Ironman Race Report for EndurancePlanet.com - originally posted on 10/19/2009
Oct 29, 2009 12:39 Filed in: Ironman
It's only been a few day since Kona, so I probably have a lot of different emotions still to process. But I wanted to write down what I'm feeling now and record the many interesting, exciting, and emotional things that happened to me during the week in Kona.
Kona week really began for me here in LA on Monday at the airport. A variety of Ironman athletes were on my flight, identified by their deer-in-headlights look and their oh so fashionable compression socks. There were first timers, like myself. Qualifiers who got to Kona through years of hard work. And Ironman royalty in Dave Scott, sitting just two rows behind me on the plane. The nervous excitement was palpable even there, several thousand miles away from Kona and still the better part of week away from race day.
From Tuesday on the very reality of the event was all around me. I registered, met athletes and volunteers, and was greeted in the middle of the official race program by an unexpected giant 8x11 glossy of myself. In my 38 years I've seen many a centerfold. I shouldn't be one of them.
After registration was over I took my bike up the Queen K and did some riding around the bike turnaround in Hawi. I felt good, strong, and excited. It's beautiful up there and the reality that I would get to ride 112 miles along that coast on the coming Saturday was thrilling. Stopping for an ice cream in town before heading back down the highway to Kona I met Germans, Italians, and Australians. It truly is an international event of the highest order.
On Wednesday, with Carrie now on the Island, the interviews began. First, TV for the Ironman people and some canned broll of me running along the bay. I spent 10 minutes on the phone with a writer from Outdoor Magazine and a good hour-plus with a writer and photographer from the AP. Then it was lunch, nap, VIP cocktail party, another airport run to pick up Carrie's mom (my parents came in earlier that afternoon), and another nap before heading to the Kailua-Kona pier for a 1am live hit for Al Roker on the East Coast. It was fun and well worth doing, but it definitely made for a short night.
Thursday morning began with an early swim in the bay off Dig Me beach. And let me just say, I can't imagine a better way to wake up. No coffee needed. Not only is it refreshing and beautiful and exhilarating, if you really do need your morning cup and you can swim out to the Espresso Barge where the coffee was flowing. If that was the ocean we had here to swim in I can't imagine ever missing a day.
The swim was great, but the rest of Thursday was packed. More broll of me running and biking. A large press conference where I met some of the other amazing participant stories, including that of Rudy Garcia-Tolson, a double leg amputee looking to complete the race with nothing but gluteal muscles to power his pedaling and running. That was followed by a quick lunch and then on to Sports Medicine Conference where I was a speaker, then a meet and greet with NBC producers and another interview, then on to dinner to experience the complete flair that comes along with being a part of the Ford Ironman World Championship.
Another short night was followed by another relaxing dip in the waters of the bay. Can you tell I love that swim? (The irony of that is coming, hold on). The last of the pre-race interviews finally happened, then it was time to organize my gear and drop it at transition. I really do love the way they do it at Ironman. It makes for a much more relaxing pre-race night and race morning. No transition to set up. No last minute equipment decisions to make. And very very little to take with me in the morning on race day.
With very little on the schedule, except relaxing and resting, I was able to enjoy a dinner with the many friends and family members who sacrificed to come out and support me. It was a great time to celebrate where I was, now three years after heart transplant and 20 years after my first cancer diagnosis. And it was a great and appropriate group of people to be celebrating with. Wonderful friends, coaches who first instilled the love of my triathlon, the coach who got me to Kona, Carrie, my parents, and my mother-in-law. It was the perfect way to get me relaxed and focused for race day.
For the first time all week I slept.
Waking up early, of course, I downed a good and complete breakfast and then headed down to transition on the race shuttle. Body marking was a breeze, special needs drop off was easy, and all last minute bike checks were a snap. The organization of the event is mind-boggling. You are never more than 5 feet away from a volunteer who is just waiting to be asked for help. To air up your bike, to guide you to bag drop, etc. They are everywhere, and they are eager. It's probably the best part of Ironman.
Getting in the water was the moment I most dreaded. I expected that my stomach would be a mess and that the nerves would be cranked up as high as they could go. The exact opposite was true. I was calm, relaxed, and loving the moment. About 5 minutes before race start, and after I'd gotten about 10 minutes of warm up in, I floated in my starting position, taking in the surroundings. The crowd, the athletes, the cameras and helicopters. This was the Super Bowl and somehow I made it on to the field. Very cool.
