Chapter 5 – The Long Walk Home

 As I rolled off of Palani Road and back towards the inflatable arch that I’d left so many  hours earlier, a volunteer was there, giving me the ‘slow-down’ sign. I gratefully unclipped and swung my leg off before handing the bike over, then pulled my helmet off and handed it over as well before walking into transition.

 Once again I walked the narrow walkway along the hundreds of bikes in the racks. There were several empty slots, though; the race clock now stood at 10:30 and a lot of the fast folks were done with the entire race. I walked back through the racks again, and collected my second transition bag from the volunteers before entering the change tent for the last time.

 I wearily slumped down on the bench, and began the laborious process of removing my bike shoes, pulling my socks off, slathering my feet with Vaseline, putting on fresh socks, pulling on my running shoes, and finally tugging my race hat onto my head. I stuffed my now-extraneous bike gear into the bag, and at the last second decided I didn’t want the hat after all, and stuffed it into the bag along with the rest. I stood up and handed the bag off to the waiting volunteer.

 ‘Thanks for your day.’ My voice sounded hollow and dispirited, even in my own ears. Like it or not, it was time to start moving again. One step at a time. I headed out of the tent. The timing mat gave me a cheery chirp as I exited under the inflatable arch for the last time.

 I was completely fried from the bike, and despite the crowds’ cheers and enthusiasm, I wasn’t about to start running right away. I knew I would *have* to run at some point; there simply wasn’t enough time left to walk the entire way. By now it was 5:40p or so, which meant I had roughly 6h20m to do the marathon. Assuming I could walk a mile in 15 minutes (which is not a leisurely stroll, but is ‘powerwalking’ at a pretty good clip), I would still need about 6h40m to cover 26.2 mi, so obviously somewhere along the line I would have to run at least a mile or two. But not yet. I needed a chance to recover, to let my system reset itself after the stress of the bike.

 As I turned back out onto Palani, in front of the King Kamehameha Hotel, I spotted a huge orange sign. “Go Triatharon!!” It was my family, and their signs and cheers did exactly what they were supposed to do – they gave me a lift. The misspelling of my chosen nickname even gave me a rush of joyous gratitude; these people had flown miles, and waited all day in the hot sun, merely to spend these few precious seconds giving me a lift when I needed it most, letting me know that they loved me and wished me well. I almost broke down and cried right there, but instead I walked over to the crowd control barrier and gave each one of them a big, sweaty, smelly, salty hug and kiss. I was half expecting Connie to give me a ‘bleccch!!’ when she realized how unpleasant it was in my immediate vicinity, but she just hugged me back and saved her reaction until I was up the road.

 I worked my way up the hill, and onto Kuakini Highway for the second time. This portion of the course repeats, and for a mile or so I was sharing the road with people who were in their final mile, expending the last of their energy as they looked forward for the right turn onto Alii Drive and the most rewarding half mile sprint in all of triathlon. I was still beaten up from the bike, and so I could understand why several spectators thought I was one of those who were just finishing the run, rather than just starting it. Several folks told me “Almost there!”, and each time I replied “Not me . . .“ as I walked past. Soon enough, I’d covered the loop back to Alii Drive, and made the left turn towards the first out-and-back section of the run course.

 I walked past the landmarks I’d been walking by all week; the expo site, Bubba Gump’s, Lava Java, and the volleyball court (where a game was in session). I was looking for the first aid station, for the chance to get some solid food, and some hydration. At the Royal Kona Resort, I got my wish, and grabbed a handful of pretzels, a cup of water, and began refueling myself.

 By now, my heart rate had settled down, my body was realizing that the hellish ride was over, and my spirits were cautiously starting to revive. I passed the second mile marker, and decided that I’d walk one more mile, and then run a mile. After that . . . we’d see. If I could keep running, I would. If not, I’d repeat the strategy of walk/run, and just try to  maintain forward progress.

 Somewhere in that 3rd mile, a race volunteer rolled up on a scooter.

 “How are ya doin?”

“Okay”

“Well, you look good, and you’re moving okay, but you’re going to want to pick it up a bit”.

