Cambridge, Maryland
Saturday, September 16, 2023
Prologue: It is the evening before Ironman Maryland, as I write this brief pictorial essay from my hotel room. A full Ironman has been on my bucket list for at least ten years, and for some reason, this was the year that I finally signed up for one. I researched the ones within comfortable driving distance, and between Lake Placid, Tremblant, and Maryland, I chose the latter primarily because of the flat bike and flat run courses, and put my money down back in January.
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| We arrived Thursday (you have to check in for the race two days prior to race day). We stayed in a Marriott 30 miles away in Salisbury, Maryland. With the race site being fairly rural, there are no hotels within four miles of the start of finish, and those few nearby that weren't quickly sold out were going for $600 and up, per night. There are other IM athletes staying at our hotel as well. --- This was a nice hotel, and I liked that it had a refrigerator, toaster, and microwave for early race day breakfast prep. |
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| Friday morning: final run, an easy one on flat trails in a nearby state park just over the line in Delaware: Trap Pond State Park |
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| And then after hotel breakfast with Jana, it was time to get down to business: packing for the race. ---- You are given five bags to pack and check in. Here is how I used them:
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The bike special needs bag you get at Mile 59 on the bike course. The run special needs bag you can get in the transition area at any time (you pass it six times), with the caveat that you can only access it once. I'll try to time that around sunset. The morning gear bag, after removing and putting on your swim gear, is replaced with dry clothes for post-race and you get it at the finish area.
(I only know the above because I read the 58-page athlete guide at least five times, but I'm sure there's still something I will get wrong. Hopefully it won't be a serious issue, whatever it is.)
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| It was daunting to come through here, have your bike inspected, and checked in. Despite following a YouTube video on how to affix the two bike stickers for Ironman, I was told I got both of them placed wrong. One they moved and the other they just let it pass. |
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| And here is where my bike went (#1157, second from right in pic). The tightest transition area I've ever seen. I looked around at other bikes, and saw bike computers had been removed by their owners, so I did the same. Lesson learned the hard way when mine was stolen off my bike in transition at Newport Tri last year. |
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| That's a lot of bikes! 1,200+ |
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| Run gear bag check area |
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| Bike gear bag check area. I hope all this will make sense to me on race day! |
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| Maybe I shouldn't have checked out the swim area. This area (finish area where you come out of the water) intimidated me because of the whitecaps in the river (9 o'clock in pic). Reminded myself it's supposed to be less windy tomorrow. |
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| And this area (swim start) intimidated me because the buoys keep going and going. I'll have to remember to break this down into sections tomorrow so I don't get discouraged. Mental games. |
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| Back in Salisbury, went to a nice dog-friendly restaurant along a river. |
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| To Jana's left, you may see the band that was playing. They were really good! Just got completely lucky that they were playing my genre of music, and it eased my mind and relaxed me a bit as I listened to songs by Tom Petty, Bryan Adams, Eagles, etc. |
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| Carbo load dinner: seafood fettucine, with local Maryland crab, shrimp, and scallops. |
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| Morning comes early with an alarm clock wake-up at 4:30am. I'll close out this "prologue" with positive thoughts from a child. Every athlete received a hand-written note of encouragement from a local Maryland elementary schooler. Here is mine. When I am out there tomorrow struggling on the course and wondering what the heck I got myself into, I will try to remember Brooklynn's advice that it's about finishing, believing in myself, and not giving up. |
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Race day:
Morning came early for me on race day. Up at 4:30am prompt, a quick shower to wake me up a bit, breakfast of oatmeal, a bagel, a bar, and out the door by 5am, arriving at race site by 5:40am, with a huge thank you to Jana dropping me off in the early morning dark before making the 30-mile return trek to our hotel in Salisbury. Temps were in the 50s, and I'd be sitting around for a while, so she gave me a sweatshirt to put on while I hung around. Good call! Transition is scheduled to close at 6:30am, with a 6:50am race start.
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| 6am: Milling about in the dark with over 1,000 other athletes and also supporters |
Having the bike checked in as required the previous day and with nothing allowed to be setup in transition actually made things easier and quicker on race day. I put bottles of fluid on my bike, as well as affixed my bike computer. I looked around and saw bike computers were now attached to other bikes, and at this point you could only gain access to the bike area by showing an Ironman bracelet, so I felt comfortable with that.