With a cannon shot we were off, and I felt good. Earlier in the week I told Carrie that my greatest fear was not finishing the swim. Not because I thought it would or could happen, but because of all of the scenarios in play it would feel the worst. The idea that my day could end so early, after so much build up, was an awful thought. But about 15 minutes into my swim I knew that finishing the 2.4 miles would not be a problem. My rhythm was solid and my glide was good. I was having no fatigue, no breath problems, and I was keeping pace with other swimmers on the course. I wasn't fast, but I was safely on my way to completing the first leg of the Ironman.
It's definitely a long way to swim. Also, once you get outside of the bay and into the open ocean you deal with some chop of the waves and swells that have a tendency to hide buoys. But you're also never alone out there. Even when I couldn't see other swimmers, there was always a surfboard or two no more than 20 feet away.
But past the turnaround and at least halfway home there were still on occasion other swimmers around. Not a lot. But enough for me to feel that my pace was still good and my stroke was still steady. The swells were getting to me a little. I started to feel a little sea sick and my head began to get woozy. I was getting off my swim line because of the hard to see buoys, but that was always fixed by a corrective command from a surfboard rider. And occasionally I noticed that my stroke was flattening out. But not once did I need to stop. My fatigue was minimal and my breath was still with me. I began to think about T1 and the first few miles of the bike. Most specifically the first hour of nutrition and how best to keep myself drinking.
As I got close to the pier for the final few hundred yards of the swim it was obvious that not a lot of other swimmers were around me. In fact, I was surrounded by surfboards topped with people shouting words of encouragement. My internal clock had me coming in closer to the two-hour mark than I was hoping for. I was hoping to be on my bike by 9am but it felt like that 9am was going to be the time for my swim finish. Not a huge worry. I could make up the lost 10 minutes or so somewhere else.
At the pier now, and less than 100 yards to go, the encouragement from the surfboards intensified. "Pull!" "Dig!" "You got this, Kyle!"
I could also hear the crowds on the shore cheering and calling my name. It felt good to have so much personal support as I was finishing the swim. If this was an indication of how it would be for me on the course the rest of the race it was going to be a great day.
As I neared the end I was a little surprised by the frenzy of the people around me. Yes, it was very exciting. But I had a long day ahead of me and I couldn't blow too much emotion with 14 to 15 hours still to come. Standing up, I was immediately grabbed and dragged the final couple of feet to the steps of the swim out. "Touch the steps! Touch the steps!"
"I will," I thought to myself. "Give me a moment. I've been laying horizontal for the last 2.4 miles and it's going to take a second to get my bearings."
A huge cheer went up as I touched the steps and I heard the announcer shout, "He did it!" But as I turned up the steps and began to make my way into T1 an official stopped me and said, "I'm sorry, you're done. You didn't make it."
My first thought was, "Yes, I'm done. Now move so I get to my bike." But then the last half of his sentence registered and I reflexively looked down at my watch for the first time since 7:00am. It read 9:20. The reality hit like a punch to the stomach. I didn't make it. I had an easy to complete 2:20:00 to finish the swim but for some reason it had taken me 2:20:08. I was 8 seconds too slow.
I think I shouted, "No!" But I really don't remember. I know that I sunk to my hands and knees right there on the steps and started to sob. Months of training and years of dreaming had ended because of 8 seconds. My worst case scenario was a reality. The day that I had prepared for was over before it really began. I wouldn't get to ride along the Queen K and there would be no magical night at the finish line on Ali'i Drive. I was crushed.
I was ushered up the steps and over to the medical tent so I'd have a place to sit down away from the cameras. Carrie met me there and joined the tears. My mom arrived, as did coach Paul. And eventually Diana Bertsch, the race director came over to me. She told me that watching me come up short was the hardest moment for her in 7 years of doing the event.
Then Blair LaHaye, the director of communications for Ironman, come over. She has become my friend over the last several months and both Carrie and I took to her immediately upon meeting her face to face in Kona. She couldn't hold back the tears either, but did manage to tell me that there was always next year. I managed to ask, "You'll have me back?" And she said yes.
It has since been confirmed by her, Diana Bertsch, and the CEO of the World Triathlon Corporation (the Ironman folks), Ben Fertic, that an invitation for 2010 was not just an emotional reaction to the moment. It was officially offered, and I of course have accepted.
