Ironman Florida 2005
Doug Beeman

History:
The Ironman consists of a 2.4-mile swim… followed by a 112-mile bike ride… and then running a marathon, 26.2 miles… A decent challenge given that I had never swum more than 100 meters straight – ever; I had never ridden more than 5 miles – ever; okay… I had run two marathons.

I am not a race report guy. Nonetheless, enough people asked me about my first Ironman experience that I decided to jot down some thoughts while on a flight. When I decided to challenge myself with the Ironman distance, I approached it like most other things: I graphed the 7 North American Ironman competitions against each other and, seeing the flat course of Florida’s Ironman, decided that that would be my event. Keeping the thought entirely to myself, I got up the day after the 2004 race – an hour before the signup time – and hit refresh on my computer for the next 60 minutes.

My first swim was in December at a family outing to the recreation center. After playing in the kiddy pool for a bit, I told my wife I was going to get in some laps. That’s what it was, a couple laps. After struggling thru 200 yards – 8 laps, I got out and rejoined them with my arms hanging to my sides. Suzanne laugher hard at the thought that a 6-minute swim almost killed me – and it did, I was hurting! (I had no idea at the time that she still holds some junior swim records in Connecticut!) Needless to say, swimming was going to be a challenge.

I did not own a road bike. My neighbor graciously pulled a road bike out of his garage that had not been used in 20 years. Full of dust, I took it down to a bike shop and told them to clean it and rebuild it so that I could ride it. They did and it looks great – for half my training I rode that exclusively, only purchasing a Cervelo after I hired a coach.

Yes, I hired a coach – the best investment I made during a very expensive year. After training on my own for 3 months or so, I realized that I had no idea how to effectively combine the three long distance disciplines in order to succeed at the Ironman. Not only did I hire a coach but I hired a phenomenal coach, Pete Alfino. Without his guidance and training program, I would have been more lost and would have struggled throughout.

Race-week:
I showed up to FL with my wife, our 2 children and over the next couple of days, my parents and my in-laws showed up as well. I bring this up for a couple of reasons: (1) the support is fantastic and (2) – thanks to my father, I realized THE NIGHT BEFORE THE RACE (after having followed the pre-race schedule of events for three days and making a point of getting up early each day in preparation) that I had the race starting on East Coast time while, as Dad pointed out, Panama City Beach is actually in the Central Time Zone. Lesson one: know your time zone.

The second lesson: special needs bags. All those bags they gave me confused the hell out of me. Most of you probably know this, I did not: you get five bags to be used at the Ironman, two transition bags, two "special needs" bags, and a "dry clothes" bag. Over the season Pete had me competing in a couple triathlons, even a ½ Ironman in Vermont. Never had I come across the bag concept and was used to setting up my transitions the morning of the race. After a call to Pete the day before the race, he explained that the two transition bags should have everything I would use in the respective transition areas. The special needs bags are exactly that, they should contain things you might want/need midway thru the bike and run portions. Not having known about this and thus not having planned for it, my solution was easy – "I don’t need no stinking special needs bags, haven’t thus far!" Mistake…?

Race Day:
I got up at 4:30 AM after sleeping soundly (Suzanne apparently did not sleep well at all but got up with me nonetheless). I stuck to the plan: got a cup of coffee, ate a bagel with natural peanut butter, prepared my Perpeteum (2 bottles, 6 scoops in each and salt tablets), took a eduralite tablet, and started to drink Gatorade. The coffee worked as planned, within a ½ hour I went to the bathroom and knew that I was good for the race.

My Mom got up shortly thereafter and wished me luck as I left the condo with Suzanne. The plan was for Suzanne to take me to the race, nearing race time she would take my change of clothes and then join the family. However… the car didn’t turn over (battery was dead) so we took car B, leaving Suzanne the task of driving back to get the family. As such, the "dry bag" came in handy.

