Ironman Wisconsin • September 2007
Chris F

Lets back up to 2006. I was tired of reading the phenomenally interesting race reports from finishers of IM races and wondering many things.

First, I had no idea what those numbers mean. A 4:02 marathon? Hmmm, I ran a 45:12 10K in my last oly race. Lets see: 45min x 4, and add 30 minutes. There we have it…I can easily run a 3:30 marathon. Now the bike…25miles in 1:10 x 4.5, add 15 minutes, and I come up with a 5:35 IM bike leg. Same with the swim. 1 hour flat, no problem. 5 minutes for each transition, add them all up, and I get a 10:15 IM time. Easy!

14 seconds later, I realize I’ve never biked more than 60 miles, run more than 13.1, nor swam more than 1.2 miles. What a complete idiot! Reality set in, so I added 4 hours!

Second, I had no idea if I could complete such a thing. But, I wondered. A lot.

Third, I had previously wondered how much my short distance performances would be improved with a year of IM training.

So, in August of 2006, I decide to sit down with the wife to see how this IM thing would go over. Guess what? She fell for it.

Then next day I did 2 things: First, I talked my good friend Ed Multerer into signing up for the race also. Then I signed up for the 100K Wright Ride, late August, 2006. During the ride I meet a great girl named Michiko. This girl, all 4 foot something and 90 something pounds is destroying me on the ride. I come to find out she done several IMs, and knows a huge number of IMers, especially in Oak Park. The same day she introduces me via email to Lake and Harlem Cycle Club, and also to Ross Hauser and Allen Parungao.

Ross and Allen train together and agree to include me in a workout. They ask what time in the morning I want to go for a run. I’m thinking 4 miles, start at 7, be done by 7:30a. Instead, I say, "Oh, whatever works for you." The next morning I’m schlepping my fat a$$ out of bed at 4:45a, out the door by 5:15a, where Ross and Allen are chatting outside my home, ready to complete the rest of their 10 mile run. I join them for 5 miles at "IM pace" before they continue on with the rest of their run. I limp up my front stairs, sit on my sofa at 5:55am, consider crying but really just wonder what in the world I just signed up for. That was the beginning of a very long, but very satisfying and worthwhile year.

My training leading up to IM consisted of a very long base build. Primarily I rode with the Lake and Harlem cycle club from late August until the snow came, then took the riding inside where I joined Ross (who was training at the time for both IM Florida and IM Arizona) in the basement of his home, a/k/a The Gauntlet, and also took spinning classes at the Y. I swam solo at the Y 2 days per week, and ran outside, again with Ross and Allen, through the fall and winter. I also did my first Century ride in Michigan with a great IMer Bill Robinson. The end of my base training culminated with my first Rockford/Galena ride with Lake/Harlem. 190 miles of cycling in 2 days.

Then came springtime, and I started riding again with Lake/Harlem and also Giulia Isseti. I was now doing my patented weekly 1 long bike, 1 long run, 1 long swim, joined by 2 very short runs, 2 very short bikes, and 1 very short swim per week. I did this until 2 weeks before the actual IM, with the exception of my indulgence, a ½ IM in Racine, WI.

During the spring and summer months, I met several other folks with whom I trained, especially Jim D., Kim K., John R., and Brian P. In the previous 5 years of Tri training I had met nearly no one. Now, I was a part of a great group of people. My other main training partner was Ed, who found out in the spring that he and his wife would be moving to Las Vegas.

The summer was where most of my higher mileage weeks peaked. Ross organized 2 amazing trips to Black Earth, WI., which is a few miles from the IM Wisc. bike course. Each trip consisted of driving up Tuesday, staying at Ross’ friend’s house, a tin house sitting in the middle of a beautiful hilly countryside, riding early Wednesday 110+ miles followed by a 45 minute run, a quick shower, then a 3+ hour ride back to Oak Park.

I also did the Horribly Hilly Century, which was 200+K (about 130 miles) of hilly climbing in and around the western hills of Madison, WI. Yes, there are LOTS of hills in Wisconsin.

All the training outings to date were fun, challenging, and even sometime exciting...with 2 exceptions, and they both took place in the same week. Both occurred with Ross, both ended in hypothermia, and both were in JULY! WTH! Once was on a long bike ride out to Lemont to do "hills," and the other was a swim in Lake Michigan with a sleeveless wetsuit.

