Marine Corps Marathon 2008 Race Report

So another year of training has gone by and my first full (well, that is debatable) triathlon season has come to an end. But before I could even think about what my fall racing series was going to be a received a phone call. ENTER Janet Patton and Genna Griffith: co-workers and colleagues in the acting world and more importantly all-stars for the ACHILLES TRACK CLUB of NY. You may remember last year when Janet (who was working on Nobody's Perfect over at the Kennedy Center with me) asked if I was interested in running the NY Marathon as a guide to a disabled runner through her organization up in NY. "So you want me to run the NY Marathon? One of the most prestigious racing events in the world, on your dollar and help guide someone through the race? Where do I sign up?" Forget the fact that I had just raced the Marine Corps Marathon the week before, getting to run in the NY Marathon would be unbelievable no matter how you participated. That experience was probably in my Top 5 of all-time experiences---so, why not do it again...this time twice. Run the Marine Corps Marathon and the NY Marathon, both as guides. If I could race one and then guide another last year, certainly guiding two races would be much easier...right?...right?...?

As my recovery time from IM Wisconsin stretched from 2 weeks to 3 weeks, which meant I only ran once and biked once during that time, I became a little worried about the marathons--not to mention I had committed to the Backyard Burn Series this fall. As you know, the BYB Series began on the 19th of Oct. with their first race so if all goes well, I would be racing every weekend except one until Thanksgiving. Overachieving? Not really...not if everyone does around a 4-hour marathon. Emphasis on EVERYONE. That luxury was quickly dispelled when I found out the gentleman I would be guiding in NY wanted to run a 3:10 marathon. Now I'm capable of running a 3:10 marathon---I might not walk the next day, but I could pull it out of my ass. But that would mean training needed to start ASAP with no hiccups. My goal: Get some long runs in of about 90-120 minutes long, continue my speed work at the track on Wednesday mornings, race the first BYB 10 miler and use Marine Corps Marathon as a training run for NY. Sound good? Great. Will it go according to plan? No -- Not when you find out that the gentleman you're guiding in MCM wants to do a 3:30 marathon. That's an 8-min/mile pace which isn't incredibly difficult, but it will allow very little time to recover for NY and run a 3:10 there. Panic sets in, but what can you do?

I met Neil the night before at the pasta party thrown by the Arlington's Station 5 Fire Department and was excited to hear he had also competed in IM Wisconsin last month. I was even more excited to hear he hadn't been running too much since the race and was hoping to only do around a 4-hour marathon (9-min/mile). With the weight of the off my back, I settled into to some late night discussions with a few of the athletes, pleasantly relieved I was going to have to run all out tomorrow. The race would indeed become the training run I had hoped it would be for NY the following week.

Race morning came sooner than expected and with the alarm buzzing and my clothes pack I dressed myself in my 2XU compression shorts and calf tights, threw on my hat, searched 30 minutes to find my gloves and headed out the door. Metro in DC opens at 5AM on the morning of the race and with our plan to meet at the Rosslyn Marriot Hotel, the morning would go smooth as silk.

Neil and I, along with Sarah - his girlfriend, walked down to the start line a little early to watch the handcrank athletes take off and then settled in for what should have been an easy day. With a little nip in the air, an extra T-shirt or jacket to stay warm at the start and an extra dose of the "Crazies" this year's marathon promised to be picture perfect. The weather forecast was probably the best I've seen for any marathon I've run and with the new course changes (running around Hains Point earlier in the race than usual) the race now provided the perfect PR opportunity for any seasoned marathoner. But I wasn't racing, just helping out Neil.

RACE

I'm often forgetful of why I race. My usual answer is because there's no hatred on race day. Everyone is out there wishing everyone well. There's a sense of community that only comes with understanding the sacrifice everyone has made to get there. But more importantly, it's a wonder to be a part of something grander and bigger than you could ever imagine. 30, 000 people congregating on to one tiny speck of the planet. An infinitely small space when looking at the big picture, but to my eyes the magnitude of the event itself is overwhelming enough to make your heart stop and wonder at the miracle that is life. You're reminded of all that you're thankful for and before you're done, the gun goes off and the race has begun. I'm not even "competing" but this sense of gratitude is unshakeable for the first few miles. It's hard to run up those early hills without laughing and crying at one another. One athlete dives across the street to kiss his wife and say goodbye to his son ensuring him they'll see each other again in a few short hours...hopefully even sooner. Another drops his gloves, he's misjudged the temperature. And several athletes misjudge their bladders. It won't be the last time you'll see a sea of runners relieving themselves in the woods, but two dozen at the edge of a parking lot - that doesn't happen too often. It's a day full of unabated shame and humility in which one could careless at how they look, rather how they finish. Today vanity takes a back seat to glory and in a world of Cosmo and Vanity Fair, it's a breath of fresh air. Today finishing is more important than winning, yet for some showing up is the most important of all. And today, allowing yourself to be pushed harder and farther than you could ever imagine is the name of the game. So what makes this race different than all the others I've run? I'm not caring. I'm not pushing myself. I'm not doing the calculations in my head, not carrying the one, not dividing by 2, no longer reconsidering my strategy - I'm taking it all in and loving it. Last year's NY Marathon was different, we had a 2-hour head start on the field which provided it's own beauty, but I had never been in the middle of the pack looking ahead at sea of runners knowing there were that many behind me too. I never had the chance to witness the trials of another runner, I was too worried about my own. But not today. Today I take it all in.