Arriving at the race, I got my number painted on, went to my bike, put my Perpeteum bottles on it, loaded Gatorade/water into my aero bottle, changed the computer to read the correct time (more on this later), borrowed a pump and inflated my tires to 120 psi, and then, after walking around a bit aimlessly for 15 minutes, applied body glide and got into the lower half of the wetsuit. (Interesting note: every 5 minutes or so you could hear a tire blow – usually on bikes that no longer had their athletes nearby!) Oh, and you don’t have to apply body-glide to your wrists if you’re wearing a sleeveless wetsuit!

The Swim:
The Pros got a 15-minute lead so with about 20 minutes till 7:00, most of us started down to the water. I dropped my "dry bag" off in a bin and walked out towards the beach. Remarkably, it was fairly quiet among the athletes. Not going right down, I stood on the Boardwalk looking for my family to walk across. Not seeing them after 10 minutes, I decided that maybe it was time to get down to the starting line – most athletes were there. As my feet hit the sand, the National Anthem was played, stopping me and forcing me to take in the moment. With 5 minutes left, I walked across the timing pad and then turned and walked the roped off section in hopes of seeing my family. Half way thru it, there they were… except for Suzanne and the kids! After giving a hug to my parents and my in-laws, I continued down the right side and found Suzanne – tears came to my eyes as I kissed her goodbye (as they are again now writing this – the support was phenomenal throughout!). Goodbyes said, I headed to the LEFT – going against my plan for the first time.

Leading up to the race, I was most apprehensive about swimming with 2400 other athletes in the mass start – I put in the training so the distance didn’t bother me. The plan was to start the swim on the right side, toward the back. The course is a 2-loop rectangle with left turns. Having toyed with the idea previously, I decided – spur of the moment – that I would start on the inside left, swimming between the buoys in hopes of some spacing. (The rule stated that this was permissible as long as your turns all had the buoys on your left side.) Right before the start, I found myself standing about 7 people up from the back, ankles in the water, against the ropes on the left. Curiously, a volunteer came in and tried to clear my section for about a 5 yard radius – well I wasn’t moving, I was geared up for the 2400 people fight! 10 seconds later I changed my strategy for the day: I would now pay attention to the volunteers… the cannon went off immediately behind my head – BOOM – thank God for swim caps! Off we went… after walking in about 30 yards, I started my swim and settled into a rhythm.

I honestly don’t remember getting hit during the swim – I got bumped maybe a dozen times TOTAL, over 2.4 miles. My plan was to start easy and breath every 4 strokes, sighting ever 2 or 3 breaths. Every 4 strokes was easy and I realized sighting was only necessary every 50 meters or so. After about a ½ mile, nearing the first turn, I realized the second benefit of my left-side strategy, I got to swim with the right directional cross current in order to pass the buoy on my left – instead of having to come in from the right, increasing my swim distance and going against the current. Sometime after about 500 meters the thought went thru my head, "this is actually it, I am actually in the Ironman!" And right after, “this feels just like a training day.” With about 300 meters left on the first loop, swimming on the inside of the buoys on the return as well, a pro came up alongside me, and then another (I thought about drafting but, never having drafted before, I laughed – literally – out loud). Some of the pros finished their swim before I finished my first loop, I couldn’t believe how fast they swam!

My first loop was 37 minutes and I got out of the water feeling relaxed and thirsty. The WALK on the beach to the start again was about 50 meters, but drinking fresh water was nice along the way (I didn’t realize an aid station would be there but it was a pleasant surprise). Even though I looked into the crowd continuously for my family, I didn’t see them. Back in the water for loop 2…

Loop 2 was fairly uneventful. Again, I stayed between the buoys and had plenty of space to swim freely. As was true during the first loop, there was a distinct diesel "smell" and almost taste in the water from a tanker anchored a mile off shore, not a big deal though. The water was a bit more rough the second loop, but nothing significant. One thing that was more prevalent was – jellyfish. Only once did I alter my stroke so that I would not pull on one and over all they had no impact either. Out of the water in 1:19 – come to find out I was 7 seconds faster than Pat LaFontaine (pro hockey hall of fame, though he beat me overall by 40 minutes). My estimated time for the swim had been 1:20.

