After another broken sleep I woke up at 5am on the 31st and tucked into my first powerbar, along with a salt tablet and swig of water. My parents and sister Sarah had come out for the event so I said goodbye and wandered out of the hotel towards the transition area. Another powerbar and a bottle of gatorade and I was at transition to pump up the bike tyres and get the mechanics to fine tune the gears. I then joined the crowds on the mile walk to the swim start, taking another salt tablet, half a powerbar (they are gross) and some more gatorade. The swim start is one at a time and so I had to join the queue; I arrived there at 6:20 and was in about 1800th spot out of 1975 starters. Several pisses, 1 hour 20 minutes, one powergel and a bottle of gatorade later and I was at the front, on the dock, crossing the start line; Modest Mouse was being played over the sound system; I was tingling with nerves and anticipation; the lady in front of me slowly lowered herself in to the water and I dived over her head. Start: 07:37.
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The water was 81 degrees farenheit (27 centigrade) so wetsuits were not required. Mostly I tried to find a clear space to swim in but contact was inevitable. It tended to be hands grabbing feet but on one occassion I caught up to a gentleman that must have been swimming with his legs slightly apart for the first I knew of his presence, and he of mine, was when I stroked his balls with my fingertips. Our course took us upstream for the first kilometre or so, we then turned and swam the remaining 2.5km slightly downstream. I happened to be keeping a tally and so know that I urinated 8 times during the swim, which is more from habit than necessity. In hindsight it can’t have been particularly nice for whoever was behind me at the time but I’m sure I wasn’t the only one doing it and must have been through some warm patches myself. Other than feeling bloated early on I truly enjoyed the first leg and exited the water after one hour thirty two minutes still feeling fantastic. Allowing for the staggered start, I was in 1445th place of 1975.
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I had planned on walking through transition as I had been advised to, but everyone else was running and I didn’t want to look stupid so when it came to it I ran too. I entered the changing tent and put on my cycling gear, then found my bike and wheeled it out to the bike start. I was riding a bike I had borrowed from a guy called Mike, I was also using a new type of cleat for the first time and so for the first few miles was convincing myself that everything was set up horribly and that at some point I was going to have to get off and change it. But I soon got comfortable and settled into a good pace. With a late start and a relatively slow swim I was a long way back when I started the ride but I knew it would be my strongest leg and I found myself passing a lot of bikes and I loved it every time. By this stage everyone had their race bib on their backs with their name and number which meant that someone passing could call the person in front by name to make room. I was also able to tell Jen that she looked great and mutter profanities at Jim when he snotted over his shoulder and sprayed me. Incidentally, my bib number read John 317, which as all fellow bible scholars will know refers to ”For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved.” I had forgotten to find suncream in the transition and so had to call for some through my first aid station. I hated having to stop the bike and in my panic smeared sunblock all over my sunglasses having forgotten to take them off my face. I hurriedly wiped most of it off with toilet paper and began cycling again.
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Most supporters were congregated at a spot on the LaGrange Loop. I knew Mum, Dad, Sarah, Tom and Christa would all be there and wanted to make eye contact. But as we approached I heard the cheer of the crowd and felt a burst of adrenaline. Without really meaning to I accelerated to over 30mph and moved out on to the wrong side of the road to overtake a group of cyclists. I didn’t see anyone I knew and soon noticed my heart rate had gone over 175. I then hit a small headwind and slowed my pace and experienced my first low of the race.
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I was eating a gel pack every 20 minutes and drinking a gatorade each 30 minutes. Inevitably my bladder began filling up and at about mile 40 I made the decision that I would save time by pissing myself on the bike. This is a surprisingly hard thing to do. It’s not really the position that causes problems but the engrained reluctance to go with your shorts on, especially with lots of people around. In the end it took 20 minutes and a number of false starts to get the job done. I realised too late that I didn’t have any water to pour over myself and had to cycle a further 10 miles before I could grab some, by which time my socks were yellow. I started my second lap of the ride and collected my “special needs bag” which contained a ham sandwich. It had no appeal to me whatsoever but the hotel had charged $15 to make it the night before so I felt compelled to at least give it a try. One soggy mouthful was enough to send the remainder flying into a hedge, unfortunately at that moment I was being followed by a race official and was shown a yellow card for littering (it was a fair cop) which meant I would have to spend 2 minutes in a penalty tent later in the race. The thought of losing the time I had worked hard to make up sped me up once more. There were a few accidents on the course and at one point I was drafting behind an ambulance, unsure if I was breaking any rules but unwilling to slow down. I saw my family in the crowds the second time through the LaGrange Loop, which was a real boost as I entered the last 40 miles of the bike leg. A short while later I saw Tom near some trees and yelled to him that I had wet myself and he gave me the thumbs up. Having mentioned it to Tom I needed to go again and so for a second time pissed myself on the bike, with no difficulty this time. As I neared the end of the bike I knew I had to super-hydrate myself in preperation for the run so I started taking on a lot of gatorade but seemed to overdo it and felt bloated for the final 20 miles back into Louisville. I finished the bike leg in 6 hours 18 minutes, which moved me up to 838th place overall.
