140.6 – The Run (aka 5:16:01)
Photos: Coming out of transition and high-fiving Theresa and Steph; Lap 1 toward the beginning heading out to State Street; close to Picnic Point on lap 1 (courtesy of Kristie and the Ducks); Lap 2 coming out of the State Street Ped Mall (courtesy of Sparkle and crew)--threw this in to show off the lovely weather; and lap 2 by Picnic Point again--note the look of "fun" on my face, which is why I started walking about 1/2 mile later (again courtesy of Kristie and the Ducks).-
As I turned out of the transition area, I saw two very very welcome faces—Steph and Theresa, all decked out in their finest clear disposable rain gear and their gold Iowa State shirts, standing right at the start of the run course. Theresa had a “defy gravity” sign that was getting rain-soaked, but it was still very cool to see it as I ran over to gave them high fives. They asked how the bike was, and I told them that it was absolutely miserable, but that I was doing OK. As I ran by them, I saw Sparkle, Cara, and Sunshine, so I high-fived them as well. Catherine and her mom were standing at the first corner, and the Kraft cheering section was across the road from them, so the first block was very motivating in lots of ways. [The one random thing that happened, though, was that one of the holes on my race number bib gave way (turns out the bibs weren’t water proof—bad plan given the weather for the day), so I had to figure out how to tuck it around my belt to keep it intact (not hugely critical, but darn it, I wanted my finsiher’s picture, and I knew I’d need my number showing to make that happen). I guess it was a good distraction, though—kept my mind occupied at several points along the route.]
At the first mile marker, I pulled out a couple of the notes from my pocket and read them—it was pretty cool to know that my friends and family were with me in my pocket the whole way. However, at about the 2-mile mark, I decided it was too wet and my hands were too cold to deal with them any longer, so I just clung to the happy thoughts and good luck I knew they would bring me.
When I got onto the out-and-back section on the bike path (at least I think it’s a bike path—it was concrete, so who knows), I ran next to a guy who was literally chanting to his left leg to regain feeling—sort of a military chant, which was amusing for a while—but it got annoying shortly thereafter. After I took my jacket off (like I said in T2, I knew it would last long), I passed him to avoid the continued chanting, and soon came behind a VERY chatty guy from Georgia and one of the training partners of Sue’s friend Barb (triathlon is a small world, after all). I followed them into Camp Randall Stadium (home of the University of Wisconsin Badgers football games)—thankfully chatty guy wasn’t able to hold his pace, so I passed him, but I didn’t get a chance to talk to Barb’s friend as she had already pulled ahead. I tried to smile for the ASI photographer stationed inside the stadium, but I was more focused on running on the turf—in its soggy state, it wasn’t the easiest surface to run on, and the last thing I wanted to do was take a digger in the stadium.
I made it safely out of the stadium and continued on my merry little way, although as I’d never run the run course before, I really had no clue where I was in the route or what was coming up. I was keeping a decent pace at that point—right around 10 minute miles including walking through each aid station for water (still can’t drink on the run), so I was pretty happy with that, although a little scared that I’d taken off too fast again. The run course following Camp Randall is fairly hazy in my memory—not too much going on other than residential areas. That part of the course is on the out-and-back, so I could see runners headed back toward the capital—in fact, I saw Barb (Sue’s friend) and cheered for her (it took her a minute to figure out who I was, but the Kraft logo on my shorts seemed to help as she cheered for me when we passed each other again a little later).
I also remember seeing Jeremy and Michele, both running very strong and looking good—we high-fived as we passed, and even seeing them for that brief instant was enough of a morale boost to keep me focused. One of the coolest things about the race through the whole thing was the interaction with the other athletes—with weather conditions as they were, it seemed like we all banded together to help each other make it through (at least with the folks racing my pace—might’ve been different with the top age-groupers and pros).
The aid stations were awesome, too—I felt bad for the volunteers trying to hand out the cold sponges, as they’re normally a lifesaver in the heat, but not so much in the miserable rain. I kept grabbing water only at that point in the race—I took some gel about every 3-4 miles, but had decided prior to the race that I wasn’t going to take anything at the aid stations as long as I could choke down gel.