“Yeah, I figured I was going to have to run at some point”

“Yes, but you’ve got plenty of time, so just keep it going and you’ll make it just fine. You want to be at the 3mi marker by 6:15, and then keep it under 15 minute miles from there”

“. . . Okay”

“Just make sure you stay ahead, once you fall behind it gets very hard to catch up”

 With that, he revved up the scooter and headed up the road, but he was waiting for me at the 3 mile marker

 “Okay, you’re at plus 3:30 right now”. I checked my watch, and saw that it said 6:18, so he was telling me that I was 3 minutes and 30 seconds behind the 15 min/mi pace. I’d been planning on running the next mile anyway, so I picked it up and began to run. I wasn’t moving very fast, but my heart rate leapt up right away. I stuck with it though, until I hit the 4 mile marker. I checked my watch – an 11 minute mile. Hardly stellar. But, it was now 6:29, which meant I was one minute ahead of schedule . . .  I slowed to a walk, but kept my arms swinging and kept my pace up.

 I passed through the next mile in 14:29 or so, and just like that, my strategy solidified. I would keep up my pace, and walk each mile in under 15 minutes. I realized that I still had to gain back some extra time somewhere; it wasn’t 26 miles, but 26.2 miles. Some quick mental math told me that at my pace, two tenths of a mile would be three minutes. So if I could keep walking 14 minute miles or so, I’d still come in before midnight, ahead of the cutoff, and earn my medal. I swung my arms with just a tad more vigor.

 Just a bit after the 5 mile marker, I approached the turnaround, and another athlete. As we walked across the timing mats and turned back the way we came, I spoke to him.

 “Walk with me – I’m on pace to walk it in before midnight”

“Really?” His voice held such a note of hope that I knew he’d had a rough day.

 He picked it up to stay with me, and we began to chat. His name was Anthony, and the bike had been as tough for him as it was for me. He’d finished a few Ironmans before, in 14hrs and 13hrs, but he’d had a lot of dry heaves on the bike today and now was just hoping to hang on for the finish. My motivation increased just a tad as I realized I could set the pace for both of us.

 I was feeling better now, grabbing nutrition from each aid station as we passed through, and the miles began to click steadily away. With each mile, we pulled ahead of the ‘schedule’, ever-so-slightly. As we passed other racers, I’d try to encourage them to stay with us, that if they could just maintain our pace, we’d bring them home. I had visions of becoming the Pied Piper of Alii Drive, bringing home a small pack of powerwalking last-hour finishers.

 We rolled through the five miles back to the main drag, and my family was waiting for us again. Once again, I detoured to the side of the road and gave everybody a quick hug and kiss. Then we swung onto the road, which now was climbing up a slight hill. I set a stiff pace up the hill, and at the top, Anthony was struggling a bit. I reassured him that we’d have a chance to recover, now that the road was flat again, and to stay the course.

 Eventually, we made it through mile ten, and were still steadily increasing our buffer. Anthony, however, was struggling more and more. As we swung out onto the Queen K, he began to fall behind. I exhorted him to keep up, but wasn’t willing to back off the pace. He said he’d run and catch up with me once we got over the current hill.

 The hill was a long one, however, and by the time I hit the crest, Anthony was a long way behind me, and I was on my own again. I felt a little guilty, but at the end of the day, I had my race, and he had his. I had to stick with my strategy – the clock wouldn’t wait for any of us.

After the 11 mile marker, I somehow missed the next two mile markers, and didn’t know if I was gaining or losing time. But my pace had been consistently between 14min and 15min, and I was well in the groove. I didn’t slow down for the aid stations, or anything else, just kept my momentum going forward at the same rate. My confidence was confirmed when I finally found the 14mi marker and saw that I’d come thru 3 miles in 42min – dead on a 14min pace. More than halfway done.

 My feet were starting to hurt; the Vaseline had worn off and I could feel blisters raising on the balls of my feet. But I ignored them as best I could, telling myself over and over “the blisters will heal before not finishing will.” The aid stations began to have hot soup, and I began to alternate soup with Gatorade, depending on my whim. Despite my burning feet, my spirits were good, and I was starting to feel pretty confident that I was going to make it.