I logged most of my big running miles either solo along the DesPlains River Trail or with Ross, Guilia, and John out at Waterfall Glen, with a peak run of 22 miles 4 weeks from race day.

The last 2 weeks prior to the race were very strange. I was very unsure of the taper process. How much should I taper? Everyone had a different answer, and each recommendation varied greatly from the others. So I went with my gut, and took a tad off the intensity, and a little more off the distance. Swim more than anything, and save the legs for the big day.

The weekend of the IM was great. My dad flew up, Ed (and Ti) flew in to race, and we were in wonderful Madison for 3 full days. We stayed at the Campus Inn which was fairly nice and in a great location on State Street. We went through the NAS requirements of registration, returning hours later for the race talk, then returning the next day to drop off the bike and transition bags. Good thing we were only a mile away!

Race morning:

I awoke at 4:15am, ate around 500 calories including oatmeal, bagel with peanut butter, coffee, and a banana. Most mornings I could eat double this if I wanted. I was planning to eat much more the oatmeal, but on this morning, I did everything I could to get down what I could. I grabbed my Inifinite drink, swim supplies, and 2 special needs bags, and headed out the hotel door.

Weather report for the morning called for 1-2mph north winds, calm lake, 58 degrees air temperature, 75 smokin’ degrees water temperature. No hypothermia today. Still, no risking it. I took the Long Sleeve, trusty not-so-dusty Orca, Jim Donegan special suit and headed off for my 1 mile walk to Lake Monona. This walk was strange and lonely, but gave me a chance to think about the race, where I was a year ago, and how much I trained over that year. I dropped off special needs bags close to the convention center, then got "numbered", last check of the bike, included placing my 3-scoop perpetuem bottle and aerobottle on the bike, attaching my bento box filled with gel flask, salt pills, cliff blocks, ibuprofen, 1 bar, and 2 extra gel packs. Lastly, I carefully topped off my tires to proper pressure.

I met up with Ed and Ti, hung around the convention for 30 short minutes, suited up, and headed to the line procession down the matrix. At the top of the matrix we could see people getting in the water. 6:35am, and people are already treading water. 6:50am, the pros get sent off with horn. Ed and I were still 100’ from the water entrance, and barely able to move. 6:55, we finally got in the water, gave each other the proper machismo send-off, and swim to our desired start location.

Swim

I choose the least dense area which happened to be right in the middle of the long line of swimmers, 3 rows back. A little chat between some other nervous cohorts, and boom, we’re off. Double check the stopwatch, and bam, I’m hit! Back of the head. Let the battle begin. While I never received any serious blows which would knock my goggles off, the swim offered the average swimmer a "ride of a lifetime." Nothing can reproduce the course of events which an ironman race can. 2400 people starting at the same time lends itself towards utter chaos. Hundreds of bumps, scrapes, and headbutts, most of which seemed unintentional, some of which were blatently purposeful. I even had someone cross underneath me from right to left. He was submerged at least 2 feet. All I can imagine is that he was pulled under and couldn’t get back up to the surface without finding "fresh water". Pretty scary.

About 20 strokes into the swim, I start noticing several "twinges" in my right shoulder. Crap! The beginnings of a rotator cuff tear? So, I’m battling strong against my co-swimmers, and reach the first left turn. I’ve been planning this out for months. "Go wide Chris" is what I’ve been saying. So I do, but not wide enough. More chaos for 30 meters, then things became a bit easier. I then notice my shoulder is feeling great. Amazing what a little battle royal will do for ya! Two more left turns and I’m back to where I started. One more lap! All of a sudden, after the first of 2 laps, I found huge amounts of open water. At least 5 feet in all directions. I felt like one of those houses in Burr Ridge, compared to my close quartered home in Oak Park. The only problem is I had no one to draft. The hunt was on. Find some feet belonging to that slightly faster swimmer, then get on ‘em. In seconds I found my prey, some dude sans wetsuit with a smooth stroke. For one mile I managed to stay on his feet. I know everything about those feet, at least the soles of his feet. I must have tapped them a few hundred times over the distance. I’d love to talk to the guy now to thank him and also to find out if I was a complete nuisance.

