DFL > DNF > DNS: Redman 140.6

Toughest. Day. Ever.

Where to begin? The machine-wash heavy-load-cycle swim? The headwind on the bike that forced everyone to use hill-climbing gears? The unseasonably high heat and humidity? The Redman is a locally owned event in Oklahoma City, and features a half and full-iron triathlon. I did the full, because apparently there is something broken in my brain. But that’s a topic for another day.

Short story: It was brutal, wretchedly so at times, but thanks to the incredibly tolerant and patient organizers/volunteers, I finished. Dead last, an hour 20 minutes after the 17-hour cutoff, but I finished.

Long story follows.

Pre-Race

My sherpa, Suzanne, took the train up from Austin and met me in Oklahoma City. I had flown in earlier in the day, and checked my bike as baggage, using a sturdy cardboard shipping box that was designed to be used 5-6 times. This was my 3rd time using it. When I picked it up at baggage claim, I noticed that one seam wasn’t taped shut, and the box felt more flimsy than it should have. Did I seriously space out so badly that I didn’t tape it all up and didn’t notice while getting it to the airport in Indianapolis? Opened the box, and found the culprit: our wonderful TSA people had opened the box to inspect it. Apparently they’re not taught to leave things as they find them, so they didn’t bother to tape the box back up as it was, which severely compromised its structural integrity. Oh great. Pulled the bike out and put it back together, and it was intact. Except…why is the chain catching when I move the pedals? The chain guard was bent back into the chain. Sheesh. At least that is a very easy fix, and there are mechanics at the race site. I’ll let them deal with it. Was glad that was the only thing wrong, given TSA’s ineptitude at box-taping.

Friday we did a little sightseeing, then went to check myself and the bike in at the race site. The wonderful people from Schlegel’s bike shop were able to bend the chain guard back to its proper position and tighten everything down appropriately. (I had forgotten to throw the Allen wrench set into my bag.) All was well.

Race Morning

Got up at the relatively late time of 5:30am, ate the customary Greek yogurt/honey/blueberry breakfast, and headed out with all of my gear bags. Parking was a 20-minute walk away, and Suzanne had planned on dropping me at transition, then parking the car and walking over. Neither of us was thrilled to arrive and find that the road was completely closed, and everyone had to walk, carrying all their stuff. Great, there goes 20 minutes of valuable time. Since this was a full, and most of us were changing clothes between events, we had a swim-to-bike bag and a bike-to-run bag, and dropped those into tubs in the changing tent. The two special needs bags for halfway points on bike and run went into two other tubs. I put my nutrition on my bike, pulled on the wetsuit, and started getting mentally ready to swim 2.4 miles.

The Swim

Joined the herd of swimmers, and we all noted the stiff wind and the choppy water, and wondered how the wind was going to affect the bike. The water was choppy, but it really didn’t look as bad as Kansas, which had been whitecaps. It wouldn’t be restful, but I had swum in worse. I was in the second wave of swimmers, so we got started quickly. We walked out through some mud to the first buoy and waited for the start signal.

Then we all realized just how choppy it really was. There were swells. There were waves coming from every direction. There was no pattern to the chop, just random blasts of water to the face. It was impossible to get into any kind of rhythm, as it didn’t seem to matter when or on what side you breathed, it was difficult not to take in water. The course was a giant triangle marked by buoys, and we were to keep all the buoys on the left. The half-iron people swam once around it, the full-iron did it twice. The water was pushing everyone around very badly and it was tough to sight the buoys. The chop was bad enough that you couldn’t just lift your head up slightly to look; you had to lift it way up to see over the chop, or to avoid a snoot full of water. It was mentally exhausting, because you couldn’t just put the head down and swim, or you’d end up way off course. I did NOT want to swim any extra strokes in that mess.

I fought off calf cramps (legs took turns), mostly successfully, accepted the fact that this was going to be a mental game (because I knew the body was capable if the mind willed it), and slogged along for two hours. It was a relief to finally hit that last buoy and be able to stand up and walk it in. A volunteer was standing in the water nearby and asked if I needed help – most of us were a bit lightheaded when we first stood up – I told her no, I was peeing, and she may not want to come in any closer. She just laughed knowingly and said I wasn’t the first. It was nice to see Suzanne there and we chatted a bit as I walked to the changing tent. [Later found out they had pulled 12 people from the water, most of them disoriented and panicky. In addition, one of the buoys had drifted and we swam closer to 3 miles instead of the expected 2.4. That made me feel better about my two-hour slog.]

