Everyone who races knows that, eventually, they will have a day when the body refuses to play along. It is inevitable. If we are lucky, it happens at a smaller, less significant event. If we are not, it happens at our "A" race, the one we've been training for all year.
Such was my fate at Ironman Louisville 2013.
After a very easy (and slow) swim, I got out of the water feeling fabulous and full of energy for the bike ride and run ahead. I was actually looking forward to getting out there on the bike, and eager to start the run. The helpful volunteer in the changing tent helped me get all my stuff sorted out, opened my lube for me, and handed me things as I needed them. I drank my Shakeology, which topped off a filling breakfast of two Core Powers and a protein drink made with almond milk and a peach, and I was out of there in a quick 10:45. While five minutes faster than the last time I did this race, it felt very relaxed and calm, and I was looking forward to the rest of my day.
Got deluxe service with two more volunteers slathering me from head to toe in sunscreen, found my bike, waved goodbye to Paula and Shirley, and took off. It was a beautiful day, just starting to heat up into the low 70's.
Things went well. As I expected, the first 22 miles were the fastest. This was the flattest part of the course, with only two big hills. The next 25 or so miles I slowed down about as much as I had expected, knowing it was going to be non-stop hills for another 40 miles or so. It was getting warmer, but I wasn't feeling particularly uncomfortable, and I was on schedule with my fluids and fuel. I made sure to sip on my carb/protein mix on a regular basis, and had stopped a couple of times to take water and some electrolyte drink, and stand up to stretch the legs a bit. Was passing lots of people on the hills without killing myself. So far so good. Gonna be a great day!
At mile 50 or so, the freight train hit. I felt like I wanted to puke. My legs lost all strength. I was consumed with an overwhelming fatigue. I started fantasizing about stopping, laying down in the grass by the road, and taking a 3-hour nap. What is going on? I sure hope this passes. I've NEVER felt that bad during any kind of physical event. I've felt mildly nauseas for maybe five minutes at a time when it's been particularly hot, but nothing that compares to this fatigue. I definitely wasn't bonking; I'd been taking in good calories all day. I wasn't trying anything new. All my nutrition was stuff I'd been using all summer. Did I start out too fast and flame out? No, I had kept a very reasonable and comfortable-feeling pace up to this point. Am I getting sick with something and it's just now hitting me? All I could do was keep going and hope it passed. But I had a dark feeling it wouldn't.
Around mile 56 (or maybe 58?), I pulled into an aid station and knew I had to sit down before I fell down. A wonderful volunteer brought me a baggie of ice, and I put that on my neck. Drank a full bottle of water and felt a little better. Got up and realized I probably should lay down for a few minutes. Laying in the grass, I put the ice on my side, and that helped quite a bit. Was finally feeling good enough to get up, go to the bathroom (well I guess that rules out dehydration, no?), and get moving again. By now, my focus was on making it to my food at special needs, which was mile 65.
I struggled more than normal to get up the hills, and tried to go as fast as I could going down. By now I was starting to get a little woozy, which was frightening when coasting down a hill at something like 35mph (I haven't checked my Garmin yet to verify). Going down one hill, I realized that the walls were indeed closing in, and it was all I could do to focus on the pavement immediately in front of me and holding a stable form, so as not to crash. I was very aware of making a conscious effort not to let the attention stray and do something stupid that would cause me to lose control of the bike.
Finally got to special needs. Called out my number, and yet another outstanding volunteer found me a chair and brought my bag of goodies. I drank another Shakeology, hoping the protein would at least alleviate this agony enough to get the brain back in gear. The volunteer was a man about my age, and he was feeling my pain. That poor guy tried his best to buck me up and get me pumped about doing the remaining 47 miles. If I had been feeling normally, I would have been thrilled to only have 47 miles left. In my current condition, I could only groan and thank him for trying. After I-don't-know-how-long, I got back on the bike and left, very slowly. Walking wasn't the problem, pedaling was. If I could just get myself back to transition, I could WALK the marathon if need be. If I can just get back on the bike.
But the legs continued to get weaker and weaker. It got to the point where I could barely pedal even on the flat sections. Since when is it hard to get 13mph on my bike?? What is going on here?
The nausea never really went away; instead it proceeded to get worse and worse, as did the struggle to focus. Finally, around mile 72 or 73, I stopped, laid the bike down, and sat down next to it, hoping to wait out the nausea. Some other cyclists came by (also going fairly slowly but obviously not feeling as awful as I was) and asked if I needed anything. I told them I was done and asked if they could please mention me at the next aid station. They promised they would and continued on.