Before I knew it, I was tackling Observatory Drive (a bitch of a hill with a false flat in the middle of it)—I sort of ran up it, but gave up after about 100 feet or so and opted to walk. The downhill was fun, though, and pretty soon I ended up on State Street again. I kept scanning the crowds as I hadn’t yet seen my parents, and, lo and behold, I saw them about two-thirds of the way down. I also found Theresa standing on something (I think she told me later it was a planter)—she was apparently the designated spotter and so headed for an elevated vantage point. Steph was there, too—in all her pregnant, rain-soaked glory—it was awesome to see them all over there. The cool part about that State Street section is that it’s actually a turnaround, so I got to see them both before and after the turnaround point. My mom had her red and yellow pom-poms going strong, and my dad was all grins with his camera—didn’t stop to talk to them, but as I passed I let them know I was doing OK. Theresa came down from her vantage point and stuck her hand out, too—she asked how I was doing and I told her I was hanging in there.
It was a pretty big high seeing my parents and Steph and Theresa along State Street, and I was a little sad to have to keep going. But, to my delight, after I ran down the bike path along Lake Mendota, I found Kristie, Eric, Steve, and Kathy near Picnic Point. They were all decked out in yellow rain ponchos and looked like a pack of ducks, but I was thrilled to see them there. The part of the run course after State Street and along the bike path is desolate and isolated—not to mention really fricking windy—so it was awesome to see friendly faces in their duck outfits. Kristie ran with me a little while—as she told me, only I could actually get her to run—and she checked in to make sure I was doing OK. It was cool—they were positioned in a place where I got to see them twice within a short distance. After I ran down through the “inspiration station” area where there were a ton of signs posted (found one for me that said “Roehring to the finish”), music playing, etc., I hit another turnaround and headed back toward where the four ducks were camped out. This time, Kathy ran with me for a little while—apparently I was looking a little tense, so she coached me to loosen up a bit…made much easier when Eric gave me a parting “Go Jayhawks” and I, in turn, raised my arm and flipped him off. Probably not the most tactful thing, but it made me laugh (the ducks, too).
After I left the ducks, I made my way back to the capital along the same route I’d taken earlier. I passed Jeremy at about mile 9—he was on his second loop already, but gave me the heads up that he had just passed Vardo not too long before. I kept an eye out for her and was relieved to see her a few minutes later, although she looked pretty rough—she looked like she was freezing and was wrapped in a mylar blanket as she ran along. I was concerned by her appearance, but very much relieved to see her out on the run course. I found out later that she had a miserable bike and was, indeed, freezing—plus she couldn’t really feel her hands or feet yet at that point.
By about mile 10, I had to go to the bathroom so badly I couldn’t stand it any longer, so I ducked into a Port-o-let at the next aid station. I have to admit that it was so nice being dry and warm—I just tried not to think about that fact that being in a Port-o-let was making me happy. With the call of nature answered, I kept plugging away toward the capital. I saw Erin when I got to the bike path area—she had a huge grin on her face and looked really strong. I found out later that a flat tire on the bike had almost caused her to miss the cutoff, so she was just thrilled to be able to continue on the run.
As I neared the capital on State Street, I saw my parents, Jenny, and Dave—Dave actually even ran with me for about a half a block (although his pace was just a tad fast for me). After several miles with no spectators that I knew, it was a welcome sight to see them, and when I turned onto the capital square and headed for special needs, I saw Steph sitting on a bench behind the aid station.
At special needs, I grabbed my bag and started digging through it—two of the volunteers helped me change my jacket (including getting my notes and picture out of the pockets, and one of the women grabbed my gloves from my bag (which I’d forgotten I had in there) and handed them to me. I toyed with changing shirts, too, but at that point, I was just very happy to have a warm and dry jacket, so I grabbed my other gel flask and kept moving. Jenny (Iowa State Jenny) and her fiancé were across the street—I hollered over to them that dry clothes rock and ran to the turnaround.