T1

Wow those volunteers were amazing! They had bath towels for us, grabbed our bags, dumped everything out, and packed up all our nasty stuff when we were done changing. I pulled on my bike shorts, jersey, shoes, helmet, drank some more calories, and took off. Was pleased that my T1 time was around eight minutes. Actually felt good when I left on the bike, and immensely grateful to be out of that washing-machine water.

The Bike

The course was two 56-mile loops, with plenty of gentle rollers, a few longer inclines, and a good amount of flat. Not a bad course, nothing extreme. The first 30 or so miles were uneventful. As the day heated up, however, the wind picked up and there were some pretty strong crosswinds. I could feel it pushing me to the side fairly regularly, but was glad it was at least a crosswind and not a headwind. That is, until we turned into one of the longest legs of the course. Then the headwind was incredibly annoying and physically tiring. There were aid stations every ten miles or so, and I stopped at all but two and either stood up or got off the bike entirely and topped off my fluids. I wasn’t particularly aware of being hot, but I was getting crusty from salty sweat and made an effort to stay hydrated. The aid stations all had either salt tablets or electrolytes, and I made a point to take those regularly. The volunteers were super cheerful and encouraging, and extraordinarily helpful. They couldn’t wait to bring us whatever we needed, be it a banana, cold water, Gatorade, bags of ice, whatever.

The police on the course deserve a special shout-out, as they held traffic to let us pass. Even with them there, I was cut off twice by inattentive drivers. I saw the first one coming and was able to just slow down and let him pass, but the second one went out of his way to be an idiot. I was almost home, probably around 105 miles, when he decided it was wise to cut over into the bike lane (which was marked off by cones), start to make a right turn, then stop dead in front of me. I had to hit the brakes hard enough to skid a little, but was able to avoid him. The cop was so pissed he kicked at the car as they finally started moving away. He was swearing loudly at them, too. My hero! The police were only supposed to be out until 4:30, but they stayed until the last few of us stragglers finished up around 6pm. It was really nice to see them there and know I didn’t have to fend for myself through some pretty busy intersections near the end.

T2

It was nice to see Suzanne’s smiling face when I pulled in from the bike. I had not expected to see her until maybe some time on the run, so that was a nice surprise. After eight hours on the bike fighting winds, I was spent. My leg extensors were completely shot, exhausted from pulling my legs up for so long. Once again, the wind required far more mental effort than otherwise, and like the swim, the ride had become a mental game. I was seriously considering the possibility of dropping down to the Aquabike category (swim/bike only) and calling it a day. In addition to being mentally and physically exhausted, (I realized later) the heat had drained quite a lot of energy.

As before, the volunteer in the changing tent was amazingly helpful and cheerful. As I changed into my running clothes, I made a comment about trying to beat the run cutoff. The volunteer then said something that was music to my ears: the race directors want everyone who starts the run to finish, and will stay out there until the bitter end. They’d even stayed until 2-3am in years past, waiting for people to finish. Wow. Ok, that made it easier to decide to stick it out and see what happened. Maybe my legs will recover and I’ll be able to jog some. As it was, I only had six hours 15 minutes to finish by the 17-hour cutoff, and feeling the way I did, I knew that would be a challenge. Tried to drink more calories, but the gut was having none of it. So I took the bottle with me and headed out, hoping the gut would settle down and I could take in more fuel while walking.

The Run

A total misnomer. There was no running. I joined the hordes of walking wounded, and started lap 1. I tried very hard not to think about the fact that I would have to pass this way three more times, and walked as fast as I could. The gut was hurting by now, and I fought off nausea for the first 6.5 miles. Made it to the turnaround and went back out for round 2, not sure if I was going to be able to finish this thing or not. Finally around mile 8.5 I was getting pretty woozy, and thought about a friend’s "involuntary nap in someone’s lawn" during Ironman Louisville (JD, sound familiar?). Decided if I didn’t sit down in the grass I would be doing the same thing. I sat, and promptly puked up everything I had taken in since getting off the bike. Everything. Nasty, but I sure did feel better! A couple of runners very kindly stayed with me for the few minutes it took to get my legs back, and one of them walked with me a bit to make sure I was really ok (I was).

At mile 11 I was finally ready to try to eat something again, but needed to sit down first. The volunteers were simply amazing (this station was manned by members of the local running club, the Landrunners). One kind soul was very encouraging. She noted that I felt cool (not a great sign) and forced me to try something new. They had baby dill pickles at all of the aid stations. I’ve seen this before, and it’s never sounded good. Sure did sound good now! Saltines and pickles seemed to stay down fine, so I did the remaining 15 miles grabbing a pickle or two at each aid station, an occasional saltine, and washing it down with plain water. Stomach felt fine for the rest of the evening.