T1 (7:45):
Coming out of the water I first saw my Dad and my father-in-law on my right, not far off the water – giving them a high five; that felt good. Next I saw my mother and then, half way up the shoot to T1, I saw Suzanne and the kids. I gave Suzanne a thumbs up and she later said I was smiling from ear to ear. 30 steps forward, two guys grabbed my wetsuit (I had it down to my waist still in the water) and started stripping me, telling me to sit down, and the wetsuit was off in 2 seconds. I jogged to where I put my T1 bag and sat on the curb drying myself (yes, drying myself despite my coach’s distaste for this), putting on my bike shirt, socks, shoes, gloves, glasses and helmet. Running the 100 yards to my bike, I stopped briefly to have another volunteer slab sunscreen on my arms and legs and then I was off. 10 meters onto the bike, I realized that when I changed the clock on my computer in the morning, I had somehow changed the metrics to calculate kilometers rather than miles. Amazingly too, Enrique – a fellow I stood in line with during the check in three days ago and had befriended, was next to me on the bike. Because I was trying to adjust my computer and was going slowly, he said, "if I don’t see you, have a great race – I’m out of here." After fidgeting with the computer for another quarter mile or so, I relaxed and told myself to ride my legs anyways.

Rolling next to a guy a couple miles later, I asked him how fast we were going – 20 mph. That marked, I watched my clock against the mileage markers throughout the 112 miles and had a pretty good feel for my average. With very little hills, most notably a sailboat bridge over the river, the going was fairly easy early on though one steady position on your back gets tiring. Spinning easily for the first 30 miles, I stuck to my plan of taking a gulp of Perpeteum every 15 minutes followed by a Gatorade/water hit. In between, whenever I felt any thirst at all, I drank the Gatorade/water combo. With rest areas every 10 – 15 miles, replenishing my Gatorade and water was no issue.

After about 30 miles on the bike, I felt the urge to urinate. Not knowing the rules, I asked a couple riders if they knew if I could use nature’s facilities or if I had to use a Porto potty – Porto potties were at every aid station and had lines 5-10 people deep. Not getting a knowledgeable answer, I saw a paved road to the right that had no houses on it, took the turn and went about 50 yards down. I carried my bike into the shrubs with me, for two reasons: (1) I didn’t want the aerobottle to empty if I laid my bike on the road and (2), I was fearful of thorns in the grass on the way to the bushes. Relieving myself, I rejoined the race with no issues. I continued my Perpeteum religiously for the rest of the ride.

At mile 90 I was still averaging 20 mph – but then my legs got heavy. I had one ride of 94 miles during my training and knew that my legs were heavy then too. Not knowing what the next 20 miles would do, I had to decide whether to pick up the intensity to maintain my 20 mph average or just spin at whatever pace and save my legs for the run. The head-wind was increasing so I settled on spinning regardless of speed. My right knee had been bothering me for the past 30 miles or so, nothing too painful but given the pending marathon, somewhat worrisome nonetheless. Having waited, I now took the three Advil that I packed into my bento box, thinking that at this point their affect would be there for the run as well. I was loosing speed rapidly and that was tough though no one passed me and the effect on my psyche was less since I didn’t know exactly how slow I was going – I only had kilometers per hour to gage. At one point I had to pull over to reattach my bib to the bib-belt, not having it on can be cause for a penalty. Having seen various people on the side of the road either out of the race injured or with flats, I was happy to approach the finish of the bike. Spinning into T2 was nice and I remember hearing someone say during the last mile, "I can’t believe we have to run a marathon now!" The bike portion over, a bit slower than I had hoped at 6 hours and 16 minutes, now for the marathon. Just a little jog…

T2 (4:54):
Right away, someone grabbed my bike and someone else handed me my T2 bag (this bag system works fairly well!). Limping slightly on my right foot, I was directed by a volunteer to a changing tent where guys were sitting in chairs, lying on the ground, stretching against poles, but all in the changing process. I sat down, changed shoes, exchanged my helmet for a running hat, moved my race belt to the front and left the tent. Jogging lightly out onto the course, I told myself to hold back.