The Madison course is mean in that the turnaround is literally about a block from the finish line—with one poor volunteer whose sole job is to tell people that they need to turn around and do another 13.1-mile loop. But, like everyone else, I rounded the cone and headed back out. I saw Theresa pretty much right at the turnaround, then passed Steph again at the aid station—I yelled to both of them to make sure they knew that I had changed jackets. I headed down State Street again and also let my parents know about the clothing change before trekking back out to Camp Randall one last time.
Honestly, the first part of the second loop is a blur in my memory—I think I was just so focused on getting done that I really didn’t pay attention to anything other than forward progress. I remember passing both Michele and Jeremy as they headed into the finish area—crossed over to give them high fives, and both of them were grinning from ear to ear. As it turned out, both of them had awesome races—Michele even had a PR marathon time as her marathon split, which is absolutely amazing. But, beyond seeing them head in, the rest, as I said, is a blur—more water stops (and longer walking sections through the aid stations), more gel, more rain, more cold.
By the time I got to Observatory Hill again, I was starting to slow down considerably—things were starting to hurt, and I was tired of being wet and cold. The fact that I had also completely had it with gel by that point wasn’t exactly boding well for the rest of the journey either, but I kept taking water at each stop at least. I walked up Observatory Hill just behind a 61-year old man (I only knew that because his son was running along side of him and kept commenting his amazement to his friend). The fact that he was ahead of me kept me plugging away, and when he took off to run down the hill, so did I. Funny thing about ego—it kicks in at the most random times and makes you keep going when you really want to cash it in for a little while.
At the bottom of the hill where we turned to head toward State Street again, I passed Sparkle, Cara, and Sunshine, but none of us recognized the others until I had passed them. I yelled to them over my shoulder and waved, but knew that I’d see them again shortly after I did the little turnaround on State Street one last time. I was feeling pretty rough at that point and was worrying about bonking, so I popped a couple of Endurolytes and some gel with the hope that something in that mix would help ease the pain a little, and I grabbed two waters just in case dehydration was kicking in—at that point I had no clue what else to do, but I tried the logical stuff. Even as crappy as I was starting to feel, State Street was still pretty cool—even with it being dark and very dreary out, there were still a lot of spectators out and about. My parents were at the turnaround again—my dad was all smiles and cheering me on—stuff like “way to go” and “looking good”…my mom, on the other hand, was teary-eyed and told me she was very proud of me. I tried to focus on the cheers rather than on Mom’s emotion—at that point, the last thing I needed to do was start crying.
I passed Sparkle, Sunshine, and Cara again—this time we actually talked a little and I let them know that I was doing OK. I headed out toward Picnic Point again along the very very dark, rainy, windy bike path, and at the aid station, I tried something new—grabbed a few orange wedges and a cup of the chicken broth everyone had said would change my life. Turns out they were right—it was warm and salty, and it was just what the doctor ordered to lift my spirits just a little. Thankfully, I was also coming up on the area where I saw the ducks (Eric, Kristie, Kathy, and Steve) on the first loop—and like a sight for sore eyes (and sore everything else), they were there again. This time, Kathy ran with me for a little while—she asked how I was doing and told me that I was still looking strong, and I wanted nothing more than to believe her at that point in time. I talked to all of them a little bit as I kept running by, then walked with Steve through the aid station as I grabbed some more chicken broth (my new best friend, if food/liquid can be a best friend).
I headed down to the “inspiration station” again, and as I was headed back, I realized that absolutely everything hurt—not a fun thing to have running through my mind. The worst part was that my joints hurt like bloody hell—my ankles, knees, and hips were in agony, which is something I’d never experienced before. I was ready for muscle fatigue, but I sure as hell wasn’t ready for joint pain like that. By the time I realized the last few miles of my really long journey were going to be pretty painful, I was back to the ducks for one last reunion. This time, Steve walked through the aid station with me again, and then Kristie ran/walked with me for a bit. I had an odd request for her—I gave her a very specific order for Japanese Pan Noodles with tofu and extra broccoli from Noodles and Company to be waiting for me at the finish line. Kathy told me later that she thought I was going to tell Kristie that I was going to call it quits—guess I looked even worse than I felt.