Next I checked in my bike gear bag and run gear bag, which was so quick and easy, so I had plenty of time. In fact, much more time than I had realized because ...
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| 6:10am: Bike is all set |
Next I checked in my bike gear bag and run gear bag, which was so quick and easy, so I had plenty of time. In fact, much more time than I had realized because ...
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| 6:15am: bike and run gear bag are checked in, the sun is starting to rise, and the Choptank River still looks choppy |
The race was delayed. What?! When I returned back from the gear drop bag area, I overheard people talking about a delay. Apparently I missed an announcement in the transition area, so I went to ask one of the many volunteers near transition. He told me the race was delayed one hour due to choppiness in the water and one lap was eliminated, cutting down the swim length from 2.4 miles to 1.2 miles.
I hadn't checked in my final gear bag, the morning gear bag yet, so I held onto that and sat down at a playground with some rubberized ground surface. Took out my phone to text the change of plans to Jana and a few others, and texted back and forth with friend Tommy 5K, which helped my nerves for the upcoming choppy swim.
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| 6:35am: at the playground |
There was another announcement which I could barely hear so I headed over to transition area. The swim course would now be changed completely and reduced further to 918 meters (0.6 miles). Reasons given were the choppiness and a "slack tide" with the tide and wind going in opposite directions. Further, this was originally to be a rolling wave of five athletes entering the water together every five seconds, but for safety and being able to monitor in the water, this was now reduced to one athlete every five seconds.
OK, got it. Not sure if I'm happy about the swim length reduction or not, but nothing I can do about it. I do feel more nervous now that the conditions are bad enough to warrant these changes. Water temperature is 74°F, so wetsuit legal.
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| 6:50am: And now back to the rubber playground tarmac, and good to have the sweatshirt Jana brought, with the extra time hanging around. Meanwhile, IM organizers were out in the water reconfiguring the course and moving the buoys around by boat. |
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| 7:30am: I watched the start of professional men, followed by the professional women five minutes later. This was the 9th year of Ironman Maryland, and the first year they had a pro division. Pro male and pro female winner would each win $15,000, with the top 10 finishers in each sex getting 4-digit purses. |
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| 7:39am: I'm dressed and ready to go. Since there is a changing tent that you go through, after researching and talking to triathletes like Elise, I went for comfort over speed. Specifically, I didn't care what my T1 or T2 time would be or even my overall time, so I changed clothes into what would be the most comfortable for me in each activity. --- My swim attire: jammers only, covered by wetsuit. No tri suit that would have me starting the bike portion wet and salty. |
Hurry up and wait: Powered off my phone and checked it into my morning gear bag, along with casual socks and shoes for post-race, shirt, and sweatshirt. Check-in of this bag was super quick and efficient, and I walked over to the swim start with plenty of time to spare, and per instructions lined up with signs for my predicted pace as if we would be swimming the full original 2.4 miles.
The cannon went off signaling the start. Yay, we're off! Oh, how come no one is moving? Oh OK, the staggered wave start, right. So I'm thinking as I'm waiting in line about Boston Marathons I've run where it's taken me three or minutes just to get the starting line.
But I had no idea that once the race started, I would be waiting in line for 1 hour and 23 minutes!! Oh yeah, over 1,000 athletes to get in to the water spaced at five second intervals. Spent the next 1 hour and 23 minutes connecting with three others attempting the Ironman for the first time: Danielle from New Hampshire, Nina from Maryland, and a guy in the Navy currently living in Texas whose name I've already forgotten. Although they were all much younger than me (who isn't, right?), I enjoyed talking to the two women more as I felt I had more in common with them and let's just say they seemed more grounded than the military guy.
We talked about other tris we had done, which activity we were best at, fretting about whether we put the right gear in the right gear bag, our time expectations, etc. I'll never see these people again in my life most likely, but it still helped to talk and pass the time. The RD also did a good job of talking about the race constantly and even though we couldn't see those about to go in the water because they were so far away in the crowd, she would ask folks as they came up to announce to her if they were from outside the US or had some interesting story to tell. Many survivors of cancer (I wasn't alone there), some born with birth defects or MS, one was on her honeymoon, and perhaps the most impressive was the oldest athlete at 83 years old! For the foreign countries, not surprisingly many were from different parts of Canada with many from Quebec and Ontario, but there was also Aruba (I know, not a country), UK, Germany, Turkey, Spain, and the furthest that I heard was Japan!