I laid down in the grass by the road and promptly lost everything I had just put in my stomach. Several times. Damn. Is this ever going to stop? It finally did, and I sat up. Realized that I actually felt a lot better after puking. Maybe I can get a few more miles in and see how it goes?
At 75 miles, the legs totally gave out and refused to move the pedals any more. Well, crap. Whatever this is, it's bad. And it's not letting up. In fact, it's getting worse. There's no possible way I can do another 37 miles, even if it's flat, and it isn't. Found some shade, leaned the bike up against someone's mailbox out in the middle of nowhere, and sat down. Pretty soon a Sheriff's vehicle came by, and I let him know I wasn't needing EMS, I just needed a ride back to Louisville. Waited maybe ten minutes, and a race SAG van showed up.
[Side note: Another rider came up while I was getting into the van. She was going to hitch a ride because she didn't think she was going to make the bike cutoff. I told her she had plenty of time if she kept going, and it came out that she thought the cutoff was 5:30pm. She was very happy when I told her no, it was either 6:20 or 6:30, so she could definitely make the 37 miles by then. It was probably 3pm or so by this time, so she still had around three hours to play with. She left, smiling. I really hope she made it. I was too out of it to look at her number, much less remember it, so I can't look her up in the results.]
I climbed in the back, thinking I might lie down, and we headed for the next person to pick up. It was blissfully cool inside. Uh oh. I think I'm gonna puke again, and the windows back here don't open. Ack! Climbed up into the front seat and hung my head out the window. Is this misery ever going to end? The driver took my chip, wrote my number down, and called it in. Damn. I'm really going to DNF. I N-E-V-E-R DNF. Especially not at my one major race, especially not an Ironman! But I couldn't do a thing about it. This was not a matter of will power or mental strength. It simply wasn't happening today.
We picked up two more people who were having mechanical issues, and passed a third who was going back in an ambulance. I had to ask the driver to pull over once on the highway, but didn't get sick. I rode the rest of the way back with my head hanging out the window like a dog, wondering if I should have chosen the ambulance instead. Dear god, what is wrong with me?
Got back to transition, walked straight to the medical tent and laid down. Baggies of ice in the armpits and under the neck felt great. Answered a few questions (no not dehydrated, just peed an hour ago, yes BP is always that low, no a pulse of 60 when I'm not moving is not unusual, yes had plenty of fuel onboard until I puked). They watched me for a few minutes and as we chatted, it was obvious I was not in IV territory or worse. The nurse called Paula and told her where I was, and within a few minutes, she and Shirley rounded the corner. They had been waiting nearby, watching my splits get slower and slower, and they knew something was going on. Paula had even turned her phone up super-loud so she'd be sure to hear it, and was ready to answer any unknown phone numbers that called. We retrieved all my stuff from transition and walked back to the hotel. Stopped in the Starbucks in the lobby and got a vanilla frappacino, which was a little bit of bliss after feeling so awful for so long.
Showered, went to dinner, came back and napped until 10:30pm, then went back downstairs to watch the last hour of finishers. The last hour is the most exciting, as people push hard to get in under the 17-hour cutoff. I was happy to see a few people that had been in the back-forty with me on the bike successfully finish their race, and I'm sure I missed a few. It was good to see that they managed to get back in time, even though they were struggling for a while.
Felt fine after a decent night's sleep, and two days later feel completely normal. Looking back, I think I must have been on the verge of heat exhaustion or something like that. We've had a very mild summer in Indianapolis, and I've lost my hot-weather conditioning. (I was more prepared for heat in June.) One of the medics told me that the heat index had spiked right about the time I started tanking, and he wasn't surprised. I was caught completely off-guard, though. I did everything right: training, nutrition, fluids, pacing. I've done over 60 triathlons, almost 60 half-marathons, 15 marathons, and a slew of other distances, and have never felt anything like this. It took me totally by surprise. I'll be happy if I get another 10-year run of mishap-free racing, now that I've got this spectacular bonk (or whatever it was) out of the way.
Sadly, there are no more iron-distance opportunities this year that are not sold out, save one. It's $575 and in a state that I've already raced in...sigh. I'd love to do it, but hate to spend the money, again. However, I'm mapping out the rest of the tri/half-marathon/marathon season, figuring out which states to hit, and am grateful to be injury-free and able to plan more races.
And hey, no recovery time to speak of! All I did was an easy two-hour swim and five-hour bike -- didn't beat myself up on the run, so I'm ready to go work out tomorrow. Ha!