As we passed the spot where I made my choice last year to attempt a 3-hour marathon (and fail) I noticed we had been almost running for an hour. I had no idea. Neil and I chatted along the way, discussing everything from sports, to school to IM Wisconsin and when time allotted, we told some jokes. Most importantly, we had fun, and the first sign of the fun to come was the Key Bridge. What a sight! The cold morning air, combined with the rising sun and temperature had left the Potomac river a virtual river of fog. As we approached the bridge ahead and looked left, the belly of the beast had begun to engulf the bridge. Runner after runner made the turn and slowly disappeared, being swallowed whole by mother nature. For most is was an awesome sight and for others the zero visibility and lack of Georgetown up ahead loomed large in their minds. What lay ahead in the darkness and blindly fog was unknown - they were in uncharted territory. A perfect metaphor for the rest of their day.

With only the tip of Georgetown's tower looming overhead, the scenic race continued through the tree tunneled roads of the Macarthur Blvd. Beautiful to say the least. And as the sun began to blind us as we made the turn back to the Mall, the waves of steam escaping off the heads of those in front of us, it was just another reminder that body temperatures were rising and the 10 mile mark loomed ahead. It was around here that my job began. Not for Neil, but for a couple of handcrank athletes. They weren't from ACHILLES, but it mattered nonetheless. They were athletes needing assistance, and that's what I was there to do. So with a burst of speed and some fresh legs that I was unaware existed, I surged forward preempting the catastrophe ahead that was called...a downhill. For those of you who are familiar with Georgetown and the hill connecting M street to Macarthur Blvd. are certainly aware of the steep grade it possesses when heading out of town, but few know the harrowing quick descent it owns when you're in a handcrank wheelchair barreling downhill at 20-30mph while dodging a few THOUSAND RUNNERS! Needless to say, I say what could have been a disaster, sprinted past the "chairs" (that's what everyone calls them on the course) and shouted "Make a hole in the middle! Hole in the middle! Make a hole!" Easy enough right? Not when everyone is wearing a pair of headphones. I said it last year and I'll say it again. For the safety of everyone involved, you should not wear headphones in a race. But if you must, still be cognizant of your surroundings. WIth a nasal voice and a determined outlook, a path was made, the chairs were safe and I was out of breath. Thank God for water stops. Refueled with a little bit of Powerade and water, said goodbye to the two guys,spotted Neil and we were off again. We had hit a bit of an incline getting on to M Street so the chairs were slowing as we continued to maintain our pace of 9-min/mile. All was well...except my lungs. :)

A slight turn onto Rock Creek Parkway, running past the Kennedy Center and on towards the Lincoln Memorial we evaluated our level fitness and comfort. "If we continue to do this and feel good at the end, we can probably haul ass to the finish line over the last 6 miles," Neil said. "Sounds good to me." I reassured him, HE was going to set the pace, not me. I was just their for support. He nodded at this without making a sound and trotted along, found Sarah in the crowd, kissed her hello and caught back up. We were comfortable, we were getting confident, we were nearing the halfway point and we were happy to be getting through Hains Point without any problems. That might explain why we started doing an 8:45 mile pace. Now, 15 seconds is not a lot, but it was enough of a sign that both of us felt good. Great in fact--much better than expected. This run was actually shaping up to be a pretty decent training run. And then it happened. Mile 16.

I'm not sure how it happened, maybe it was just my need to help out, but my instincts took over again for the 3rd time that day. I began to clear the way for two more chairs. Now I'm not 100% sure, but I'm pretty confident that it was the same two guys from earlier in the day, but this time there was no hill, only the flat road surrounding the Mall. Ergo, they were traveling at speeds faster than everyone else and no one was getting out of the way. Time for another surge, only this time it wasn't just a surge. Neil came along with me - Neil had now become the guide instead of the guided. (Which makes sense since he finished IM Wisconsin at only the age of 22. CRAZY!) The dynamic guiding duo of Neil and Kip cleared the roads. "Move to your right! Make a hole! Chairs Coming!" Whatever we needed to say we said, however fast we needed to run - we did. And wouldn't you know it - the chairs got faster!!! (Sidenote - I think the reason I love guiding wheelchairs so much is that it's never boring. Slow on the uphills, fast on the downhills. It's a never ending roller coaster of speed work.) Mile 16, Mile 17, Mile 18. You concentrate so much on making people get out of the way that you're oblivious to the mile markers. We've done 3 miles already? That's insane. And before I knew it we were approaching Mile 19...a disastrous Mile 19. Why disastrous? Disastrous because I was an idiot. I was an idiot because I assumed I would only have to clear the road of runners impeding our way, not spectators too! I was an idiot to think that spectators who not attempt to cross the road in the middle of a race! I was an idiot to assume people would look both ways when crossing the road! I, apparently, was an idiot. (Have you picked up on the sarcasm yet?) And this wasn't just any woman, she was clearly over 200lbs. and she had fallen straight onto the midsection and then legs of this athlete. Legless and metal plates and screws in his right arm, the woman had just committed this guy to a death sentence. Chair #512 was in pain, but miraculously nothing broke. Not his arm, not his prosthetic, not his chair. It was miraculous. And had the woman not been in such deep remorse for being...you guessed it...an idiot, I would have gone off on her. But this was not the time nor the place, #512 was OK for the most part and the race was passing us by. We the moved the wreckage off the road, I stole a swig of her Vitamin Energy drink and we took off. (Hey, it was the least she could do.)