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Swim: 9:13am start. Finally of course, I did get up to the front. A volunteer stood right at the start line as you crossed under an arch, over a chip timing mat, and went into the water.
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| The water at the start doesn't look choppy at all, right? (Note this pic was taken at 6:25am, not during my start at 9:13am, but the water conditions were pretty much the same) --- We started in a protected cove, and it was when we got into the middle of the river and the finish in a close but separate spot that it would be choppy. |
The water was pretty shallow and I waded in up to my waist before starting swimming. Note only the pro athletes were allowed to go into the water to warm up before their race start. That was new to me as well.
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| This is video from the actual swim start this year. You can see the competitor's wetsuit-clad leg on the left, as he starts his way down the chute into the water, and towards a volunteer in green straight ahead. |
I got into my slow but regular rhythm and despite my nervousness over these conditions that prompted a delay and two course changes, I never had any issue! Of course I'll never know if these changes mitigated the issues for me and I'll just have to trust the race officials.
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| Original swim course (in dark blue heat map outlines), and today's swim course (my Strava track in red). |
I put my head up and sighted buoys every five strokes and again, no issues. We did eventually get into choppier water, but I think I had built this up in my head that it would be difficult and dangerous, when in reality swimming in waves in triathlons in the ocean back home was much trickier for me.
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| I had no problem sighting or navigating the buoys. And the start (here) isn't even choppy! |
I went past one person treading water, swam into a couple of swimmers (literally) and adjusted course to go past them, and in the choppy section saw one swimmer stopped and clinging on to a buoy as I went past. Granted, I started way towards the back in my proper seed, but to think I was passing anyone was astounding.
The swim to the walled boat launch was really cool, and there were plenty of volunteers in the water making sure you didn't hit any of the walls. I came out of the water, and one of the wetsuit "strippers" asked me to lie down on a mat and point my toes out, and within seconds she had my wetsuit off and handed back to me. Wow, that was cool!
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| Here is the walled boat launch that we swam into to finish the swim race. --- (I know, the swimmers are swimming out of the boat launch in this pic, but I took this from a CNN article covering the 2016 Ironman Maryland, where they apparently had a reversed or different course.) |
Swim time: 23:00, 889th of 1,031 finishers, 58th out of 70 in age group
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T1: As with various other parts of the Ironman, this was like no other transition I had ever been through! Leaving the wetsuit "strippers", you go through the bike gear bag area where your bag is handed to you, and then off to the male changing tent. Once inside, a volunteer gets you water and another volunteer directs you to a chair to sit down and explains where he has various things setup, including vaseline, sunscreen, energy bars, etc. It seems most of the other male athletes in here will wear and keep on their tri-suit, but I'm not alone in stripping off my wet jammers and putting on dry bike shorts and a dry bike jersey. I put on dry Darn Tough socks (made in Vermont!), bike shoes, vaseline for the sensitive parts, sunscreen, put my personal nutrition into my back jersey pockets, get another water, and am ready to go. I put all my wet swim gear back into the bike gear bag, hand that off to another volunteer and walk (not run, no need for speed today) to get my bike and walk it out of transition.
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| Hurray for the wetsuit strippers! |
T1 time: 10:41.
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Bike: 9:47am start. I cross the mount line in the road and am off. The layout of this course is that you ride two 44-ish mile loops, but you ride out about 12 miles to get to the loop, and then at finish, ride about 9 miles back at conclusion of two loops. The entire course is pancake flat.
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| 2-loop lollipop course |
On the first stem of the lollipop, there are a lot of turns as the course winds through neighborhoods. Many (most, actually) cyclists are going past me as opposed to me passing them. By the time I reach the first aid station 12 miles in at the intersection of the stem and the start of the 2-loops, I have to pee really badly.
I have enough fluids in my two bottles at this point, so I don't take anything here. While I am stopped propping up my bike and getting in and out of the porta-jon, I take advantage of watching the experienced folks riding through, tossing their water bottles so they slide just off the road, then grabbing a replacement bottle (of water or Gatorade Endurance formula).