About 30 minutes after coming up short on the swim I spoke with Bob Babbitt on Ironman's live coverage of the event. I told him that I was disappointed, but honored to have been a part of the event. That it was still a very good day for me and that I would be back in 2010 most definitely. But at the time I wasn't sure if I was being strong for the TV cameras or if I really did feel like it was a good day. At that moment I felt the pain of failure and the embarrassment of doing it so publicly. I wasn't exactly participating in the event anonymously. Friends had flown thousands of miles to support. I had sponsors. I was the CBS Evening News the night before. I was in the race program, not to mention dozens of newspapers across the country. And yet I hadn't even finished the swim.
After a couple of hours I got myself together and met a number of friends at the Fish Hopper, a restaurant that overlooks the swim start and finish. As we finished up what was for me a pretty subdued lunch one of the servers approached our table and called me by name. She told me that during my final 100 yards of swimming the entire restaurant was up and cheering for me. She said they were inspired by my story and my battle that morning. She then presented me with a card that everyone who works at the restaurant had signed with words of encouragement. I can't thank them enough for their time, their thoughts, and their words. It was exactly what I needed.
It was a great day. Disappointing, of course. It was not the dream that had put me to sleep so many previous nights. But there I was, three years to the day after my heart transplant and more than 20 years since I heard my first cancer diagnosis, healthy and happy and living the dream of so many people that I know. I have friends that are willing to follow me thousands of miles to support my endeavors. I have a family that stands by me in everything that I do. And I have a loving wife who has willingly joined the roller coaster that is my life.
October 10, 2009 was the best of days. It was a special experience that I will never forget. I am so grateful for every aspect of it. Including the way it ended. Because I think perhaps when it's all said and done it will make me stronger. It will make me wiser. And when I do cross the finish line on October 9, 2010, it will be that much sweeter.
Following my DNF that morning I thought that I would use the pain of that moment and the disappointment of the failure to fuel my workouts for the upcoming 12 months. But that night I went to the finish line to watch the magical final two hours. The smiles that I saw, the celebrations, the joy, and the pure happiness of the crowd for total strangers realizing their dreams... that is my fuel. That, and the words of kindness from the amazing staff at the Fish Hopper.
See you in Kona in 2010. Until then, I have some swimming to do. :)
Kona week really began for me here in LA on Monday at the airport. A variety of Ironman athletes were on my flight, identified by their deer-in-headlights look and their oh so fashionable compression socks. There were first timers, like myself. Qualifiers who got to Kona through years of hard work. And Ironman royalty in Dave Scott, sitting just two rows behind me on the plane. The nervous excitement was palpable even there, several thousand miles away from Kona and still the better part of week away from race day.
From Tuesday on the very reality of the event was all around me. I registered, met athletes and volunteers, and was greeted in the middle of the official race program by an unexpected giant 8x11 glossy of myself. In my 38 years I've seen many a centerfold. I shouldn't be one of them.
After registration was over I took my bike up the Queen K and did some riding around the bike turnaround in Hawi. I felt good, strong, and excited. It's beautiful up there and the reality that I would get to ride 112 miles along that coast on the coming Saturday was thrilling. Stopping for an ice cream in town before heading back down the highway to Kona I met Germans, Italians, and Australians. It truly is an international event of the highest order.
On Wednesday, with Carrie now on the Island, the interviews began. First, TV for the Ironman people and some canned broll of me running along the bay. I spent 10 minutes on the phone with a writer from Outdoor Magazine and a good hour-plus with a writer and photographer from the AP. Then it was lunch, nap, VIP cocktail party, another airport run to pick up Carrie's mom (my parents came in earlier that afternoon), and another nap before heading to the Kailua-Kona pier for a 1am live hit for Al Roker on the East Coast. It was fun and well worth doing, but it definitely made for a short night.
Thursday morning began with an early swim in the bay off Dig Me beach. And let me just say, I can't imagine a better way to wake up. No coffee needed. Not only is it refreshing and beautiful and exhilarating, if you really do need your morning cup and you can swim out to the Espresso Barge where the coffee was flowing. If that was the ocean we had here to swim in I can't imagine ever missing a day.