Shortly after I left the ducks one last time, I made a very conscious decision to walk for an extended period of time—I checked my watch and realized that, if I ran the last 4.5 miles, I could probably break the 14-hour mark, but I knew it would hurt like hell. Rather, I decided to take a chance and walk it in—at least until I started feeling a little better—and know for sure that I would be able to remember my first Ironman finish with a smile on my face. So, with that decision made, a load was lifted from my shoulders, and I started pressing on. Shortly after that, I met up with a guy named Greg who was also walking—I had heard him chatting with another guy behind me and knew he was planning to walk most of the remaining way, and from his conversation, he seemed like a nice guy. I joined up with him and kept his pace—after I asked him if he minded if I walked with him for a while, his response was a very solid “of course you can”, and off we went.
Greg’s pace was more than a tad faster than what I was expecting to walk, but it was nice having the company, so I hauled ass (or at least that’s what it felt like at the time) and kept up with him. Turns out Greg was a retired professional marathoner who used to run professionally for Reebok, and that this was his last competitive event of his career. He decided to call it quits to focus on coaching high school cross country and to get his pilot’s license. His wife was also competing in IM WI—her first—and as we walked, he told me that if she didn’t finish, he was going to give her his medal because he was so proud of her. We talked about the Grands Rapid area—he’s from a small town just outside of there—and I told him about the Grand Rapids Marathon…then I remembered he was retiring from competition. At the aid stations we passed, I grabbed two cups of chicken broth—one for each of us—and we kept chatting. It’s still amazing to me that two people can meet so randomly and share an hour of their lives, knowing full well that when all is said and done their paths would likely never cross again, but man am I grateful for the hour that I shared with Greg! He kept talking to me, giving me tips on how to come into the finish for a good picture, talking to me about the post-race recovery, and everything else under the sun.
When we turned onto State Street for the final approach, I saw Kathy running up the street ahead of me. She was dangling a Noodles & Co. bag in front of her and taunted me with it—although, as I told her, as much as I do love my Japanese Pan Noodles, that wasn’t doing anything for me when compared to the finish line, which at this point was a mere five blocks away. I found out later, though, that Steve, Kathy, Kristie, and Eric had a flat tire en route from their post near Picnic Point to Noodles—darn those curbs that jump out of nowhere—but they had still made arrangements with Jenny to make sure I had my Noodles…as it turns out Kathy made it to Noodles anyway, but the flat tire story still cracks me up. The other comedic part of the whole thing is that Kathy told me later that, even though Greg and I were walking, she had a tough time keeping up with us while running—proved to me that Greg was a serious pacesetter, even while walking.
Shortly after I saw Kathy, Greg turned to me, gave me one last high five, pulled off his trash bag poncho, and took off running for the finish line. I, however, was still resisting the run and kept on walking—I knew I had about two blocks left before I needed to run it in, and I was going to savor those last two blocks for all they were worth. Finally, though, with the capital in sight, I made one last turn off State Street and onto Capital Square.
At the first mile marker, I pulled out a couple of the notes from my pocket and read them—it was pretty cool to know that my friends and family were with me in my pocket the whole way. However, at about the 2-mile mark, I decided it was too wet and my hands were too cold to deal with them any longer, so I just clung to the happy thoughts and good luck I knew they would bring me.
When I got onto the out-and-back section on the bike path (at least I think it’s a bike path—it was concrete, so who knows), I ran next to a guy who was literally chanting to his left leg to regain feeling—sort of a military chant, which was amusing for a while—but it got annoying shortly thereafter. After I took my jacket off (like I said in T2, I knew it would last long), I passed him to avoid the continued chanting, and soon came behind a VERY chatty guy from Georgia and one of the training partners of Sue’s friend Barb (triathlon is a small world, after all). I followed them into Camp Randall Stadium (home of the University of Wisconsin Badgers football games)—thankfully chatty guy wasn’t able to hold his pace, so I passed him, but I didn’t get a chance to talk to Barb’s friend as she had already pulled ahead. I tried to smile for the ASI photographer stationed inside the stadium, but I was more focused on running on the turf—in its soggy state, it wasn’t the easiest surface to run on, and the last thing I wanted to do was take a digger in the stadium.