Starting the first of two loops, we have left the neighborhoods behind and are riding through big cornfields and fields and fields of some leafy crop that I do not recognize:
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| (This is a stock photo off the Internet when Googling later for "Dorchester County, Maryland crops". ) --- Although I didn't care about time (except beating the six course cut-offs), I did not take any photos during the race, and there were some scenic spots. In fact, I didn't even bring my phone, in order to make sure to adhere to the Ironman rule that doesn't allow you to use your cell phone during the race. --- So what is this crop? Do you know? Any guesses? Answer further down. |
For the duration of the first 40+ mile loop, two frequent occurrences are bothering me mentally:
- Cyclists are passing me at an estimated ratio of about 10:1 (i.e. for every 10 cyclists that pass me, I pass one). I'm usually riding about 70th percentile in local tris, but this isn't a local tri, and there are also pros in this race. I try to remind myself of this and resist the urge to speed up and stick to my plan of averaging 15mph for an 8-hour ride.
- Every ten miles exactly there is an Ironman sign indicating the mileage. I'm fine with seeing the "20 Miles", "30 Miles", etc signs that actually apply to me. But going past the "70 Miles", "80 Miles", etc and knowing those don't apply to me, but they do apply to the guys (and gals) flying past me and lapping me is just so daunting and disheartening.
Part of the bike course. The guy in front (far right in pic)
looks like the type that blew past me lapping me,
and the others roughly look like the folks I'd see in the 2nd loop.
There are nine aid stations along the course, approximately 15 miles apart, so I decide to break up the bike portion of the race into aid stations, so that my only focus is getting to the next aid station and thus hopefully I won't dwell too long on the daunting "70 Miles" signs.
By the time I reach the second aid station, I have this pain in my stomach area. I realize it is because my bladder is so full. Again. I was thinking I would try the bottle exchange thing, but the priority was to get to the porta-jon. Done with that, I tossed my empty water bottle and walked back to grab a new one from a volunteer.
Eventually we left the cornfields and soybean fields (that's what the mystery crop was) and entered the vast 32,000 acre Blackwater National Wildlife Refuge. Pretty areas through ponds, marshes, and even forests, but so much was open without trees that in headwinds I struggled to ride 12-13 mph.
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| Very scenic bike route! (you can see cyclist in lower left) But these were also the types of places where you paid the price fighting the wind. Or I did at least. |
I kept the aid stations as goals and constantly checked mileage and speed on my bike computer to maintain pace and mental acuity as I worked through math on speed, remaining distance to next aid station. At the third aid station, I finally tried the bottle exchange thing. I didn't ride full speed through the aid station like the pros do because I'd probably screw it up (and besides, it was time to pee again!), but I slowed down, grabbed and tossed my water bottle and took a new water bottle from a volunteer while riding. Voila! I didn't even crash.
I saw at least ten bikers pulled off to the side with flat tires. I've never actually changed a flat on my new bike, and certainly don't want to now, especially as it's my first bike ever with tubeless tires and disc brakes.
Even worse, I saw two bikers lying down on the side of the road being attended to by emergency personnel. One is clutching his head, and the other looks like he is about to be loaded into an ambulance. Scary.
Final note of interest on Loop 1 was making a 90-degree turn onto another road, and I was unaware of a cyclist coming up behind me fast. I cut the turn too sharp and cut the guy off. He was trying to pass me on my right. Not sure that's legal anyway, but he had to brake quickly in order to avoid hitting me. I apologized to him, but he said it was all good.
Bike - Loop 2: Starting Loop 2, for the first time, I had high confidence that failing any crash or bike mechanical issues, I would complete the bike section. Now the "60 Miles" and "70 Miles" sign were really for me! And when I saw the "20 Miles" and "30 Miles" signs, I just thought I'm so glad that those miles were way behind me.
Stopped at Mile 59 aid station to pick up my bike special needs bag, containing the rest of my nutrition for the ride. And of course, stopped as well to pee. This was the first time there was a line for the porta-jons, but I kind of enjoyed the break.
Back on the bike now, there were less cyclists out there, but still usually at least one in my field of vision. I was still being passed regularly, but the super fast guys and gals were long gone, probably out on their run now, and instead of being passed 10:1 now in the second loop the ratio was probably more like 3:2.
It was warm now, about 80 degrees, and I made sure to hydrate well, alternating between water and Gatorade, as well as watching the clock on my bike computer to consume gels and waffles, like clockwork. Actually I guess that is clockwork.