I looked for water for both the guys and had no luck, the next aid station was only a jelly belly stop and my guys were dehydrating. Even the little incline near the Smithsonian castle was proving too much for #512 and I already knew before they did that their race was a metaphoric uphill battle from here on in. And yet this whole time Neil was right there with me. Each time we hit the downhills he would eventually catch us on the uphills, it gave us a sense of purpose - To make sure these guys were taken care of. But soon our chivalrous acts were becoming less and less. #512 was having a hard time and with the 14th Street bridge looming ahead, I knew it was going to be rough. But what should I do? Stick with Neil and stay behind and make sure these guys made it in safely? I didn't make a choice. I didn't need to. Neil made the choice for me. He told me he was going to go up ahead and continue on. He knew these guys needed my help more and sacrificed himself for them. I asked him if he was sure, and he said, "Absolutely." I told him that once we finished the 14th St. Bridge we would catch back up to him...but it was never meant to be. I never saw Neil again during the race. I kept looking for him at all the turnarounds hoping to gauge how far ahead of me he was, but it never happened. I even entertained the idea that if the chairs were "OK" after the bridge, I would jump the race and join up with Neil making sure we finished together. I wanted to finish together, even if it meant I wouldn't have actually completed the whole race. I was OK with that, but it wasn't in the cards. I learned later Neil finished a respectable 4:10. Nice work considering he hadn't run over 10 miles since IMWI almost 7 weeks prior. I couldn't say that about my two new athletes. It was #512's first marathon and he had hit the proverbial wall. The 14th St. Bridge was killing him. I had flashbacks of Laura in NY last year when I had to help her up the hills at the end, but I didn't want to do that this time. I knew by looking in #512 eyes, he wanted to do this himself. No pushes, no pulls - just himself. It was awhile before we finished that section of the course, but it was over now and as we headed to the off-ramp I told him there was only one more hill to go...the end...Iwo Jima.

There's a beauty and a power knowing the course when you're racing, but it's something different when you're guiding someone else through it's pitfalls. "Just up ahead we'll do a turnaround. Only 1/2 a mile until we get water. Sharp right up ahead!" I looked for anything I could use to break up the race into smaller chunks for them. Mileage markers, turns, hills...they all became tools to motivate them to go faster. And now the biggest motivating factor came into play...they could smell the barn. After a quick bathroom break for the two of them we made the turnaround in Crystal City and headed back towards the Pentagon and eventually home. The finish line was only a few short miles away and these guys had been troopers, but #511 wasn't about to let #512 finish alone. He made have been stronger, he may have been faster, he may have even weighed less, but he was a friend and there was no way he was going to finish this race without his buddy. 23, 24, 25...the crowds were growing, 25.5. Only .7 miles to go, 26.......................And something happened that many did not see coming. #512 couldn't make the hill. His arms were too tired. What had become a victory on the 14th St. Bridge had now become the underlining cause of his defeat. He was trashed, tired and tried. To come all this way and come up short is heartbreaking. But somewhere, somehow #512 reached deep within himself and made his way up. Not up the hill, No. Up and out of his seat. With his left hand grabbed the front of his chair and with mine holding the opposite side, we both stood there looking up at what was in all practical terms, to him, the Mt. Everest of hills. But today there was no snow, no ice picks, no glorious mountain-top view of the world. There was only a medal and a Finish line...and I was his sherpa. I took one look at him and asked him, "Are you ready?" And with that he began what I consider the most inspiring .2 miles I have ever seen - that certainly anyone who was at that finish line has ever seen - and, in what I could only describe, as the most deafening feat anyone could witness. Deafening because there were only two sounds I heard. The first was each and every step that #512 took on his two prosthetic legs up that grueling climb and the other was the sound of jaws hitting the ground once they realized what they were witnessing. The crowd was stunned to silence. As each individual grasped the concept that this man was now out of his chair for the last few feet of this race after having been through sheer pain in the latter half was mind numbing to them. Literallly. As we shuffled up the hill you could hear the crowd get quieter with every step. I caught the eyes of one woman as her brain processed what was happening. And I raised my arm. Raised my arm so violently I thought it was going to come out of my socket. Raised it as to say, "Come on damn it! Start cheering!" And so they did, louder and louder as we neared the finish line. A lot of Marine Corps sayings were being thrown around every which way, none of which I understood except in sentiment. They were proud, they were happy, they were respectful, they were grateful this man had served his country and they were in awe. And then...nothing. It was over. He did it. #512 had done it. Congratulations were spread around and as I shook #512's hand I said,

"I'm Kip."