As I ready myself to get out of the water, I’m preparing for the dreaded dizzies when standing upright. I start thinking, "I have no idea how to prevent the dizzys," so I just brace for the worst. I stand up, forget all about the potential dizzies, feel nothing but severe adrenaline as the crowd is going nuts. Out of the water in 1:09. Better than my anticipated 1:10-1:15.

The next 9+ minutes were amazing. Between the most amazing volunteers pulling us out of the water, the volunteers stripping the suits (which was more fun than I anticipated), to running up the helix with all the spectators, to picking up the T1 bags, to going into the male transition room, getting naked and have another volunteer ask, with a straight, serious face, "Is there anywhere you would like vasoline," to the gloved sunscreeners who spent an extra 5 seconds massaging my upper traps, as per my request, to the not-so-competent volunteer who was supposed to fetch bikes but was unable to comprehend the number 822, and finally to seeing my wife Penny, my daughter Mia, dad, and Ti, positioned very close to my bike, holding up some amazing signs, wearing matching shirts, and cheering, I had a wonderful transition (long sentence, I know). Not such a fast transition (9:06), but I really enjoyed it.

So I mounted the bike (I love saying that) and noticed I still had my goggles around the neck. Off with the helmet and glasses, off with the goggles, back on with the helmet and glasses, goggles stuffed inside the jersey, then an easy ride down the helix where 4 nimrods passed me despite being in the no-passing zone. On the way out of town I had a great conversation with Angie Ferguson from Florida, who apparently knows Ross from his days spent in Sanibel Island. Ross, she says hello!

Up and down the rollers (no, this part is not flat like everyone says it is) and into the outskirts Verona. I kept looking down at the bike computer and seeing 21-23 mph. I knew I had a slight tailwind, but I felt good. As a check, I started singing a few lines of a song. I’m able to sing a line of the song with no shortness of breath. So far, so good.

Next step is the 40+ mile loop. My wife, dad, and friend Ti have planned to meet me 15 miles into the loop on the big hill leading into Mt. Horeb. While I felt good, I was anxious to see them. Nearing the base of the hill, the road turns north and the wind hit me. Not hard, but the wind was enough to make cycling effortless to a much bigger task. Then I hit the hill. Heart rate is climbing and a crowd is forming. I near the high school, look for the wife, then near the turn before the aid station and still no wife, no dad. I found out later they arrived just a few minutes after I did (they had to drop Mia off at a friends place between the swim and bike). I’m a little bummed, but I know they would have to book it to get to the hill in time. So I go another 12 miles, taking in food while going up/down hills with varying efforts. Still able to sing, to the dismay of bikers and spectators close by.

Prior to the race, I discussed tactics many times with my training partner Ross. He’s very experienced with the ins and outs of Ironman and drilled the concept of conserving energy during the bike so I would have something left for the run. He is also the one who shared the idea of singing to monitor effort. I thought about Ross and his wise words throughout the bike and owe much to him for the perfect advice. So I’m rolling along and then hit the hills near Timber Lane. While the hills are steeper, this is my favorite part of the course. I can relax, sit up on the bike, and spin along in my 39/27 gearing past dozens of others who have ridiculously small (therefore harder gearing). So I’m having a great time passing folks, then the crowd comes and the fun really begins. There’s superman, then the pair of muscle men in drag, then the 25+ orange t-shirt clad cheering squadron, plus the hundreds of others replicating a climb in the TDF. Towards the end of lap 1, I see Ross’ coach Pete, who informed me prior to the race that he would be wearing a large Bears jersey. This little piece of information helped me more than I would ever imagine. See the run for details. Still singing.

Lap 2 starts after a speedy entrance into Verona where a HUGE crowd is gathered and screaming behind barricades. At the start of lap 2, I was joking, feeling great. Five miles later, close to the 60 mile mark, I had my biggest “low” on the bike. For a brief time, I felt nauseous, tired, sleepy, and irritated all at the same time. Funny thing was I could stil sing. This lasted for about 10 miles and ended after 2 things happened: the first was that I remembered my family would be at the top of the next climb. The second thing was that I stopped riding, put the bike against a tree, relieved myself, and stretched for a minute. During the rest, I see a guy with a prosthetic leg fly by me. So, I hopped back on the bike, and flew up the hill where I was greeted by my posse with more great posters and encouraging words. This was just what I needed to get over the doldrums of the bike leg.