The swim was great, but the rest of Thursday was packed. More broll of me running and biking. A large press conference where I met some of the other amazing participant stories, including that of Rudy Garcia-Tolson, a double leg amputee looking to complete the race with nothing but gluteal muscles to power his pedaling and running. That was followed by a quick lunch and then on to Sports Medicine Conference where I was a speaker, then a meet and greet with NBC producers and another interview, then on to dinner to experience the complete flair that comes along with being a part of the Ford Ironman World Championship.
Another short night was followed by another relaxing dip in the waters of the bay. Can you tell I love that swim? (The irony of that is coming, hold on). The last of the pre-race interviews finally happened, then it was time to organize my gear and drop it at transition. I really do love the way they do it at Ironman. It makes for a much more relaxing pre-race night and race morning. No transition to set up. No last minute equipment decisions to make. And very very little to take with me in the morning on race day.
With very little on the schedule, except relaxing and resting, I was able to enjoy a dinner with the many friends and family members who sacrificed to come out and support me. It was a great time to celebrate where I was, now three years after heart transplant and 20 years after my first cancer diagnosis. And it was a great and appropriate group of people to be celebrating with. Wonderful friends, coaches who first instilled the love of my triathlon, the coach who got me to Kona, Carrie, my parents, and my mother-in-law. It was the perfect way to get me relaxed and focused for race day.
For the first time all week I slept.
Waking up early, of course, I downed a good and complete breakfast and then headed down to transition on the race shuttle. Body marking was a breeze, special needs drop off was easy, and all last minute bike checks were a snap. The organization of the event is mind-boggling. You are never more than 5 feet away from a volunteer who is just waiting to be asked for help. To air up your bike, to guide you to bag drop, etc. They are everywhere, and they are eager. It's probably the best part of Ironman.
Getting in the water was the moment I most dreaded. I expected that my stomach would be a mess and that the nerves would be cranked up as high as they could go. The exact opposite was true. I was calm, relaxed, and loving the moment. About 5 minutes before race start, and after I'd gotten about 10 minutes of warm up in, I floated in my starting position, taking in the surroundings. The crowd, the athletes, the cameras and helicopters. This was the Super Bowl and somehow I made it on to the field. Very cool.
With a cannon shot we were off, and I felt good. Earlier in the week I told Carrie that my greatest fear was not finishing the swim. Not because I thought it would or could happen, but because of all of the scenarios in play it would feel the worst. The idea that my day could end so early, after so much build up, was an awful thought. But about 15 minutes into my swim I knew that finishing the 2.4 miles would not be a problem. My rhythm was solid and my glide was good. I was having no fatigue, no breath problems, and I was keeping pace with other swimmers on the course. I wasn't fast, but I was safely on my way to completing the first leg of the Ironman.
It's definitely a long way to swim. Also, once you get outside of the bay and into the open ocean you deal with some chop of the waves and swells that have a tendency to hide buoys. But you're also never alone out there. Even when I couldn't see other swimmers, there was always a surfboard or two no more than 20 feet away.
But past the turnaround and at least halfway home there were still on occasion other swimmers around. Not a lot. But enough for me to feel that my pace was still good and my stroke was still steady. The swells were getting to me a little. I started to feel a little sea sick and my head began to get woozy. I was getting off my swim line because of the hard to see buoys, but that was always fixed by a corrective command from a surfboard rider. And occasionally I noticed that my stroke was flattening out. But not once did I need to stop. My fatigue was minimal and my breath was still with me. I began to think about T1 and the first few miles of the bike. Most specifically the first hour of nutrition and how best to keep myself drinking.
As I got close to the pier for the final few hundred yards of the swim it was obvious that not a lot of other swimmers were around me. In fact, I was surrounded by surfboards topped with people shouting words of encouragement. My internal clock had me coming in closer to the two-hour mark than I was hoping for. I was hoping to be on my bike by 9am but it felt like that 9am was going to be the time for my swim finish. Not a huge worry. I could make up the lost 10 minutes or so somewhere else.
At the pier now, and less than 100 yards to go, the encouragement from the surfboards intensified. "Pull!" "Dig!" "You got this, Kyle!"
I could also hear the crowds on the shore cheering and calling my name. It felt good to have so much personal support as I was finishing the swim. If this was an indication of how it would be for me on the course the rest of the race it was going to be a great day.