The bigger issue was I was getting sore and I was getting uncomfortable. I alternated between being in the aero bar position and being upright on the handlebars, and I even stood up out of the saddle frequently because my legs were getting cramped. With my frequent pit stops to pee, it actually felt good to get completely off the bike.
My two favorite signs were "100 Miles" and "Turn left to finish". That last 12 miles seemed to go on forever, but finally I found myself at the dismount line, and was go glad to get off the bike, check it in, and head back to the changing tent. That ends my last ride of 2023. There was no running involved here. No need for speed today.
Nutrition consumed on today's ride: 5 liters of water, 4 liters of Gatorade Endurance Formula, 5 Honey Stinger Waffles, 10 GU gels
Bike time: 7:34:27, 958th out of 1,031 finishers, 68th out of 70 in age group
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T2: Picked up my run gear back, hit the head, and went into the male changing room. I am feeling beat, and took time to eat my final Honey Stinger Waffle, drink quite a bit of water, and chill in front of a large fan. As with T1, completely stripped out of my smelly sweaty clothes and put on fresh socks, running short, and a running singlet with bib pinned to it in advance. Threw all my bike stuff, including helmet and shoes, into the run gear bag, and turned it in, and then had to visit the bathroom again on the way out. What is going on? At least I must be well hydrated?
T2 time: 18:28 (Yeah, I really milked this one!)
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Run: 5:40pm start. Where did the day go? Oh yeah, I spent it out on the bike course. 78°F at the start; certainly not ideal. Mile 1 on the run in a triathlon is often the slowest for me with what I call that "Gumby" effect where my legs just feel rubbery getting off the bike. But this time my legs don't even want to move. Uh oh. I shuffle a bit, try to run, and stop, and walk. And repeat. About 3 times, and then I finally get going at a snail pace.
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| I hated this cobblestone section of the run course. There was a caution sign that the surface was uneven. This was part of a cone turnaround, which you traversed four times. But because this was an OAB course essentially, you really went on this section eight times. Ugh. |
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| Here you can get a feel for the multiple OAB course. (This is my actual Strava GPS track.) Three and a half OABs, a few weird loops at the northern end and 180° turnaround at the southern end. Not great. |
After a 10-minute first mile, I settled into a pace of low 8s (8:09, 8:01, 8:00, 8:03, etc). This is easy! And the crowd support is great. I feel like I will able to keep churning out these miles all night. Until I can't anymore...
By Mile 11, I am feeling weak and my stomach is upset. I run two more miles to the next aid station at Mile 13 and head into the porta-jon to pee. I know I have to go, but I am starting to fall and grab the metal bars inside the porta-jon. No, I did not fall or land into the toilet, but this isn't going to work, so back out of the porta-jon. I walked over to the aid station food tables, and I have to grab the table to avoid collapsing and falling over. An aid station volunteer quickly comes over and asks me questions:
- Are you OK? Um, not sure.
- What's wrong? I am really light headed and weak.
- For how long? About the past two miles.
- Did you throw up or have diarrhea? No, and no.
- Do you want to sit down in one of our chairs and rest? I'd really just like to lie down on the lawn (and die). Don't think I said that last parenthetical part.
She convinced me to get some solid food and sit in the chair instead of lying down. GU normally works well for me for marathons, but in retrospect I think my body was sick of the GU gels and wanted something solid and substantive. I grabbed a plate, loaded it up with chocolate chip cookies, Fig Newtons, oranges, grapes, and pretzels, and two cups of water, and headed over to the chair to sit down. The sitting down part was excruciating! I know let out a scream and I may or may not have let out an expletive as well. I apologized to the aid worker, but she said it was fine.
I scarfed down the entire plate of food, and rather quickly I might add. Finished the water, and when a different aid worker came back to ask how I was doing and what they could get for me, it hit me then with the similarity between my current predicament and where I was on the medical cot in the middle of the Quebec Mega Trail 52K this summer. I have a huge amount of praise for the workers in both situations.
I was at the aid station for about 20 minutes, and then I started to get cold. It's about 7:30pm now and just about sunset. The temperature is not cold at all, but my body has lost heat, and I'm soon about to be cold AND in the dark. Decision time. Resume running or drop out? My body is shot, and I really want this to be over now. I think of Brooklyn's letter and "believe in yourself and don't give up" but more than that I think that I don't want unfinished business and don't want to have to come back and ride 112 miles ever again!