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I changed to my running shorts and luckily had fresh white socks to replace my yellow ones, got sprayed with sunscreen and made my way onto the running course. The time was about 15:40 and with the 17 hour limit being from the final starter I knew I had about 9 hours to complete the run, which I was confident I would do. I felt massively bloated however and so wasn’t smiling a lot; actually though I was pretty happy because my legs felt fine and I knew the bloatedness would go with time (I was partly right, it did ease but never left me). I set out at a slow pace (12 minute miles) unaware that I would only slow down further from there. I hadn’t felt the heat too much on the bike ride but as I began the run the full shock of it hit me suddenly (93 farenheit, 34 celcius). I vowed right then to get rid of my beard and hair at the first opportunity and took to pouring water over myself at every chance in the meantime. I was still unable to bear swallowing anything much and so covered the first 40 minutes or so with little to drink. The fresh leg feeling soon evaporated leaving me with two wooden pegs to run on. I began to walk through each aid station (located each mile) to take on water and cool down, and then concentrated on nothing more than running to the next one. My appetite for gels had waned fast and so I had to force down a gel at every other aid station and drank a mixture of gatorade, water and flat coke. I poured water over my head at every station and sometimes gatorade by mistake. By the next station I was always bone dry again. I reached the penalty tent after 8 miles and gratefully took my two minute “punishment”. I was averaging almost 16 minute miles by this point, I would pick out someone walking ahead of me as I ran and focus on overtaking them, it normally took me half a mile mile to gain a few hundred yards. Focusing on one mile at a time, with people shouting “good job!” at me every minute or so, and “run Forrest run!” once in a while, and “it’s Jesus!” and “nice beard!” and “that’s got to be hot under there!” and “Tom Hanks!” and “holy shit!” making an appearance, I made it through to mile 14 and the end of the first lap. Volunteers called ”not far now” to me, unaware that I wasn’t even half way yet. I did not see my family or Tom and Christa in the crowds on the corner though I knew they were there. I semi-jokingly thought about taking the finishing route but instead turned right, away from the cheering crowd and back up the road, away from the lights, into the dark. This half-way low has been talked about much by others and knowing to expect it was one of the few things that made it bearable.
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It is important, I had read, to be nice to yourself on the course and so when I reached mile 16 I decided not to hate myself for having to stop for a couple of minutes. I couldn’t run each mile anymore so while I really hated doing it - it was horrible to have to resign to it - I had to walk half of each mile between stations. I walked fast and was able to run faster after the break so this method actually increased my average speed to just over 15 minute miles. Over the run I was constantly setting new goals and couldn’t help working out what average speed I would need despite getting it wrong each time from my initial assumption that 6×4=26. I went from trying to get an official finish to beating midnight, to breaking 16 hours, to beating 11 O’clock, to breaking 15 hours, to beating 10 O’clock. Then back to 15 hours on a low, then back to 10 O’clock after a gel. I was getting pissed off at myself for having nothing more interesting to think about but couldn’t stop doing it. Over the last 6 miles my goal became firm in trying to beat 10 O’clock, which meant better than 15 minute miles (don’t compare that to Olympic athletes please). At 26 miles I was still on course and broke into a real run, near the finish I was veritably galloping and I crossed the line at speed with a smile, arms up as if I had enjoyed the whole thing. In truth I was massively relieved and delighted to get there before 10 O’clock. I was led out by a concerned volunteer to get a hug from my parents and sister and then join the queue for a massage. My run took me 6 hours 14 minutes, perilously close to the dreaded negative split (where the run takes longer than the bike), leaving me as the 1117th (or 1120th) of 1788 finishers (depending if you look here or here) in a time of 14:16:56. The announcer announced “John Mitchell you are Mountainman. You are Ironman”.