I made it safely out of the stadium and continued on my merry little way, although as I’d never run the run course before, I really had no clue where I was in the route or what was coming up. I was keeping a decent pace at that point—right around 10 minute miles including walking through each aid station for water (still can’t drink on the run), so I was pretty happy with that, although a little scared that I’d taken off too fast again. The run course following Camp Randall is fairly hazy in my memory—not too much going on other than residential areas. That part of the course is on the out-and-back, so I could see runners headed back toward the capital—in fact, I saw Barb (Sue’s friend) and cheered for her (it took her a minute to figure out who I was, but the Kraft logo on my shorts seemed to help as she cheered for me when we passed each other again a little later).
I also remember seeing Jeremy and Michele, both running very strong and looking good—we high-fived as we passed, and even seeing them for that brief instant was enough of a morale boost to keep me focused. One of the coolest things about the race through the whole thing was the interaction with the other athletes—with weather conditions as they were, it seemed like we all banded together to help each other make it through (at least with the folks racing my pace—might’ve been different with the top age-groupers and pros).
The aid stations were awesome, too—I felt bad for the volunteers trying to hand out the cold sponges, as they’re normally a lifesaver in the heat, but not so much in the miserable rain. I kept grabbing water only at that point in the race—I took some gel about every 3-4 miles, but had decided prior to the race that I wasn’t going to take anything at the aid stations as long as I could choke down gel.
Before I knew it, I was tackling Observatory Drive (a bitch of a hill with a false flat in the middle of it)—I sort of ran up it, but gave up after about 100 feet or so and opted to walk. The downhill was fun, though, and pretty soon I ended up on State Street again. I kept scanning the crowds as I hadn’t yet seen my parents, and, lo and behold, I saw them about two-thirds of the way down. I also found Theresa standing on something (I think she told me later it was a planter)—she was apparently the designated spotter and so headed for an elevated vantage point. Steph was there, too—in all her pregnant, rain-soaked glory—it was awesome to see them all over there. The cool part about that State Street section is that it’s actually a turnaround, so I got to see them both before and after the turnaround point. My mom had her red and yellow pom-poms going strong, and my dad was all grins with his camera—didn’t stop to talk to them, but as I passed I let them know I was doing OK. Theresa came down from her vantage point and stuck her hand out, too—she asked how I was doing and I told her I was hanging in there.
It was a pretty big high seeing my parents and Steph and Theresa along State Street, and I was a little sad to have to keep going. But, to my delight, after I ran down the bike path along Lake Mendota, I found Kristie, Eric, Steve, and Kathy near Picnic Point. They were all decked out in yellow rain ponchos and looked like a pack of ducks, but I was thrilled to see them there. The part of the run course after State Street and along the bike path is desolate and isolated—not to mention really fricking windy—so it was awesome to see friendly faces in their duck outfits. Kristie ran with me a little while—as she told me, only I could actually get her to run—and she checked in to make sure I was doing OK. It was cool—they were positioned in a place where I got to see them twice within a short distance. After I ran down through the “inspiration station” area where there were a ton of signs posted (found one for me that said “Roehring to the finish”), music playing, etc., I hit another turnaround and headed back toward where the four ducks were camped out. This time, Kathy ran with me for a little while—apparently I was looking a little tense, so she coached me to loosen up a bit…made much easier when Eric gave me a parting “Go Jayhawks” and I, in turn, raised my arm and flipped him off. Probably not the most tactful thing, but it made me laugh (the ducks, too).
After I left the ducks, I made my way back to the capital along the same route I’d taken earlier. I passed Jeremy at about mile 9—he was on his second loop already, but gave me the heads up that he had just passed Vardo not too long before. I kept an eye out for her and was relieved to see her a few minutes later, although she looked pretty rough—she looked like she was freezing and was wrapped in a mylar blanket as she ran along. I was concerned by her appearance, but very much relieved to see her out on the run course. I found out later that she had a miserable bike and was, indeed, freezing—plus she couldn’t really feel her hands or feet yet at that point.