"I'm Zach."

"Nice to meet you Zach. Congratulations!"

And with a hug I continued up the ramp, grabbed my food bag and headed for the hotel.

Andrew Tong #511
Yelm, WA M30-34
4:37:16

Zachary Briseno
Fort Worth, TX M20-24
4:37:34

Neil Schalk
Richland, WI M20-24
4:10:00

Backyard Burn Series Race #1 Race Report

EX2 Adventures Backyard Burn Series Race #1
October 19, 2008
Wakefield Park
Annadale, VA

Previous Best: N/A
Goal: With the series consisting of points given over the course of 4 races, I'd like to be top 3, but with missing Race #2 for the NY Marathon it might be difficult. Specifically, top 3 in this race.

Last year when Kirsten could nothing but talk about the Backyard Burn Series after every race and during every run on Sunday in Rock Creek Parkway, I paid attention to the next series of races and made sure I was competing. So did several others from the club. Specifically Travis and Phil - age group brethren.

With IMWI behind us I was having trouble getting myself off my ass to run any distance let alone some trails, but photographing Climate Ride inspired me once more to trudge on and so I did. A couple of hill workouts later with Phil and Hilary I was ready to tackle my first Trail Race ever. A few weeks earlier Phil and I had a great run in Rock Creek Parkway in order to tune up for this race, but with my latest run on The Mall leaving me lathargic and empty, I was worried I didn't have it in me to compete. Maybe I didn't take enough time off after IMWI...maybe too much. It's these very mind games that make competing in sports so attractive - because you don't just win on sheer talent, there's heart and determination figured into every win. Today's race would certainly have to possess a lot of the latter if I was going to reach my goal.

PRE-RACE/WARM-UP
The night before's antics at the Annual Pig Roast (a.k.a. another good reason to head to Eric's to eat and drink) provided a little more of an obstacle the next morning than anticipated (read: bathroom issues) and the previous day's tour at Ford's Theatre also left my legs wrecked. But, spirits were high as Travis, Phil and I all piled into my car and headed out for our very first Trail Race. It's always interesting to see other people's workout methods: how they warm-up, what clothes they choose to wear, what shoes, etc. For me, I knew I needed to do a few miles beforehand if I was to have any chance of competing, so I headed out on the course testing my footing with the Newtons and my choice of clothes. As I ran into Phil he warned me of the mainly single track course we were to take - if we wanted to make a move we would like have to make a bold choice or do it in the open field. Either way it was cold and since it's the first cold day to run in, I hadn't the slightest idea what to wear. Every year this happens: I put on too many clothes because I never remember what is appropriate for the given temperature. Longsleeves and hat? Longsleeves, gloves and hat? Maybe the pullover hat? What about tights? And on, and on, and on. Annoying! You'd think that someone who comes from a running background would know such things by now, but...nope - never remember. I should probably make a chart or something. Point being, I got back to the car with about about 3 minutes to the start and made a last second decision to change shirts, which also meant repinning the bib number since I forgot my bib number belt. CRAP! Hurry up! I run to the start and am as ready as I'll ever be...I think.

RACE
The beginning was just what I expected: a fast start to an already difficult race. I tried to hang with the main pack, but either I wasn't warmed up enough or we were going at a pretty good clip and just didn't have it in me (sidenote: it's difficult to gauge how fast you're going since you're on trails that don't have mile markers like a normal road race). In any case, I had Phil and the rest of them within sight while still having Sean Ward with me to keep the pressure on. Quick feet is the name of the game when running on trails and I learn that the hard way. Mile 1 - good, mile 2 - good, mile...and down goes Kip. Yep, completely tripped on a root, tumbled, did a shoulder role, popped back up and continued on. Sean would later say, "One minute I say you and the next, you were gone. Popped up and kept going." Yep, pretty much. With a group of about 8 runners ahead of our 3 person pack, I needed to be quick and gracefully, not slow and mediocre. We made it into the first clearing and I hadn't seen the 1st group in awhile - I figured they must be hauling ass, but by the time we made the straightaway for the next loop I caught a glimpse of the leaders. There were only 4 remaining ahead of me, but they had a pretty substantial lead on me, 4th place was nearly 90 seconds ahead and with the difficulty of the terrain, I was either going to win or lose the race based on my level of risk in the next loop.