The Run:
About 300 meters down the run, I saw Suzanne ridding a mountain bike outside the roped off area but along me – a huge smile and yelling encouragement. 300 meters further up, she was standing on the side of the road and I gave her a high-five as I went by – after not seeing much of anything on the bike course, this support was a great change. I knew I would find my family another mile down on a corner, one block up from the condo we had rented, the corner that takes you away from the beach toward the lagoon. Getting there, my kids held up signs they had made and my parents and in-laws cheered. (Later I was told by my father that one of the most exciting moments of the day came when Suzanne came barreling in on the bike yelling, "he’s coming, he’s coming", literally screeching to a halt, sliding sideways as her back tire locked, leaving rubber on the road!)

At this point I figured out that I would have to run a 4:10 or better marathon to come in at 12 hours or better. Not having a ton left in my legs, I knew that this would be tough but still thought it possible. Typically I negative split my races so I decided to find a comfortable pace yet one that did not take too much out of me. At the first turn around (1st quarter of the run), my time was 1:02 and I remember thinking, "okay, if I keep this up, I will be in at 11:58." However, without really realizing that I had slowed, I finished the first ½ in 2:09. At that point I realized that coming in less than 12 hours wasn’t going to happen – and I was okay with that, it had never been the goal.

Seeing my family for the third time on the way back out (mile 15 or so) was great, taking the time now that time pressures were gone to high five my kids, comment on the posters they had made, and give my family some support. Suzanne ran next to me for about 100 yards and offered to run with me for a while – I declined because it’s against the rules. She also asked me how I was doing and my answer was simply, "It’s getting tough". And that it was.

My goal for the run had always been to RUN the marathon, not walking more than the aid stations. I promised myself that this would be the case and stayed to it. Over the next ½ marathon I labored to keep running, slowing to probably an 11-minute mile at some points. It got dark as I neared mile 18 and I was given the glow rings to wear. The runners were fairly quiet, dealing with their own leg daemons I am sure, and many walking at least for stretches, often in little groups of 3 or more. The volunteers were fantastic. One in particular stands out even now, a black mother, with an infant on her back and her 4 year old boy helping as well – the fact that they were supporting us made it easier to run. I walked thru every aid station except the last one, eating cookies, chicken broth, drinking coke, water and Gatorade, and enjoying each step that was comparatively pain free. Walking outside of the aid stations was not an option though.

When I passed where my family had been the last time and did not find them there, I knew they were waiting at the finish. Seeing the bright lights as I turned the last corner for the final .25 miles, hearing the loud speaker and the words "you are an Ironman", knowing my family was just ahead – made running the last bit effortless. As I entered the 100-yard shoot, Suzanne and the kids ducked under the ropes and joined me – what a feeling! Douglass and I ran hand in hand while Suzanne carried Carley. With 30 yards left I heard, "and from Golden, Colorado – Doug Beeman, you are an Ironman!" Crossing the line was great – my family with me, bending down to pick up Douglass and hug him, I felt remarkably good. I finished the marathon in 4:31 (splits: 1:02, 1:07, 1:11, and 1:09) and the Ironman in 12:20, 904 out of 1984 athletes.

I had some very personal reasons for going after this Ironman and the sport lends to a very individualized and somewhat selfish routine. Completing the Ironman is by no means an individual accomplishment. If it had not been for Suzanne’s support, above all, I could not have trained sufficiently to be successful. The understanding that Douglass and Carley showed me, not to mention the time that they allowed me to steal from their weekend activities, donated to my achievement. The support that my family, my parents and my in-laws provided during the week of the Ironman and during the event itself was heart felt and lent to the focus to finish. Lastly, Pete Alfino guided me through the training, sometimes even thru the lifestyle commitment issues, and became a good friend, a lot more than just a coach.

My bib number was worn with honor: 1011.