By about mile 10, I had to go to the bathroom so badly I couldn’t stand it any longer, so I ducked into a Port-o-let at the next aid station. I have to admit that it was so nice being dry and warm—I just tried not to think about that fact that being in a Port-o-let was making me happy. With the call of nature answered, I kept plugging away toward the capital. I saw Erin when I got to the bike path area—she had a huge grin on her face and looked really strong. I found out later that a flat tire on the bike had almost caused her to miss the cutoff, so she was just thrilled to be able to continue on the run.
As I neared the capital on State Street, I saw my parents, Jenny, and Dave—Dave actually even ran with me for about a half a block (although his pace was just a tad fast for me). After several miles with no spectators that I knew, it was a welcome sight to see them, and when I turned onto the capital square and headed for special needs, I saw Steph sitting on a bench behind the aid station.
At special needs, I grabbed my bag and started digging through it—two of the volunteers helped me change my jacket (including getting my notes and picture out of the pockets, and one of the women grabbed my gloves from my bag (which I’d forgotten I had in there) and handed them to me. I toyed with changing shirts, too, but at that point, I was just very happy to have a warm and dry jacket, so I grabbed my other gel flask and kept moving. Jenny (Iowa State Jenny) and her fiancé were across the street—I hollered over to them that dry clothes rock and ran to the turnaround.
The Madison course is mean in that the turnaround is literally about a block from the finish line—with one poor volunteer whose sole job is to tell people that they need to turn around and do another 13.1-mile loop. But, like everyone else, I rounded the cone and headed back out. I saw Theresa pretty much right at the turnaround, then passed Steph again at the aid station—I yelled to both of them to make sure they knew that I had changed jackets. I headed down State Street again and also let my parents know about the clothing change before trekking back out to Camp Randall one last time.
Honestly, the first part of the second loop is a blur in my memory—I think I was just so focused on getting done that I really didn’t pay attention to anything other than forward progress. I remember passing both Michele and Jeremy as they headed into the finish area—crossed over to give them high fives, and both of them were grinning from ear to ear. As it turned out, both of them had awesome races—Michele even had a PR marathon time as her marathon split, which is absolutely amazing. But, beyond seeing them head in, the rest, as I said, is a blur—more water stops (and longer walking sections through the aid stations), more gel, more rain, more cold.
By the time I got to Observatory Hill again, I was starting to slow down considerably—things were starting to hurt, and I was tired of being wet and cold. The fact that I had also completely had it with gel by that point wasn’t exactly boding well for the rest of the journey either, but I kept taking water at each stop at least. I walked up Observatory Hill just behind a 61-year old man (I only knew that because his son was running along side of him and kept commenting his amazement to his friend). The fact that he was ahead of me kept me plugging away, and when he took off to run down the hill, so did I. Funny thing about ego—it kicks in at the most random times and makes you keep going when you really want to cash it in for a little while.
At the bottom of the hill where we turned to head toward State Street again, I passed Sparkle, Cara, and Sunshine, but none of us recognized the others until I had passed them. I yelled to them over my shoulder and waved, but knew that I’d see them again shortly after I did the little turnaround on State Street one last time. I was feeling pretty rough at that point and was worrying about bonking, so I popped a couple of Endurolytes and some gel with the hope that something in that mix would help ease the pain a little, and I grabbed two waters just in case dehydration was kicking in—at that point I had no clue what else to do, but I tried the logical stuff. Even as crappy as I was starting to feel, State Street was still pretty cool—even with it being dark and very dreary out, there were still a lot of spectators out and about. My parents were at the turnaround again—my dad was all smiles and cheering me on—stuff like “way to go” and “looking good”…my mom, on the other hand, was teary-eyed and told me she was very proud of me. I tried to focus on the cheers rather than on Mom’s emotion—at that point, the last thing I needed to do was start crying.
I passed Sparkle, Sunshine, and Cara again—this time we actually talked a little and I let them know that I was doing OK. I headed out toward Picnic Point again along the very very dark, rainy, windy bike path, and at the aid station, I tried something new—grabbed a few orange wedges and a cup of the chicken broth everyone had said would change my life. Turns out they were right—it was warm and salty, and it was just what the doctor ordered to lift my spirits just a little. Thankfully, I was also coming up on the area where I saw the ducks (Eric, Kristie, Kathy, and Steve) on the first loop—and like a sight for sore eyes (and sore everything else), they were there again. This time, Kathy ran with me for a little while—she asked how I was doing and told me that I was still looking strong, and I wanted nothing more than to believe her at that point in time. I talked to all of them a little bit as I kept running by, then walked with Steve through the aid station as I grabbed some more chicken broth (my new best friend, if food/liquid can be a best friend).