Corners were cut sharp, logs were jump and rocks of any size didn't stand a chance of slowing me down---and yet, I couldn't see anyone ahead of me. The beauty, as I found out in my first Trail Race, about racing in the woods is that you're never really thinking about the distance. Your main objective? Don't fall...oops! too late for that, and catch the person in front of you. Racing is as much about strategy and footing as it is talent in these events. My only hope was to turn it on now and pray for the best. At several points during the 2nd loop I thought I had made a wrong turn--when you're all alone, you realize you never spent a single second looking up from the heels of the person in front of you. You don't know the course and once you've trailed off enough and have no in sight to chase, you're not just a runner, but a navigator as well. Needless to say...difficult, very difficult. I pass a water station with about 2 miles to go and yell at the volunteer, "How far back am I?" The answer: about 1 minute from 4th and 3 minutes behind 1st. CRAP! It was do or die time, and with a swig of water I took off hoping for second wind. As most of you know, my style of running is coming from behind in a race. If ever I was suited to kick ass, it would be at the end passing everyone with a late kick. 4th place was in sight and after some maneuvering and light stepping, I passed him while still in the woods. Next up, Phil and another guy in 2nd and 3rd. I see them ahead coming out of the woods headed for the finish and they're neck and neck. I head back into the woods for one last bit of heavy duty trail running lengthening my stride. The only way to catch them now is to make a move right here. And so I did. I emerged from the woods trailing about 100-150 yards behind Phil and noticed the other guy has taken off. No chance of catching him, but Phil...possibly. Inch by inch I close the gap expending a tremendous amount of energy and for once I think to myself, I my not have my kick this time--too much energy wasted catching up. Ergo, I sit on Phil's heel without his knowing and once we make the turn for the finishing chute I make my move. Is it enough? I'm not sure, but I don't look back. In the end, it was. 3rd Place overall and 2nd in the Age Group with Phil coming in a few seconds behind me. Later I would find out 1st place was 80 seconds ahead of me. Fast, but not impossible. I'm pissed and hungry for the next race, but happy and elated at the results. All in all a great start to this series. Unfortunately, I have to miss the 2nd race because I'll be up in Manhattan doing the NY Marathon this year again. So if I have any chance of placing in the top 3 overall for the series, I better finish no lower than 2nd in the final two races.

AWARDS
I don't often get to write this section, but today is different. And for all our talk about what an award should be, it should not be a trophy, a medal, a plaque. These things have no real use in this world other than collecting dust. But EX2 Adventures BYB Series thought about this and let's just say I could always use a nice pint glass. Yep, each of the top 5 athletes in each Age Group received a pint glass with the EX2 logo printed on it along with their respective place in the race. Awesome! How sweet is that? Finally, something I can use and be proud of when using it. Don't give T-shirts out as a free gift, give socks. Or a hat, or a pair of gloves. Something that people don't already have hundreds of. Luckily, EX2 Adventures are on the same page.

Phil Schmidt, Sean Ward and myself on the Podium!

And a special shout should go out to the DC Tri Club's little contingency of runners that showed up today. From what I counted, we had 9 or 10 runners there and 6 of us placed, with Phil Sean and myself taking 3 of the top 5 in the M30-39 AG. Unbelievable! Congrats to Julie Kennedy and AJ Morrison as well.

Now time to rest up for Marine Corps Marathon next week followed by NY Marathon the next. Yikes!

Kip Pierson
1:03:27
6:20 min/mile pace
3rd Overall
2nd in AG, M30-39

IRONMAN World Championships LOTTERY

"Swipe goes the credit card" (sung in a Pop goes the Weasel tune). Well, for the 3rd straight year I'm throwing my hat in the ring for the IRONMAN World Championship Lottery. The Lottery, to be held on April 15, 2009, allows a few laypeople the chance to run with the big dogs on the big island in Hawaii. Unfortunately, this is probably the only way I could ever do this race. To actually qualify I would have to run at least a 10:05 and with my horrible swimming efforts, even if I swam a 1:15, bike a 5:30 and run a 3:20, my time would already be 10:05 without transitions---which could add another 5-10 minutes. Ergo, I would need a brilliant day, a tough course to nullify the competition and perhaps a whirlpool for a lake. The other option is win one of the charitable eBay auction slots. (Yeah, right. I don't have $30,000 to spare) Basically, this all adds up to a fat chance in hell. I have a better chance of winning the lottery than I do qualifying for Kona. So...let's enter the lottery. 150 domestic slots, 50 international slots, 5 physically challenged slots and over 7,000 entrants. $35 to enter plus another $50 to join the "Passport Club" which gives me 2nd chance--50 domestic slot and 100 "Passport" slots---150 slots in all. And this being my 3rd attempt, my hopes are pretty low, but you never know. See you all on April 15th.

P.S. If anyone wants to donate $30,000 so I can get a slot, that would be cool too.

IRONMAN Wisconsin Race Report

IRONMAN Wisconsin
September 7, 2008
Madison, WI
Previous Best: 13:54:12
Goal: With spotty training, breaking 13hrs is my focus.