And then as I look at the course in front of me, I notice SO MANY athletes walking and realize there is a happy medium between DNF and running: walking! Let's try that for a bit. I get out of the chair, thank the volunteers, and start walking. Slowly. A woman passes me walking and points out how beautiful the sunset is over the Choptank River. Oh yeah, I hadn't even noticed we're right along the river. And it is beautiful. Slow down and smell the coffee?
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| Here's what much of the run course looks like. |
I walked the next two miles to the next aid station, and then of course, you know what I did, right? Yup, back into the porta-jon, this time successfully draining the bladder, and then scarfed down more food. This aid station had hot chicken broth also. Hit the spot! Finished that, got some more water, and as I got near the end of the long line of tables, the speaker at the aid station started blaring out the very motivational rhythm of the AC/DC song "Money Talks". That was my cue to try to start running again. The old legs sure tried. I was like a baby duck trying to fly as it flaps its wings long and hard enough in hopes that he might get airborne. Finally I am running again!!! OK, it was more like a shuffle, but hey, I'm moving!
OK, new plan. No more GUs. Stop at every single aid station (about every 2 miles) and eat solid food, walk through the aid station, and then start to run. It worked! It wasn't pretty and it wasn't fast, but the miles were slowly clicking away at 12, 13, and 14-minute paces (instead of my Mile 13 split of 32 minutes!).
It was completely dark now, so at my next opportunity (Mile 16 at 8:30pm) I stopped and went to the run special needs gear bag claim and got my bag with my headlamp in it. I was surprised that the majority of runners did not wear a headlamp. Poor planning? Or they didn't care? There were portable construction type bright lights set up at major intersections, and all the roads were closed to traffic, but they still had race course vehicles and emergency vehicles coming through and I couldn't see the runners ahead of me (until I had my own headlamp on).
At Mile 18, I hear Jana call out to me. I tell her I'm at Mile 18 and I have just one more lap to go. Knowing she is there waiting for me to finish is also a huge incentive for me to finish now. Eight more miles to go. Third and final lap. You can do this! Believe in yourself and don't give up.
I keep to my plan of stopping, walking, and eating my way through the aid stations. Until Mile 23, when I think it doesn't matter anymore and I can finish just based on will now. No more stopping and I actually pick up the pace to drop back into 9-minute and mid-8 pace range. Oh, I can taste victory now. So many in the crowd are cheering, and I am so close.
Final turn, off the 3-lap course, and into Long Wharf Park where the finish line awaits. It's all floodlit and there is a cool walled off running lane just for finishers. I see a big bell with a rope and a sign indicating for first-time Ironman finishers to ring the bell. I do so. Turn the bend and then done!
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| Here is the finishing chute, with the bell just ahead of this runner in above video snippet. |
Run time: 4:47:48, 404th out of 1,031 finishers, 14th out of 70 in age group
Overall: 13:14:22, 731st place of 1,031 finishers, 44th out of 70 in age group
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"Jeff Walker, of Westerly, Rhode Island, you are an Ironman!" They really did announce that! Volunteers lead you directly to the morning gear bag check, which is located adjacent to the finish and very efficient. I'm trying to figure out how to get out of here and how I'll get to the spectator area, and am fearing a Philadelphia Marathon long walk and process, when all of a sudden Jana finds me. Oh, great, that's a relief.
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| Finished a long-time goal: I am an Ironman! |
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| Somebody else seemed happy to see me as well! |
I get food from the Athletes Village: burrito with chicken and vegetables, and rice and beans. My stomach is all messed up and in knots, so I just take it to go, and will heat it back up in the hotel room microwave when I get back. Which won't be until 1am!
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| It's almost 11pm now. I finished at 10:28pm. I am beat, sore, and in pain actually, but I still have a ways to go. |
Now it's time for the mandatory bike and gear bag check-out, which are both 1 mile away back at transition. Well, there's no way we can drive there, since the course is still closed and parking is so hard to come by. So we're off for a walk there, and then a walk back. Just what I need! Getting up and over sidewalk curbs is a challenge at this point! Along the way it's my turn now to give encouragement back to all the athletes still out on the course. Some will make the 1am cut-off, and as I read in posts later, some will not. I saw one FB post of an athlete who crossed the finish line seconds after the time cut-off, but rules are rules, and received a "DNF". Ugh. I can't imagine the frustration.
