was palpable. I was crying, but it wasn’t from pain anymore. I couldn’t believe the support I had—all the volunteers, the crowds, my family and friends—all there to help me reach that finish line. It meant so much, and I was finally there. I thanked God as I rounded the final corner, into the finishing chute. The crowd was so loud. There were too many people to recognize anyone. I just ran. In my past year of preparing for this moment, I hadn’t thought out what I would actually do coming across the line. Someone from the side stuck their hand out, and hive fived them. Then another, and another, and another. I don’t know who those people were, but those were some of the most gratifying high fives of my life. As I entered my final strides I knew it was over—I made it. My right hand came up and made a fist. It was over.

Post Race:

Two volunteers caught me as I crossed the line. They wrapped me in a space blanket and sat me down. The girl brought me two chocolate milks. I don’t remember what they were saying to me, but I eventually turned to the girl and suddenly recognized her. She said, “Do you realize you work with me?” I sure did. The rest is a blur. I got my photo taken and made my way out to where friends and family were waiting.

I feel a profound sense of thankfulness for all the support I received for the Ironman. I can’t thank everyone enough. Friends and family traveled from all across the country to cheer for me, and that was very special. It was also very kind of people to cheer virtually–it meant a lot to see so many people were thinking about me and/or tracking online. The city of Madison and its people, and the people of surrounding areas were absolutely incredible in their support as volunteers and spectators. It was an incredible experience. I appreciate all of the support–even though it was difficult to smile at times during the race. May God bless you all!

To be sure, it was a wonderful feeling to run across the finish line–to become an Ironman.

Thank you soooo much everyone! So many people contributed to this achievement, and I want you all to know that I share it with you. Whether you cheered for me, supported me, watched me, prayed for me, gave me advice, pushed me, trained with me, encouraged me, or discouraged me… We did this.