As I neared the end I was a little surprised by the frenzy of the people around me. Yes, it was very exciting. But I had a long day ahead of me and I couldn't blow too much emotion with 14 to 15 hours still to come. Standing up, I was immediately grabbed and dragged the final couple of feet to the steps of the swim out. "Touch the steps! Touch the steps!"
"I will," I thought to myself. "Give me a moment. I've been laying horizontal for the last 2.4 miles and it's going to take a second to get my bearings."
A huge cheer went up as I touched the steps and I heard the announcer shout, "He did it!" But as I turned up the steps and began to make my way into T1 an official stopped me and said, "I'm sorry, you're done. You didn't make it."
My first thought was, "Yes, I'm done. Now move so I get to my bike." But then the last half of his sentence registered and I reflexively looked down at my watch for the first time since 7:00am. It read 9:20. The reality hit like a punch to the stomach. I didn't make it. I had an easy to complete 2:20:00 to finish the swim but for some reason it had taken me 2:20:08. I was 8 seconds too slow.
I think I shouted, "No!" But I really don't remember. I know that I sunk to my hands and knees right there on the steps and started to sob. Months of training and years of dreaming had ended because of 8 seconds. My worst case scenario was a reality. The day that I had prepared for was over before it really began. I wouldn't get to ride along the Queen K and there would be no magical night at the finish line on Ali'i Drive. I was crushed.
I was ushered up the steps and over to the medical tent so I'd have a place to sit down away from the cameras. Carrie met me there and joined the tears. My mom arrived, as did coach Paul. And eventually Diana Bertsch, the race director came over to me. She told me that watching me come up short was the hardest moment for her in 7 years of doing the event.
Then Blair LaHaye, the director of communications for Ironman, come over. She has become my friend over the last several months and both Carrie and I took to her immediately upon meeting her face to face in Kona. She couldn't hold back the tears either, but did manage to tell me that there was always next year. I managed to ask, "You'll have me back?" And she said yes.
It has since been confirmed by her, Diana Bertsch, and the CEO of the World Triathlon Corporation (the Ironman folks), Ben Fertic, that an invitation for 2010 was not just an emotional reaction to the moment. It was officially offered, and I of course have accepted.
About 30 minutes after coming up short on the swim I spoke with Bob Babbitt on Ironman's live coverage of the event. I told him that I was disappointed, but honored to have been a part of the event. That it was still a very good day for me and that I would be back in 2010 most definitely. But at the time I wasn't sure if I was being strong for the TV cameras or if I really did feel like it was a good day. At that moment I felt the pain of failure and the embarrassment of doing it so publicly. I wasn't exactly participating in the event anonymously. Friends had flown thousands of miles to support. I had sponsors. I was the CBS Evening News the night before. I was in the race program, not to mention dozens of newspapers across the country. And yet I hadn't even finished the swim.
After a couple of hours I got myself together and met a number of friends at the Fish Hopper, a restaurant that overlooks the swim start and finish. As we finished up what was for me a pretty subdued lunch one of the servers approached our table and called me by name. She told me that during my final 100 yards of swimming the entire restaurant was up and cheering for me. She said they were inspired by my story and my battle that morning. She then presented me with a card that everyone who works at the restaurant had signed with words of encouragement. I can't thank them enough for their time, their thoughts, and their words. It was exactly what I needed.
It was a great day. Disappointing, of course. It was not the dream that had put me to sleep so many previous nights. But there I was, three years to the day after my heart transplant and more than 20 years since I heard my first cancer diagnosis, healthy and happy and living the dream of so many people that I know. I have friends that are willing to follow me thousands of miles to support my endeavors. I have a family that stands by me in everything that I do. And I have a loving wife who has willingly joined the roller coaster that is my life.
October 10, 2009 was the best of days. It was a special experience that I will never forget. I am so grateful for every aspect of it. Including the way it ended. Because I think perhaps when it's all said and done it will make me stronger. It will make me wiser. And when I do cross the finish line on October 9, 2010, it will be that much sweeter.
Following my DNF that morning I thought that I would use the pain of that moment and the disappointment of the failure to fuel my workouts for the upcoming 12 months. But that night I went to the finish line to watch the magical final two hours. The smiles that I saw, the celebrations, the joy, and the pure happiness of the crowd for total strangers realizing their dreams... that is my fuel. That, and the words of kindness from the amazing staff at the Fish Hopper.
See you in Kona in 2010. Until then, I have some swimming to do. :)
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