(To be filled out later, but here are photos in the meantime)

PRE-RACE WEEK
It seems the more I read race reports, the more I'm convinced the real story isn't the race, but the journey that leads up to the race. In truth, the race itself is only a small microcosm in the grand scheme of things. Ususally the more interesting and compelling part is are the trial and tribulations people have to deal with before the race. The anxiety and fears building to a bubbling boil. This race would be no different. With only two triathlons under my belt, one of them IMAZ April 2007 and the other an Olympic distance this summer (NJ State Triathlon), what awaited me in WI was anyone's guess, but with much more knowledge than before, having ridden the bike all winter long and a better understanding of my limitations, this race would prove to be exciting if not encouraging. With that said, it was about to be the most hectic Pre-Race Week of my life. A good friend of mine, Ellen, got married just a few weeks prior to the race in Sutton's Bay, MI (the NW corner of the lower peninsula) and they were kind enough to hire me as their photographer, but they were having the reception back in Grand Rapids, MI a few weeks later. Everyone see where this is going? Right...so as said photographer, I shot the wedding, but I also agreed to shoot the Friday night reception. YIKES! Not a bad mistake considering the race was on Sunday, but certainly not the most sane decsision I've ever made. So here's the schedule: Fly into Milwaukee, WI on Thursday (much cheaper flights than Madison), have my parents pick me up (they were driving in from MI), do packet pick-up, get in practice swim, pick up the pick and then relax back at the hotel. Friday morning would be tentative as far as a workout was concerned, then get on a plane at the Madison airport headed for Grand Rapids for the reception. Spend the night in Grand Rapids, leaving EARLY Saturday morning, make the tailend of the practice swim in Madison, prep the bike and gear, make all appropriate Gear Bag dropoffs and then rest up for the big day. Oh, and once Monday rolled around, I was heading out to LA that afternoon for a photography conference until Thursday morning. When it was all send and done, I think I was on 12-14 separate flights that week. Exhausted and drained, I prayed these sacrifices wouldn't show up too much in my overall time. But who knows? Only time would tell. On the other hand, for those who silently chastised me for biting off more than I could chew, think of it this way: By shooting the wedding and sacrificing a part of my race, I was able to pay for the entire trip to WI and LA from the money I earned shooting the wedding. Ergo, without the wedding I wouldn't have been able to financially afford the race. Either way, I was glad to be at the wedding as a friend and as a photographer. The photographs rocked!

With flight schedule after flight schedule checked and accounted for, my epic juggling of all
things logistical began to run its course and before I knew it, I was on my way to WI. First up, after landing safely of course, packet pick-up and then a practice swim. Usually the practice swims sessions are during the morning hours, but since the Lake Monona was public, we could swim at any time--at your own risk of course. Unfortunately, today would be riskier than normal. It was raining in Madison - and though the eye of the storm had already passed - the water was extremely choppy. Nonetheless, I was told the water was a decent temperature and I figured what the heck...I'm going to be wet anyway, why not? Besides, if race conditions were going to be anything like this, I better get all the practice I can right now. As I jumped into the water I realized this was not going to be easy. And after a 60 minute, 1 mile swim (yes, I said 60 minutes for 1 mile) I began to panic. I hurried back to the hotel and got on the DC Tri Club Forum immediately:

What does one do when swimming in tidal waves. I'm only kidding...slightly. Today was my first day in the water at IMWI, and though it rained all day (and still is) and the weather prediction is slightly better for Sunday, I'm a little concerned for Sunday.

We all know I suck in the pool, but today was a completely different beast. Going out was OK, but when I made the turn at the final buoy it became quite difficult. I felt like I was going nowhere. I was tossed and turned every stroke. Half the time I'm kicking with my leg out of the water and the other half my arm enters the water near my hip because of the waves. (The waves were white capping at moments).

WHAT DO I DO?

Do I just suck it up and deal with it? Is there a special technique for choppy water? Am I that bad of a swimmer? (The answer is YES) But truly, do I just plug away? A couple of points I just stopped after I took the 6 mouthful of water and said "What the F**K!

Here's to hoping the water is calm on Sunday.

I was lost and concerned. More importantly, I was tired and it showed the next morning. So I forwent my Friday swim and boarded the plane headed to Grand Rapids thinking only of my sore body and my propensity to be dead weight in the water. I swam a 1:39 in AZ last year, which isn't good at all, but now I was looking at barely making the cutoff of 2:20. I was worried.

The reception went well and it was great to see old friends and crazily enough, I even saw new friends from DC all the way in Grand Rapids...crazy! But it was great mainly because I wasn't thinking about the race. I had a job and a task to do and as long as I stayed focused, I would be alright. That is until I had to fall asleep. They say the most important night of sleep is the evening 2 nights before a big race...not the night before. If this was true, I was screwed. With all the partying and snoring of all the guests, I managed to eek out a mere 3-4 of sleep before being wisked away to the airport. I was in trouble. Feet sore, back still hurting from Thursday's swim it was time kick it into overdrive: Sleep with a little bit praying on the side.