At the 80 mile mark, I started thinking, "Just 30 miles left, like a mid-week ride out to Spring Road and back." Back up and down the hills near Timber Lane, then the rollers back into Madison. Again, I recalled Ross’ wise words to take it down a notch for the last 15 miles. So I lowered my gearing and spun at 110 RPMs for my ride into Madison. At mile 107, I’m approaching a downhill left turn, and some yahoo passes me 100 feet before the turn. He flies around the corner and his rear wheel slides out. He slides along the asphalt, right into an EMS vehicle waiting for such a thing. The rider jumps up, holding is arm in the textbook collar bone fracture position. Yikes.

I rounded Lake Monona, sang my final song (no singing on the run, I’d come to find out), I was able to see Monona Terrace. It finally hit me that I’d have to run a marathon now. For a year I thought about this but it was always something for the future. I never was able to truly understand this concept. But on that final ½ mile trip to transition, I thought about running a run I’ve never run, after an already longer bout of exercise than I had ever engaged. Holy crap, I’m screwed. I was now VERY nervous. More nervous than when I signed up for the race and more nervous than prerace. So, I did some quick self-motivation tactics (really complex stuff, like telling myself I can do it), changed into a higher gear, and spun up the helix into T2. Bike split 5hrs, 58min.

Another transition volunteer fest, which included a personal attendant helping me with everything, including scratching my back. Onto the sunscreeners, then the beginning of the run where I saw my family for a second time. T2 transition split 5minutes, 25 seconds. More signs from the family which were hilarious, one of which commented on my notoriously thick hair (that’s the nicest way to say it!). I felt remarkable good. Looks like my training plan to run after EVERY bike during the last 3 months paid off! Miles 1-4 were great. Not sure of my split for the first 2, but the 3rd mile was 9:00 and the 4th was 8:38. My hydration plan was a half cup of Gatorade and a sip or two of water at every aid station, then sip some gel every few miles. Well, from aid station 1 of the run I knew gels were no longer in the future. So I went with a little more Gatorade and an occasional pretzel for another 4 miles. I then hit a couple very steep hills near Lake Mendota where walking was strategically better than running.

Somewhere around mile 8, I saw Coach Pete again, who was chatting with a guy 20 feet in front of me. Pete wished me luck and introduced me to his friend John Hearne. Little did John know what he was getting himself into by talking with me! I now have a new running partner, I feel fair to good, depending on that moment in time. Meanwhile, I’ve added flat coke to my nutrition plan. Most folks add this a bit later, but I needed some caffeine, so why not. At around mile 10, I felt the dreaded blister on my left sole. I tried my best to avoid this, with foot prep, sock and shoe prep, and sock changes. But, special needs was just around the corner.

A wonderful volunteer dumped my bag, which I had loaded with various first aid products, including moleskin, which was another useful tip from good ol’ Ross. Placed on my new artificial skin, a little vasoline on top, then back on with the sock and shoe. Just before taking off again, I grabbed my vasoline baggie for a just-in-case moment. For a half mile, my foot felt no better. Then, out of nowhere, no blister pain…at least for 1 mile. I then felt a new blister, this one on my 4th toe. Within another half mile, the pain increased tremendously. I was complaining to John, who encouraged me to continue on. I kept telling myself that I would be in a warm bed soon enough, and I could do this despite the pain. THEN, I remembered the baggie of vasoline I had with me. So, I did what any male would do in this moment…I excused myself to the port-o-potty, where John assumed I would be for 20 seconds or so while I relieved myself (which I did also), and I also dressed me blister with a blob of vasoline.