Retrieved the bike and gear bags, shuffled back to Jana's car, re-attached the bike rack, loaded the bike, drove illegally down one-way streets to get out of there, drove the 30 miles back to the hotel, showered, had "dinner", posted the obligatory Strava posts (you know the saying, "If it's not on Strava, it didn't count.") and after being up since 4:30am, I finally hit the light switch at 2am and went to bed. Long, long, tiring, day!
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What went well for me:
- The entire Ironman website and communications were professional, detailed, and immensely helpful.
- The volunteers were amazing, from check-in on Thursday to finishing chute and checkout late Saturday night.
- The Cambridge, Maryland area and the course in particular was very scenic. Many river views, including sunrise on the river (pre-swim) and sunset on the river (run).
- Shockingly, I did really well in the swim, exceeding my expectations! ("really well" is relative for me, of course). I think I was extra nervous because of the conditions, but having swam in much rougher conditions in the ocean back home, I just got into my rhythm and was very comfortable out there.
- The wetsuit "strippers"! Top notch! I struggle to get into and out of my wetsuit and this just took the issue away completely.
- Changing tent. Not having to wear a wet salt-covered tri-suit the entire day made it all worthwhile for me personally. And then being able to run in my comfortable run shorts and singlet was fantastic!
- Finishing chute. Of course I would have been happy to cross even a line drawn in dirt to get this over, but wow, the finishing chute, personalized announcements, bright lights, and powerful cheering from the crowd was just an amazing cap to my finish.
- The bike course. Scenic, very little traffic, and flat.
- The letter from Brooklynn. That was really cool and inspiring. And from an elementary school student! I thought they might all be cookie-cutter, but they weren't, as I read others that athletes had posted online, and Brooklynn's was longer and more inspiring.
- Speaking of inspiring, the support from friends and athletes back home was very encouraging and helpful, both pre and post race. I am grateful for all the texts, e-mails, Strava comments, etc.
- Finally, my number one supporter, Jana (although Brady is probably right behind her!). Whether it's a nearby race in Westerly, or one on the other side of the world in Singapore or remote wilderness in Iceland, or this one with a drop-off in the dark at 5:40am and a finish in the dark at 10:30pm, she's there!
- Most of all, I finished!!!! That was my only goal, and I did it. There were no A, B, or C goals. There were over 1,200 registered runners. 1,154 started the race, and 1,028 finished, with 126 (about 11%) receiving the designation of DNF. I could have easily been amongst them, but I was not.
What could have gone better for me:
- Uncomfortable on the bike. This is obviously on me and the fact that I didn't train enough on the bike. My response is "it just takes so much time on the bike to train properly", which while true, is a bit of an excuse as a retired guy. I got through it, but the 7 1/2 hours in the saddle really dragged on and made me quite sore. My bike performance was bottom of the barrel, being in the bottom 10% overall and bottom 5% in my age group, but my only goal here was to beat the time cut-off and finish, which I did.
- Wind on the bike. It wasn't terribly windy, but it was energy draining with even the approximate 10mph winds when going into a headwind on a mostly wide open course.
- The run course. Scenic? Yes. But otherwise it was really horrible, with over 100 turns, including weird turns in and out of school parking lots and four 180° turns, not to mention the eight times you run on uneven cobblestone and that it was basically a triple out-and-back course. So many Ironman courses (maybe all?) seem to have multiple OAB run courses and now I think I understand why: many runners will be in the dark, and you want to limit the area of the course for safety, aid station, and amount of lighting you need to provide. Totally my guess by the way. But regardless, it doesn't make it enjoyable or a good marathon course.
- My run performance. I wouldn't say I was cocky about the run, but definitely confident I would get through it without issue. This would be my 24th marathon after all. Yeah, but I've never swam and then biked 112 miles before trying to run a marathon, and my body was done halfway into the run. I relied on what I always do: GU gels every 45 minutes, alternating water and Gatorade (or whatever facsimile provided), but it didn't work this time. In retrospect, clearly a nutrition issue that I just didn't know what worked in this situation and I didn't anticipate this at all.
