I have had many friends, family and co-workers ask me what it is like to compete in an Ironman Triathlon. My friends in the Ironman Tri community have expressed frustration with their inability to effectively express to others what goes on in the mind and body during such an event. I’m not sure it’s even possible. I would imagine most Ultra distance athletic events are like that. How does one describe running 100 miles?
I wrote a prior posting called Five Minutes and got a tremendous response from many readers who wanted to know more about the event itself. I initially did not want to write about such a personal experience but changed my mind. I will do my best to intermittently write about this event in a manner that is hopefully somewhat interesting to you and attempt to do so in such a way that you get some idea about how the experience was perceived by me personally and how it affects other aspects of life. Its not however a venue of writing that I am comfortable with so be patient with me and if gets really crappy…find the delete button! Enjoy…….
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Relax you mind for a moment and close your eyes. Picture yourself in the temperate waters of the Gulf of Mexico . You’re wearing a full body wetsuit, a tight neoprene cap is snapped over you head and ears and you are wearing swimming goggles that cover your eyes and restrict your field of vision. You’re treading water, bunched together with more then 2,700 other people. Feel it. It is cramped quarters; you feel restricted and a little claustrophobic. You can’t see anything around or over the other bobbing heads. The wetsuit you’re wearing feels constricting and you’re not sure if you can expand your chest fully to take a breath. Imagine at that point in time, with all that is running through your mind, somebody in the water next to you screams, SHARK!
Everyone in the water panics. Two thousand eight hundred swimmers convulse all at once and take off in a frenzied life or death water stampede! You are all desperately trying to swim in the same direction to get to the same spot. Bodies all around you punching and kicking each other, grabbing and pulling; some literally on top of others in what looks like a scene from the movie Titanic. But wasn’t it just a few moments earlier you spoke with these very same people? These highly conditioned, highly driven Ironman Triathletes? They were all courteous and respectful. Well wishes going out all around. There appeared to be a mutual respect for each from each as a token of admiration for the sacrifices and determination each put forth. Just moments earlier we were all members of the same fraternity. We shared a special bond; a bond forged into our souls by the months of training and discipline. To a person there was mutual awareness, there was a mutual calling and there was a mutual understanding of why we were there. It was all surreal and at the same time comforting. And then someone yelled shark.
Ok, so maybe nobody really yelled shark, but the canon explosion that signaled the race start produced the same result and mayhem broke out. I darted out with the first major pack of swimmers in the Florida Ironman Triathlon. My swimming skills had significantly improved over the past year thanks to a local Masters Swim Team and 10,000 to 12,000 yards of training each week in the months leading up to the race. I prepared further by competing in two chilly open water swim events earlier in the year; racing from Alcatraz Island to Crissy Field as part of a triathlon, and from Angel Island to Tiburon in the waters of the San Francisco Bay
For the first 10 minutes I did not take a stroke that didn’t hit somebody in the arms, feet, back or face. I was the recipient of the same assault. Weren’t we all racing buddies a minute ago? A swimmer behind me attempted repeatedly to grab my ankle every time his arm came forward. At his fourth attempt he got a hold of it and tried to pull himself forward by using me as a counterweight. I was left with no choice but to introduce his face to the heel of my left foot. Problem solved. Just moments later, another swimmer on my right and slightly behind me was trying to grab my shoulder with his/her hand and pull me back. When attempt number five arrived, I aborted my right arm rotation, slowed slightly, tucked the elbow in close to my torso and used it as a battering ram, driving it into the offending party’s shoulder. I think that one hurt.
We turned left at the first buoy a half a mile off shore. I encountered a male swimmer next to me on my left going precisely the same speed with the same stroke count. We did our best synchronized swimming imitation but something was not right. Neither one of us could swim straight! Our synchronized swimming debut quickly deteriorated into game of bumper cars. Fortunately he was a right turn swimmer and I was a left turn swimmer so we kept each other on a straight course to the next buoy. I believe he realized this about the same time I did and so we shared an unspoken moment of understanding and patience. We bumped each other all the way the next buoy and turned left to head for shore.
My bumper buddy disappeared somewhere after the second buoy, but I had other issues to deal with. I had just swum into a group of Jelly Fish, known by the locals as the “Pink Meanies”. Yes, they were pinkish and their sting was notoriously unpleasant. I swam through the group of pink meanies like a submarine navigates itself through depth charges. Fortunately for me most of them were just below the surface and I went right over the top of them, careful to keep my hands shallow. Unlike many others, I made it through unscathed and picked up the pace as the shore exit came into clear view. I could hear the announcer’s voice now and the thousands of spectators lining the shore provided me with a burst of adrenaline and an easily identifiable exit point. As I drew closer the ocean bottom came into view as the water grew shallow. After almost exactly 30 minutes, I stood up for the first time and ran out of the surf onto the beach. Gravity pulling blood away from my upper extremities caused a mild lightheaded sensation. The screaming from the spectators was deafening and the announcer was broadcasting our times.
I ran through the official timing chute, turned left and ran back down the beach for a short distance. I took a deep breathe and jumped right back in the water. Time for Lap two.
No comments:
Post a Comment