I had made the decision the night before not swim on Saturday, but I wasn't entirely certain that was the best option. Though I was tired, I certainly wasn't mentally prepared to tackle that swim. Thursday's practice swim left a bad taste in my mouth...literally...and now I was doomed to relive that in my mind. Luckily Phil had just arrived in WI and wanted to know if I wished to join him for one last swim. That was all I needed. I texted him back "YES" and immediately called my folks and arranged for them to bring my wetsuit, cap and goggles with them to the airport. Our destination now wasn't the hotel bed, but the water. And THANK GOD! we did. What an easier swim. With the whitecaps subsided and my fears alleviated, I could now focus on preparing for the race instead of preparing for my death. I was 18 hours away from my 2nd Ironman.

PRE-RACE
The morning of was pleasantly calm and with my new found appreciation for compression tights I was ready to race. Wetsuit? Check. Racing Kit? Check. Special Needs Bags? Check. Bike and Run Gear Bags? Check...only because I was late to drop them off the night before. Sanity? Sanity?....Sanity? Well, we can't always be perfect. :)

I strolled into Transition after dropping my bags off and took note of which aisle I was positioned in. More importantly, I noticed that Phil and I were right next to each other in transition. His bib number - #498. My bib number - #497. This meant that our bikes and bags would be right next to each other. Additionally, it also meant that since I had borrowed Eric's TT helmet our bags looked exactly alike. Not good...well, not good for Phil. Fine for me. He's the faster swimmer by far, so if there was going to be a screw up, it would happen on his end, not mine.

I headed to the bike corral and found Phil there making a few last minute adjustments. I did the same. Taped on a few more Hammer Gels and Endurolytes, removed the plastic bag protecting my handlebars from any rain and placed my water bottles in their cages. I warned Phil about the helmet issue and he said, "No worries, I've marked my bag with some blue tape on the handle so I'll know it's mine." "Nice idea," I replied. "Very smart." (I learned later that Phil had indeed picked up my bag heading into T1---too funny!) And that was it. It was now a waiting game. Sit down and relax, head off to the bathroom for the morning ritual, sit down and relax, head back to the bathroom. - all routine. We put on our wetsuits, stretched some more, introduced my parents to Phil and we made our way down to the start.

SWIM (2.4 MILES)
Like a mass of lemmings headed to the edge of the cliff, the athletes slowly shuffled into the water. In the past my thought was to hold back as long as possible before getting in the water, conserve as much energy as possible - but this year I said screw it. Nearly 10-15 before the gun was to sound I made my way into Monona Lake...and let me say, "Thank Heaven!" I was calm I was focused and most importantly I was acclimated to the water BEFORE I had to swim. The latter fact alone is reason enough for me to get into the water early from now on. The swim had me scared, but my hopes were to just beat my abismal 1:39:19 from IMAZ, if I could pull off a 1:30 I would be ecstatic. But with a new found exuberance in the water, I was happy. This might be a fun day after all. I looked to the shore as the crowd roared with anticipation, then the sea of swimmers roared. We were about to embark on a journey and later today we would all be an Ironman. BANG!

With what is normally categorized as a human washing, with the water turning, the tide shifting and the bubbles stirring, the race began. Snap! went my cap as I was trounced by another swimmer. Crack! A shot to my nose. Pushing and pulling, we were salmon swimming upstream. A jolt to the ribs here and a nip at your toes, the water became a violent colliseum of gladiator swimmers. I hadn't experienced anything like it. I was so slow in IMAZ that I was never in a pack, and this year I THOUGHT I had positioned myself behind the better swimmers...but I guess not. It was a nasty, constant battle the entire first lap. Surely it would lessen on the 2nd lap. Alas, it was not to be and we continued to jostle under the water. The worst was at the turns - every athlete trying to cut off those few precious seconds and yards by taking the inside track. Was it worth the risk? I deemed it a worthy NO, and headed for the inside inside track - I swam on the inside part of the buoys. As long as I made the turns it didn't matter. I was not alone in my thought process and was accoompanied by what seemed to be over half of the field. Stroke, stroke, kick, PUNCH. Stroke, stroke, kick, PULL SOMEONE's FOOT. It was a controlled chaos. Any unseasoned swimmer would have given up instantly, and though I may not be the most seasoned, I was certainly here to fight back all day long.

The funny part about the 1st part of an Ironman (The Swim) is you never know how you're doing. You don't really have time to check your watch, you're attempting to stay calm and relaxed and yet your objective is to get out of the water as fast as possible. For me the objective is magnified by my inability to swim anywhere near a decent time. The longer I'm in the water, the further I fall to the end of the pack.

As I spotted the final turn and headed for home I had a gut feeling that I was around a 1:38 at best. It didn't feel much different from IMAZ and although I attempted to stay straight and glide my way through the water, I was certain my pace was only a slight improvement, if anything. Stroke, stroke, kick. The exit for the beach seemed a mile away. Stroke, stroke, kick. No more punching and pulling...thank God! Stroke, stroke...sand? SAND! Get up and run!!! I stood up in the water and headed for the exit. My googles removed, I looked at the clock: 1:24:10!!!!!!! A 15 minute improvement! HOLY SHIT! 1:24:10??? That's incredible! How did I do that? At best, the very best, I figured a 1:30, but not this. Excited and pumped up, I headed for T1.