Again, for several steps, I still felt the pain of the blister. Two minutes later, no pain in either foot. This lasted from mile 16 to mile 18, where the general pain of running increased dramatically. John was running great and I was feeling awful. I would have succumbed to walking at this point were it not for John H. Mile 20-22 was really bad. For the last 20 miles, I would run until the aid station, walk for 40-50 seconds to get all the food and drink in, then run again. Now the walking segments were longer, and getting back to jogging was more difficult. Holy crap did I feel bad. Then something amazing happened. John said he couldn’t run anymore. He wanted to use to port-o-potty, told me to go ahead, and I’d see him in the finishers area. In that instant I was transformed from a struggling, nearly forfeiting walker to the helper/coach. No way could I let John succumb to this beast and have to walk. I was now able to focus on him, and therefore not feel my own misery so much. So we trudged on together, after his, ahem, break, and cruised on to mile 24. We started talking to each other more. We had a bit more hop in our step, and, while we were still hurting, we were focused on the finish. Then, out of nowhere, the short ascent up to State Street came up on us. This was a very welcoming sight. In a weird way, the small hill that I dreaded so much was nearly undetectable. John and I cruised up the hill, acknowledged the spectators on State Street, and whipped around the capitol. Next goal, find Penny and Mia, then cruise as a family across the line. I looked in the spot where Penny and Mia were supposed to wait for me. Because of a minor course change, our plan was spoiled. Not there. I then went down the finishing chute to the tent where the husbands or wives and/or kids were stationed for pickup. Not there. So what did I do? I started yelling, frantically, for Penny. "Penny?" Louder, "Penny?" Screaming, "Penny." I had the entire section yelling for Penny. I really wanted to cross the finish line with my family, but I couldn’t process how to find them. So I hesitantly started walking, sideways, backwards, forwards, backwards again, towards the finish all the while looking in the vast crowd of spectators for Penny and Mia. Still not there. While I was really disappointed, I figured that I needed to end my journey and cross the finish line. I started back into a jog, and just as I did so, I see my two beauties to my left. I couldn’t tell you how excited I was at that moment. I grabbed Mia over the barricade. Penny insisted that she couldn’t get over and she would meet me on the other side of the finish. So I started my final 75 foot jog to the finish line, Mia in my arms. I felt great at the end and crossed the line with one arm raised, holding my girl in the other arm. I didn’t hear the announcer say my name, although I was told he did. I did hear, however, something about “…and his daughter,” which was even better. Run split 4:11.

The volunteers in the finishing area insisted on taking Mia (that’s lawyers for you), but they were AWESOME. They offered me everything, but I felt better than any race in the past. Mia and I went over to the picture area to take another finishers shot, then to the back of the finishing area to meet up with Penny and my Dad. The first thing I asked was, “where’s the massage tent?”

Following the race, the family and I went back to the finish line to join Ti in routing Ed on. Within a minute of standing there, who else but Ross and my mom call to congratulate me.

What a journey this has been!

Thanks go to so may people. I’d like to thank the IM Wisconsin Volunteer Contingency of 3500 strong who pampered us silly. They really went out of their way to make each participant feel special and attended to all of our needs.

Thanks to the Lake Harlem Cycle group for helping me get so many miles logged. Thanks to my training partners including Giulia, Jim, Allen, Kim, Michiko, John, and Brian. What a great group of people, and athletes.

Thanks to Pete for hooking me up with John. And John, you brought me through the run.

To anyone still reading, John did this whole event with a torn hamstring!

Thanks to Bill R. for helping me with my first century ride less than 1 year ago.

Thanks to Kurt for your generous hospitality at your Black Earth tin house. What a great place.

A very special thanks to Ross Hauser and his wife Marion for opening up their house to me for harsh winter training sessions. Thank you Ross for your knowledge, sacrifice of time and energy, and giving nature to get me through this. You rock!

Thanks to Ed Multerer for joining me in this remarkable voyage. You were amazing. And congrats to Ed for a great race, a new remarkable wife, a new move to Vegas (baby), and most importantly for your child-to-be. What a year!

A special thanks goes to all my family members for their continued support of my active endeavors. Thanks especially to my Dad for coming up just for the race (and to see Mia, of course).

To my wife Penny. I can’t thank you enough for all the sacrifices you made in the last year, not to mention all the sacrifices you make just to be married to me. You woke up 6 days a week to an empty bed, and answered nearly all of Mia’s wake-up cries. Thanks for all those post workout hot breakfasts, made to order. I (and Ed) will miss those greatly as I’m sure I will return to full cooking duties.

And finally, thanks to Peggy and Rich Kernan. Their lessons will last a lifetime for me, long after I hang up my goggles, bike, and running shores. Peggy taught me about commitments, and Rich taught me, and many others, the meaning of perseverance, to never quit. He may not have known it, but he was pushing me along at the dreaded 20 mile mark. For anyone who doesn’t know Rich, or Rich’s "story", ask me about him sometime, anytime, and be prepared to find out who an Ironman REALLY is!!

Chris