Ironman Canada: The Run (Part 4)

Despite all that had gone awry in my day and the days before, I viewed the run as a clean slate. My 9:30 was out of the question, but Hawaii was not ... at least not yet. I zipped into transition with the hope of a fast T2 to get me on the road right away. Seconds turned to minutes as volunteers failed to return with my T2 bag. The search team grew, but my bag simply wasn't found. There was little I could do that they weren't, so I decided to get a quick massage. Around 20 minutes into T2, I decided that I had to get going, even if that meant running without shoes. I had run a marathon without shoes once due to shoe problems, but that's another story. Just as I was getting up to go, a volunteer ran over to me with my transition bag. Apparently my number was called in by the ambulance driver during my final rest in the ditch at Yellow Lake during the bike leg. At that time, my bag was removed before they confirmed that I was out of the race.

With my gear in hand and even more time lost, I finally finished T2 in 22:13! I was all fired up at the start of the run and blasted onto the run course like I was doing an open half marathon. That pent up emotion was put in check about a quarter mile in. That big swollen knot on my neck was still causing me breathing problems. After nearly passing out, I slowed to a walk. This was the point when I finally knew Hawaii was not in the cards. The whole day began to sink in as I began a nearly 26-mile walk of shame. Just as I began walking, I heard a couple ladies say "Way to go! You're looking good! You're almost there!" Of all the people in the race, this line wasn't for me. I had trained full time for months and was visibly in great shape. It was obvious that I was bloodied up and hurting. On top of that, I was walking at about 400m into the run. I was not looking good. I wasn't doing well and was anything but almost done. It was the breaking point for me. I wanted to punch them, but kept walking and walking and walking.

Although this was anything but the race I kept telling myself that I was going to have, I never let it stop me. The first goal, and most important, in any race is to finish. That was the least I could do. I developed a strong desire to feel the weight of that giant maple leaf finisher medal around my neck when I crossed the line. One curious thing about me is that I'm a notoriously slow walker. I just can't step it out. As I walked through my first full mile, which was 2, I did the math and found that I was walking too slowly to finish before midnight. I needed to go about 20 minutes/mile, so I picked it up. It was a lot easier than running, but forced me to reflect on my experience. It was anything but fun, but gave me a chance to forge the type of athlete I'd be in the future. I gave myself little goals to achieve before quitting, but each achievement had to be satisfied with another.

The hours went by a little more slowly than the miles did, but I was making progress. I made it to the turn and found that the chicken broth was really good and warmed me up. I had nothing in special needs there, much like the bike. I didn't expect to be out there that long. It was getting darker and colder and if you know me, cold is something I don't do well. Still, I pressed on reminding myself of how great it would feel to have that heavy medal around my neck at the finish. After it got dark, I became one of those people who trudged along with the glow stick. I was officially one of them. It's a lasting immage of Ironman, but one I didn't want to be a part of. With the darkness came more cold. I was shivering as I made my way. Compassionate volunteers and spectators offered me shirts, coats, pants and gloves. I wouldn't have any of it though. I have honor and don't want any part of breaking the rules. I push the limits of rules, but that's as far as I go. Outside assistance isn't allowed. After all I've been through, being DQed or given a time penalty was too much.

As I finally made my way back into town, I was the last person on the road that had a chance of making it before midnight. A group of strangers gathered around me to encourage me along. Although I had hours of being alone, I wanted to be left alone. I never saw myself as that guy who needed people to pull me in. I really didn't need it that day either, but it's the situation I was in. If they only knew the problems that would cost me more than 7 hours. Quitting or failing was not an option. Like my situation with the ambulance, this race would not take me alive. As long as I was alive, I'd finish. With two miles to go, a stranger lied to me and told me I had less time than I had on my watch and that I needed to get going. I took a moment to think about it and came to one conclusion. What if he was right? I didn't want to round that final corner and head to the finish line thinking I had conquered the ultimate bad day, only to find that somehow I was off by a few minutes and didn't make it after all. Pushing through all of that only to be denied my medal would feel like I had been cheated out of my finish and robbed of my efforts.

With about a mile to go, I ran for the first time in over 8 hours. I was cruising along at about 5:50 pace for the final mile. I blasted past six people in the process to keep from finishing last. I crossed the line in 16 hours 50 minutes and 51 seconds. My overall finish place was 1,646th. The real kicker was my marathon, which took 8 hours, 21 minutes and 59 seconds. It's one of the slowest marathons in Ironman history. That wasn't my goal, but it kept me from failing at my number one goal: finishing. It took all day, but nothing I encountered was able to keep me from being an Ironman.

After crossing the line, I was barely able to breathe. Volunteers came up to tell me that they didn't have any finishers towels or medals because they had more finishers than expected. Despite gasping for air, I couldn't help but to think of my ironic twist of fate. They tried to take me from the line with a gurney, but I was going to walk to the med tent. They wanted to stick me with an IV to hydrate me, but I told them I had been going too slow and drank too much to be dehydrated. My problem was breathing, not drinking. As I laid there under that sun blanket, I looked around the room at all the others. It seemed that I was the only one without an IV. That had to be my victory.

The next day, I made my way back to the center to get my medal and finishers certificate they promised me. When I finally got to the counter, I gave the lady my name and she said she couldn't find my time and asked me what it was. I replied quietly "16:50." She wasn't able to hear me, so she asked me again. I said "please don't make me say it any louder." I was really embarassed. That would be a fair 5K time, but for an Ironman, it was not. I told her again and she looked up and down and didn't see my time anywhere. She told me I didn't make it before midnight and wasn't an official finisher. Wrong! I had gone through hell and was going to get my medal. I wanted the race director or someone else to help me out in my emotional state. I was told that the race director was helping the Hawaii qualifiers and would be busy for quite a while. I know I lost my cool a bit, but for all I went through, I'm OK with it. I said I was happy for the Hawaii qualifiers, but before they get seconds, I want what I earned.

It wasn't necessary, but I explained my bad day and how hard I fought just to finish and wasn't leaving without my medal. Eventually she relented and got the race director for me. He had someone get in the data base and found that several of the final finishers had omitted run and finish times. They found mine, verified that I did make it before midnight, but still didn't have medals. Long story short, I left without my medal. They did mail it to me and I put it on and wore it around like a proud senior citicizen does at work on the Monday after a weekend race.

So that's my first and last Ironman. A couple hours to get my packet, two nights of no sleep, no swim cap nearly causing me to miss the start, nearly being drown, a panic attack, having the snot beat out of me in the swim, my T1 gear being scattered, getting sick on Pepsi, crashing and being rubbed raw and having my neck and back out of allignment, getting stung on the neck, an allergic reaction making it difficult to breathe for the rest of the day, having to lay in the ditch seven times to catch my breath, drenching my eyes with my sweat band, spraying my eyes out with Gatorade, having paramedics try to pull me from the course, having my number called in as a DNF, a 22:13 T2 while they found my gear before I headed out for a barefooted marathon, running a quarter mile before I nearly passed out, walking the marathon in 8:21:59 while nearly going hypothermic and finishing 6th from last and barely before midnight unable to breathe or feel the weight of that medal around my neck, only to be told the next day that I didn't actually finish. Needless to say, I haven't attempted another one ... yet.

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