My legs also had recovered completely from the bike ride, but by now my feet were ruined for running. I was wearing Newtons, which are very much designed for at least a slow trot, NOT for walking. For those not familiar with Newtons, they have lugs on the sole, on the front of the foot. This encourages a mid-sole strike and a lean forward. They’re wonderful for anything faster than a walk. However, if you walk in them, they’re pushing your heels back into the sole and applying more pressure to the ball of your foot than a normal shoe. This resulted in giant hot spots covering the entire pad of both feet, and deep blisters on my heels. The hot spots felt like giant blisters, and the heels just plain hurt. This all started around the time I puked, so I had to stagger more than half the marathon. I’m sure I looked like I’d been hit by a car.

The day's carnage was evident. I knew I was likely last, but I was not the only one missing the cutoff. About 30 yards past an aid station, I came upon a runner who was clearly not doing well. He told me he was woozy, and I guided him to the grass to sit down. He sat/fell in the grass, but was conscious. I told him to sit there while I staggered back to the aid station on screaming feet. Thankfully they had a golf cart there and gave me a ride back to the man. By then he was standing, unsteadily, with two other people holding him up. I knew he had help, so I continued on my way. I don’t know if they loaded him into the cart or not. I’m not sure he finished.

By the fourth turnaround I was really depressed and pissed off. Damn this was miserable. What the hell is WRONG with me? This just flat-out sucks, big time. Had to laugh when I came upon skunk #3 though, and watched it scurry back into the woods. Now wouldn’t THAT just cap off a truly wretched day?

With close to three miles to go, I knew I’d seen the last of the other late finishers. The SAG wagon caught up to me and followed me for the rest of the way, lighting the path quite nicely. The driver told me there’d been more than 70 DNFs between the half and the full (did not finish). Wow. This is a small race, so I knew that was a very high rate indeed. OK, I guess I can be a little less pissed at myself and be grateful I was able to keep moving. Suck it up, buttercup, and get this thing DONE!

Staggered in to the finish with my SAG escort. Poor Suzanne was still there waiting for me, and I finally crossed the finish line at 1:45am, 18 hours 20 minutes and 53 seconds after going into the water that morning. Oh it felt good to finish, but could I please sit and take my shoes off? The dawgs were screaming pretty loudly by then, but I felt surprisingly good otherwise.

Collected all my swag, marveled at all the genuinely supportive people that were still there, thanked them profusely for hanging around, and retrieved my stuff. One wonderful man gave me a ride to the car, and we chatted about the day. He was in charge of the swim, and also was caught off guard by how much worse it was than expected. Like us, he had looked at the water and thought it would be choppy but not scary. He said it became immediately apparent that it was going to be a tough day, as people were struggling shortly after starting. He pulled one guy out within the first few hundred yards who was swimming in circles. He’d become so disoriented that he couldn’t even tell them what year it was. Yikes.

This one was far, far more mental than physical. My body wanted me to stop, and many times I had to mentally check in and assess. Every time, it was clear that while I was hurting, I wasn’t doing any serious damage, and the body was capable of continuing. The REAL issue was mental. I was mentally tired early on, and constantly tried to reset throughout the day. When I started the bike, I forced myself to forget the swim. When I got to the turnaround and had to face the winds again (oh I really was wishing I'd signed up for the half), I just took a deep breath and tried to forget about the first bike loop. By the time I was truly hating life on the run, I was simply in too deep to quit. Especially when all those people were hanging around so I could finish! So even though I didn’t do it in the "official" 17-hour time frame, I did it, it still counts, and I still got the same swag as the first finisher. That works for me!

Stats

129 finishers/38 DNF
Swim: 2:08:58 (~2.8 miles, maybe more?)
T1: 8:46
Bike: 8:19:19
T2: 8:13
Run: 7:36:10
Total time: 18:20:53

Really, the only time that’s completely out of whack for me is the run. Not so bad! Everything else is a little slower than I had hoped, but not by much. Seven of us missed the cutoff, and I was only 8 minutes behind the one in front of me. I was surprised to find out it had gotten up to 88 and very humid. Well no wonder I was sapped off the bike. It's been a very cool year and I'm simply not used to that kind of heat. FYI: I shipped the bike back through the local bike shop, ground. Am avoiding the primates at TSA from now on!

Oh, and the title of this post? DFL (dead bleeping last) > DNF (did not finish) > DNS (did not start)