- Inconsistency in food layout at run stations. This one is minor, but clearly some aid stations had really put effort into making it easy for runners, and others had just barely done a perfunctory job of unloading boxes onto tables. Two quick examples:
- Grapes: one aid station just left large clusters of grapes in big boxes that you'd reach into, where another had not only taken the grapes off the stems, but had placed several individual grapes (devoid of stems) into paper cups for runners to take and easily consume.
- Fig Newtons: one aid station just had them wrapped and boxed, and another aid station had unwrapped all of the Fig Newtons, making it very easy to grab and eat. Again, minor, but as this became a go-to food for me once I switched to eating solid foods at each aid station, you wouldn't imagine how in my energy-depleted state and weakened body, how hard it was to open something normally so easy as a Fig Newton wrapper.
- Post-run distance from finish back to transition. While the multiple-loop and multiple-OAB format seems prevalent in Ironmans, the separation from finish to transition seems an IM Maryland thing. Late at night, dark, and body spent, the last thing I want to do is walk two miles in the dark both ways to retrieve my bike and gear bags as required before 1am.
- Lack of infrastructure. The lack of parking and lack of hotels at finish were major inconveniences and wasted a lot of time and frustration. If I were ever to do an Ironman again (which I'm not planning on), I would look seriously at something like Chattanooga, where there are hotels pretty much right at the finish area.
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A few reflections as I look back:
Having a watch capable of recording this entire event:
- It only dawned on me a few weeks before race day that there was no way my current Garmin Fenix 5S Plus would have the battery life to last through the IM event.
- At the QMT 52K where I finished in just over 8 hours this summer, I kept getting notifications towards the end of the race that remaining battery was very low, 10%, 5%, etc. I clicked save at the finish, and moments later the watch died.
- I love my Fenix 5S Plus and all its features, especially the full color maps and navigation.
- So I thought the current version (Fenix 7) would be logical, until I saw the price tag of a grand. I've already dropped a few grand on this race alone, and my only watch requirements are a tri watch, great battery life, and preferably a Garmin.
- I bought a brand new boxed Garmin Instinct 2 Solar (retail $400) off eBay for $250. Charged it pre-race. Checked battery remaining life upon return to hotel after 13+ hours of constant GPS without using any battery saving features: 59%! This should work well for me for any and all endurance races!
Regarding the shortened swim distance:
- I went to Ironman Maryland expecting a 140.6 mile course, and with the shortened swim course, it didn't happen.
- I heard at least one athlete say this was going to be one and done for them (my intention also), but because of this, she said she would likely enter a second Ironman. That's fine; her choice.
- One guy on IM MD FB said: "whelp not a real Ironman them [sic]. Can't get the tattoo or wear the gear. Sorry thems the rules". This response to me is just total BS. This was a real sanctioned official Ironman event, which I completed, and I got the official gear for officially finishing.
- One response was from a fellow Ironman finisher who said that when you add in the transition and the post-race distance to transition and back, it was more than 140.6. That is true!
- A better response on FB was: I know that having an altered swim can be frustrating because, "it's not 140.6" but it is still in fact an IRONMAN! You raced the course you were given today.
- The best response on FB was from an Ironman Maryland triathlon coach ("Coach Erin"), excerpted below because it was lengthy:
Much like over 1,000 of you participating in IMMD this weekend, and the countless others supporting/cheering, I was surprised to hear of the shortened course for Saturday’s race. I honestly sighed a breath of relief that Ironman was taking seriously the water conditions for the day, especially in light of the recent Ironman Cork deaths. However, I know the news that the shortened, 918m swim course was not music to the ears of most of you. I know that as you received this news, most of you likely processed many emotions all at once.
...
THIS is what makes you an endurance athlete. The ability to persist. To move your body forward in uncertainty. To commit to the end, even when the path has changed.
You are not an Ironman because of the exact distance of the course.
You are not an Ironman because of a certain time, or power output, or placement.
YOU ARE AN IRONMAN because you showed the will to carry on.
YOU ARE AN IRONMAN because you found a way to process change.
YOU ARE AN IRONMAN because of your tenacity.
I hope you revel in that.
I hope you look back on your IMMD 2023 experience with excitement.
Well written and thank you, Coach Erin! I do indeed revel in this and look back on my IMMD 2023 experience with excitement! I am an Ironman!
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| And here is the official gear that I received. (l-r: flag, finisher's medal, backpack, hat, tech shirt) --- I will use and wear this gear proudly, because ... |
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| I am an Ironman!!! |