I headed down to the “inspiration station” again, and as I was headed back, I realized that absolutely everything hurt—not a fun thing to have running through my mind. The worst part was that my joints hurt like bloody hell—my ankles, knees, and hips were in agony, which is something I’d never experienced before. I was ready for muscle fatigue, but I sure as hell wasn’t ready for joint pain like that. By the time I realized the last few miles of my really long journey were going to be pretty painful, I was back to the ducks for one last reunion. This time, Steve walked through the aid station with me again, and then Kristie ran/walked with me for a bit. I had an odd request for her—I gave her a very specific order for Japanese Pan Noodles with tofu and extra broccoli from Noodles and Company to be waiting for me at the finish line. Kathy told me later that she thought I was going to tell Kristie that I was going to call it quits—guess I looked even worse than I felt.
Shortly after I left the ducks one last time, I made a very conscious decision to walk for an extended period of time—I checked my watch and realized that, if I ran the last 4.5 miles, I could probably break the 14-hour mark, but I knew it would hurt like hell. Rather, I decided to take a chance and walk it in—at least until I started feeling a little better—and know for sure that I would be able to remember my first Ironman finish with a smile on my face. So, with that decision made, a load was lifted from my shoulders, and I started pressing on. Shortly after that, I met up with a guy named Greg who was also walking—I had heard him chatting with another guy behind me and knew he was planning to walk most of the remaining way, and from his conversation, he seemed like a nice guy. I joined up with him and kept his pace—after I asked him if he minded if I walked with him for a while, his response was a very solid “of course you can”, and off we went.
Greg’s pace was more than a tad faster than what I was expecting to walk, but it was nice having the company, so I hauled ass (or at least that’s what it felt like at the time) and kept up with him. Turns out Greg was a retired professional marathoner who used to run professionally for Reebok, and that this was his last competitive event of his career. He decided to call it quits to focus on coaching high school cross country and to get his pilot’s license. His wife was also competing in IM WI—her first—and as we walked, he told me that if she didn’t finish, he was going to give her his medal because he was so proud of her. We talked about the Grands Rapid area—he’s from a small town just outside of there—and I told him about the Grand Rapids Marathon…then I remembered he was retiring from competition. At the aid stations we passed, I grabbed two cups of chicken broth—one for each of us—and we kept chatting. It’s still amazing to me that two people can meet so randomly and share an hour of their lives, knowing full well that when all is said and done their paths would likely never cross again, but man am I grateful for the hour that I shared with Greg! He kept talking to me, giving me tips on how to come into the finish for a good picture, talking to me about the post-race recovery, and everything else under the sun.
When we turned onto State Street for the final approach, I saw Kathy running up the street ahead of me. She was dangling a Noodles & Co. bag in front of her and taunted me with it—although, as I told her, as much as I do love my Japanese Pan Noodles, that wasn’t doing anything for me when compared to the finish line, which at this point was a mere five blocks away. I found out later, though, that Steve, Kathy, Kristie, and Eric had a flat tire en route from their post near Picnic Point to Noodles—darn those curbs that jump out of nowhere—but they had still made arrangements with Jenny to make sure I had my Noodles…as it turns out Kathy made it to Noodles anyway, but the flat tire story still cracks me up. The other comedic part of the whole thing is that Kathy told me later that, even though Greg and I were walking, she had a tough time keeping up with us while running—proved to me that Greg was a serious pacesetter, even while walking.
Shortly after I saw Kathy, Greg turned to me, gave me one last high five, pulled off his trash bag poncho, and took off running for the finish line. I, however, was still resisting the run and kept on walking—I knew I had about two blocks left before I needed to run it in, and I was going to savor those last two blocks for all they were worth. Finally, though, with the capital in sight, I made one last turn off State Street and onto Capital Square.
posted by roehr @ 1:35 PM
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