Last year I visited the Pacific Northwest to climb Mount Rainier. It was a crazy climb. After a few hours of climbing on summit day / morning, a storm blew in and trapped us on the clever. We pushed to about 300 yards from the summit and got snowed in. We literally did not move for hours and got blasted by the wind and snow. No doubt, a humbling experience. This year it was Ironman CDA. As I was limping to the finish line last Sunday night, my brother, who was running next to me and who climbed Rainier with me, asked which I would do again. Without hesitation, I said Mount Rainier. Having thought more about that question over the last week, I would do Ironman CDA. Why? Let me explain.
Race day weather predictions were dire all week. The morning before the race the local paper declared that a duathlon format was very possible given the high chance of rain and thunderstorms. Thankfully, the storms didn't roll in until later in the day. The conditions for the start of the race were perfect - Mid 50s and sunny.
There isn't anything quite like the transition area before the start of an Ironman. The nervous energy is palpable. While people are friendly, it is obvious that their focus is on their gear and most importantly, the clock. I checked and double-checked my bike and then checked my transition bags. All good. Full outfit change for the bike and run and plenty of dry socks. After the Galveston 1/2 Ironman, I will never run without socks again.
When the announcer closed transition, we all shuffled down to the beach for a mass start. A helicopter was buzzing overhead and Eminem "Lose Yourself" was blaring on the speakers. Moments before the start the announcer reminded us that at the end of the day each of us would be an Ironman. I looked to my left and then to my right: a sea of humanity on that beach was ready to explode. And then it did.
In my mind I was fully prepared for every part of the Ironman. Kelly at Source Endurance put together a perfect training plan for me, which I was able to execute despite the birth of my first son and a career change a few months before the race. Nothing, however, prepared me for the mass swim start. For the first 10-20 minutes I felt like I was swimming in a wachine machine. Although I was moving in the right direction, it wasn't because of my swimming abilities. I was being pulled along by the massive group of swimmers and the turbulence we created. I couldn't get a rhythm at all. In fact I really couldn't swim with my head down for fear of getting kicked in the face. So, for the first few hundred yards I crawled along in the group doing this crazy hybrid dog paddle / freestyle that developed more out of my survival instinct then from any of my training.
After the first turn bouy I swung wide and found my rhythm. I'm sure my heartrate was sky high after that first leg of the swim. I calmed down and settled in for the remaining 1.5 miles. I exited the water, gathered my transition bag and headed into the change tent. I threw on my Velossimo kit, ate a few pretzels and ran to my bike. I am a cyclist first, thriathete second. This was my strength so I was excited to get on the bike and make up for lost time. My body, however, wasn't down with my plan.
The bike course was challenging, but no more difficult than the Hamilton Pool / Fitzhugh loops in 90+ degree temps. I had reviewed the elevation profile and knew what to expect. I had a lot of confidence in my nutrition plan. I had gone over it with my coach, tested it on various century rides and was ready to execute. About 20 miles into the race, my body started rejecting food and liquids. Specifically, the powergels I had used for the previous six months. It felt, quite literally, like somebody kicked me in my stomach at around mile 25. I found the closest restroom and stopped. I felt better for a few miles and then it happened again. So, I stopped again. This went on for several hours. I stopped counting my stops after the 10th one.
Because I was having some major gastrointestinal issues, I knew I needed to modify my goals and expectations. This wasn't easy because my cycling times in previous tris were always my strength and really propelled me up in my age group. That wouldn't be the case at Ironman CDA. I could feel my body getting dehydrated and my muscles weakening. I made the decision to slow down, focus on nutrition and just get to the finish line. This wasn't an easy decision, but I know things would have gotten much worse had I pushed too hard on the bike.
When I got to T2 I began to realize how weak I was. My body didn't feel that tired, but I was very lightheaded. I made a quick change, ate whatever was in sight and then made my way out to the run course. I quickly caught up with my brother and we began running together at a pretty good pace. I was still a little shaky, but the constant fueling on the bike began to pay off. I was getting stronger with every step. We pushed hard for a few miles and were handling the cold rainy conditions rather well.
At around mile 16 my brother pulled up and screamed out in pain. I knew immediately what was happening: cramps. He has a superhuman pain tolerance, so I knew it was bad. Although he could barely walk, he attempted to run about every 5th step but couldn't. After doing this for what seemed like an hour, he finally looked at me and said "you go ahead." He knew I wouldn't leave him, but he had to say it. In fact, he said it about 50 times, but there wasn't a chance in hell of me leaving him. We were both getting to the finish line. If that meant my time would be slower than I had planned, so be it.
The last 5 miles of the race were brutal. The sun set, the rain strengthened and the temperatures dropped. My brother was barely able to walk and my legs had completely locked up. It was the longest five miles of my life, but as bad as it was for me, it was worse for my brother and many other people out on the course. As we made the final turn for the finish line, we saw an older gentlemen with a walking cast on his foot making the turn for the second lap of the course. He had another 13 miles. He looked at me and my brother and said "come on guys, you're almost there." Rather than being totally consumed with his own demons, this man chose to make the best of it and encourage others to the finish line even though he likely wouldn't finish the race.
We made the final turn for the finish line and were overwhelmed by the number of people that lined the street for almost a mile. It was insane. As we approached, the announcer realized that we were brothers and yelled, "It's the Kinsel brothers from Austin. Scott and Todd you are now Ironmen!" We ran / limped / hobbled over the finish line and into the arms of our family. My legs hurt, the blisters on my feet were raw, and I was starting to cramp. None of it, however, could dampen my spirits.
I'm glad the race played out like it did. For months I obsessed about time, pace, splits and the all important finishing time. In a weird way, I'm glad I had stomach issues on the bike because it put me in the perfect position to be there for my brother and cross the finish line with him. I wouldn't trade that moment for anything, not even a spot in Kona. I'll worry about that next year when I do Ironman Canada!
If you ever want to do an Ironman, I highly recommend CDA. The volunteers were amazing, the course was beautiful and there's always a ton of athletes from Austin.