 The road was pitch black, but the miles continued to tick away. Soon enough, I was making the turn into the energy lab. I just kept it rolling. An older lady, from Australia or New Zealand (I couldn’t tell the difference in her accent), was yo-yoing back and forth  with me, passing me with brief spates of running, and then slowing down to a walk and letting me re-pass. In the pitch black of the energy lab, however, she fell on the downhill stretch. I finally broke my stride to help her up, and asked how she was. She said she was okay, only a little bit shaken, but to let medical know that she was coming. I resumed my pace and kept moving.

 I rolled through the 18 mile marker in 15:09, (my only 15-minute-plus mile of the day), and through the run special needs station. The only thing in my bag that I wanted was my card from CTB, but it was way too dark to read, so I just grabbed the card and stuffed it in the rear pocket of my skinsuit, and chucked the rest.

 I rolled through the next mile, uphill, in 14:40, which told me that the earlier mile marker was probably slightly misplaced (not that it mattered). As I approached the 20mi marker, I was really starting to feel the anticipation of entering the home stretch. I finally passed the marker, and quietly celebrated. “Only a 10k left – pieceacake”. I was starting to project a finishing time, and was thinking I might be able to go under 16:45. I was hoping that I could, for the geeky reason that my watch, which I’d had recording my splits and times all day, would run out of memory at that point. So it became my goal to get in before my watch ran out of memory.

 In those last miles, I had some company. Ironmanlive.com had a few vans out covering the race, and twice I had drivers jump out to interview me for their audio web feed. The first interviewer asked me what I thought of the conditions that day, and I cheerfully replied “They sucked!”. She got a chuckle out of that, and said there was something to be said for honesty.

 Finally, at long last, I found myself back in town, turning back onto Palani Road. As I passed by the 25 mile marker, I tried to pick it up, to run the last mile and ensure that sub-16h45m finish, but my blisters were like spikes of fire, and I quickly gave up that idea and slowed to a walk again.

 The downhill was still murder on my feet though, running or no, and I was glad to turn off of Palani and back onto the level surface of Kuakini for the loop I’d started the run with, so many hours before. I was less than a mile from finishing the greatest Ironman race in the world, and the anticipation was building to a crescendo in my chest.  

As I strolled along, a guy came up alongside and asked if I wanted to wear a clean shirt for the finish.

 “No . . . but I’ll take one though . . .“. He handed me a shirt and asked that I hold it up when I finished. The shirt had the image of a submarine on the front, with a large number ‘17’ emblazoned on it. I didn’t put it together until a few hundred yards later, when I walked over the words someone had chalked on the roadway; “Sub 17”. Oh yeah, sub-17, as in less than the 17hrs allotted to do this race . . . and I was gonna come in sub-17. A smile creased my face. I decided to pull the shirt on after all.

 Finally, after 140.x miles of sweat, pain, patience and perseverance, I made the final right turn onto Alii Drive and began preparing for my own run down that famous finishing chute. I could hear the crowds, but it was still too early to run – not with these blisters. It was only as I approached the final curve, and decided that I wanted to come around the corner already running, that I threw caution to the winds. The spectators that saw me break into a run clapped and cheered, and I picked up the pace, gradually picking up steam as I threw open the throttle as wide as it would go and just kept trying to run faster.

I came around the corner in full flight and could see the chute, and the jumbotron. The crowd noise jumped exponentially. I responded by trying to give even more.

I flash onto the carpet, and everything is a blur; I’m in a tunnel of sound and color the crowds are all around me screaming and cheering the chute volunteers are jumping out of my way and oh god how long can this chute be it takes forever where’s the line I can’t believe this ohmigod this hurts when will it end but I don’t want it to ever stop there’sthetimingmatandthere’sthearch just . . . a . . . few . . . steps . . . mooooooooore . .

I lunge for the line and raise my hands to flash the ‘hang loose’ sign before shuddering to a halt . . . the run is in the books. I’ve done it. Over the course of the last 16 hours, 46 minutes, and 53 seconds, I’ve swum 2.4 miles, biked 112 miles, and covered 26.2 miles on foot, and once again, I have answered the questions. I have sought strength from within, and have not come up empty. At this moment, lungs heaving, every muscle aching, feet burning, legs shuddering, bent over and wheezing, I am more fully alive than I have ever been.

I have no anger, and no resentments.

I am not a victim of my emotions.

I am not afraid.

I have nothing to prove.

I am an Ironman, and I am a door through which love enters the world.

Mahalo.