As I sit here in the airport awaiting my flight to the recovery destination of England, there is time to reflect on this past weekend and the Boulder Ironman which occurred on Sunday.
As already mentioned on these pages, the week did not begin well with a virus knocking me out of action until the Wednesday before the race. At which time, the first race began, to refuel myself and gain back a bit of wait that was lost, before the gun went off on Sunday morning. Lots of carbs later that race was being won.
My wife arrived on Thursday evening which was a lifeline. My hosts in The Bowers had done a simply priceless and superb job of looking after me so far and the arrival on my beloved was icing on the cake.
Mitch, being the bike guru of Denver, a seriously accomplished mechanic, set to tackling my bike and more or less overhauling much of it. Let's just say I didn't quite keep it up to clean, noiseless standards and he was not all that enthused. A new chain, big ring, wheels and tires and pedals later and the bike was running as good as the day I purchased it. My Boy Blue was ready to race. We took her out for a spin the Thursday before the race, a little late due to my illness and the uncharacteristically wet days that formed Wednesday and much of Thursday morning. The bike was a dream to ride. Quiet as you like, drifting along the tarmac effortlessly. This was a good sign.
As the body began to turn around it was time to check the weather. Heat is not my biggest fan, so I will often keep an eye on temps leading up to the race. The Monday before they were claiming 79F and sunny. By Friday we were looking at race day temps of 89F. Still an improvement on the 90+ the area had been having in weeks previous. However, this would still push the theoretical altitude to close to 9,000ft! Couldn't be helped. Move on!
Come Friday, Marie and I moved to our rental house in Longmont, which turned out to be a gem. That evening we decided to get the whole support crew in for some carbo loading. What a support crew it was! The Bowers - hosts and sponsors. The Lindley/Delssandris - the long time travel companions. The Lanes - long time family friends who had known me since birth. The Lanes were the stand ins for my parents who were sadly not able to make this one. This group of individuals turned out to be the absolute perfect compliment to race day and if their accounts are anything to go by, they certainly had a lot of fun.
Saturday was a relaxed affair. Checked the bike in and drop the gear bags. Decided to drive the course, seeing as we had gas to burn for the rental car and received a non stop entertainment driven race course courtesy of Neal Lindley (my cohort from last year). That evening was early to bed and ready to race. Sleep does not come easy to me before an Ironman. It's such a dynamic event that I tend, to my detriment, to contemplate a lot the night before such a distance is to be tackled.
Before I knew it the alarm was going off at 3:45am and I began my list and worked my way through it, bleary eyed (avoiding any caffeine this time) until 4:15 rolled around and we were off to the shuttles. This was a split transition. Two different locations for T1 and 2. The logistics of all this meant that extra time was needed to get around, hence the early rise. We met Mitch at the shuttles and he was in fine spirits which calmed me nicely. By the time we made it out to Boulder Reservoir, I was surprisingly calm and ready to enjoy this picture perfect swim.
As the gun went off, I hit the water and an hour and ten minutes later exited feeling barely taxed and happy that, even though my swim wasn't quicker, I was significantly less fatigued than ever before. This, even at an altitude of 5,450ft!
I hit the bike knowing that the last third was a challenge. Taking it what appeared to be very easy indeed, I found the bike doing all the work and looked down to see the first 50 miles completed in only 2hrs55mins. Much faster than I had intended. Once we headed out on to the eastern plains, the temperatures shot up, the wind died down and reality set in. Average speeds bonked and from mile 70 on it was a case of maintaining control and measuring my effort closely. My DeSotto Cool Wings were working very well and even though I could tell the mercury was rising steadily, my body was pretty happy. I was drinking close to 48 oz an hour and staying as hydrated as one can at altitude on a hot day.
The hills introduced themselves right at mile 100. The Three Sisters, they call them locally, are a continuous climb up, shallowing out three times, only to hit you again until you reach the top, one mile later. Not so bad really, but 100 miles in, just a brutal kick to the teeth. Fortunately, it was mostly downhill in to the finish, during which I was bonking so badly that I seriously questioned my ability to finish. To be frank, the support I received from my team was invaluable out there and unquestionably propelled me forward.
After T2, I headed out on the run, or as I termed the first 11 miles, a slow death march. The heat meant that I couldn't digest as much hard food as I wanted, with most calories being consumed in liquid form. This was not cutting the mustard, as they say, and by the time I saw my team again at mile 11, I was seriously questioning my decision to continue. It was the darkest place I have ever been on a run. Legs and the rest were fine, but my body was closing down. I decided to walk a lot of the next two miles as it swang around and returned to my team. During that time I consumed solid food like it was going out of style and was suddenly sprang with a new lease on life and the run was back on. I knew I had hydrated well. I couldn't stop peeing! I realized, much as a result of my watch running out of juice, that I simply was well behind on my nutrition. With the cooling evening temps, a plan was hatched and nutrition was back in business. Although I had a number of mini dark moments around mile 17 and 24, the rest seemed to fly by and my pace quickened significantly, although not enough to avoid recording my slowest marathon ever. That said, it was far and away my proudest finish ever and when I saw my support crew for the final time at mile 22, I couldn't wait to seem them all in the finishing shoot with a smile plastered across my face.
Although I was definitely tempted to cry, the smile took over in the finishing shoot, as I couldn't believe I had made it through and the noise and support during that last 1/4 mile was truly unparalleled to anything I have experienced. Miss Delassandri handed off the British flag as planned and I crossed the line happy as Larry in a time of 14hrs and 34mins.
What a day. What a crew. What a location! Now it's time for some serious rest and to look back in great fondness at the last 7 days. What a week!!!
Good luck to us all!!