1:39:19 IMAZ 2007
1:24:10 IMWI 2008
1559th overall (still at the back of the pack)

T1
T1 was interesting to say the least. The changing area was at the top of the Terrace, but the olnly way to get up there was through what they called the Helix - the circled 4 story parking garage ramp. We just swam 2.4 miles and now I need to run up what? This better count towards the 26.2 miles later on. Nonetheless, I was on cloud nine coming out of the water, stipped my wetsuit off and ran like hell up the ramp. "Go KIP! GO!" I heard from the crowd. I looked to my left and it was Mom and Dad. I'm pretty sure she yelled something obscene since she didn't expect to see me that soon and then I did something I hadn't planned on doing...I threw my wetsuit at her. I didn't toss it at her, I threw it at her. Over the heads of 3 unsuspecting spectators, dab smack it the kisser. "Put it in the car!" I yelled as I sprinted away. I thought to myself, "If you're going to do a 1:24:10, you better realize your racing this thing today!" And so I was.

As for the actual transition goes concerning clothes, shoes, helmet, etc. Enough cannot be said about the support staff and volunteers at this event. I sat down to put on my shoes and before I knew it some guy with rubber gloves had pulled out everything in my bag asking me "What's Next?" A personal assist in T1? This was amazing! I thanked the gentleman kindly and went on my way. The time may seem long, but so is the run to the bikes. Next time I'll be sure to run to my bike, THEN put my cleats on. You'd probably only say about 20-30 seconds, but it adds up at the end of the day.

7:30 IMAZ 2007
8:03 IMWI 2008 (slower, but not comparable)

BIKE (112 Miles)
Here's where the race is really won or lost. You either go out to hard in the beginning and blow up or you go out to slow and have too much energy at the end of the day. The former puts you in a world of hurt physically, while the former puts you in a world of hurt mentally. Either way, the elusive balance between pushing and conserving is what you need, but you don't always find it.

With nearly 1600 athletes ahead of me, I made short work of those around me and headed for the front of the pack. A hard, long winter of training on the bike gave me confidence that I could tackle a 6-hour leg, but with all the mitigating factors, I was unsure, but I had to try. To let a good swim go to waste would be a crime (a good swim for me that is) so I set off attempting to fuel up and fly by.

From what I gathered, most athletes considered this bike course to be harder than Lake Placid and since I've trained on the LP course a couple of times, I was cautious of hammering it early on. The last thing I wanted to do was to destroy myself early on, but my body was telling me something else. Mile after mile I began passing rider after rider. Now to say I didn't draft would be a lie, but with that many people in a pack, there's no way NOT to draft. It's the one problem of being a good biker and runner - you're always having to negotiate traffic. Nonetheless, I put my head down and picked off people one by one. 19.3 mph...smooth sailing. There were rollers, there were climbs, there were a couple of flats and there were also Pirates. What more could you want? (The Pirates were located at one of the aid stations near the latter half of the course. Everyone had a Pirate costume on and when you threw your empty bottles away, they actually had goals, nets and targets to shoot for. So small and so insignificant, yet it was my favorite thing of the day. When I got back to that spot on my 2nd loop, it provided the smile and energy I needed to push on, because I was hurting.) We went through a little town where the race was busing people out to and I was on cloud nine again. Flying through the field, I heard Mom & Dad scream (though I never actually saw them) and made the turn for loop number two. What I didn't know, was that I had the wrong directions.

Somehow, someone forgot to inform the field that there would be a massive headwind for the entire 2nd loop. Slapped with the backhand of reality, our dreams of setting new PR's were smashed to pieces. My only consolation lived in the Time Trial helmet I had borrowed from Eric. As the wind whipped by, my helmet cut through the forceful gales, however, my helmet alone could not save me. My overall speed dropped 2mph to a dismal 17.3. We were all hurting. Even my back.

Around mile 70-75 Mother Nature called me up and with the constant wind in our faces I made a judgement call: Get off now, use the port-o-john, stretch and pick it back up. I got as far as "Get off now." The moment I stepped off the bike my lower back seized up on me. I was in pain. Hunched over, the race is done, throw in the towel pain. Somewhere along the line I was pushing it too hard in the big gear and my lower back was paying a price. Stretching did not help, standing did not help. And as I was consoled by fellow riders I realized the day was done. My quads were beginning to spasm on me - a sign that I was either dehydrated or bonking - and my back would not let me push the pace. My goal now was to relax and enjoy the rest of the race. PR of no PR, I needed to come to the realization that it was over. A few more minutes of rest and I decided to give it one last go. I was going to finish the race no matter what, but "racing" was no longer an option. I clipped in at a measely 10mph, unable to pull up on the pedal nor get out of the saddle with the fear of cramping. I was a wounded athlete headed for enemy territory without any cover. I was a goner. Pedal, pedal, pain, pain. Pedal, pedal, pain, pain. Pedal, pedal...pedal, pedal? I can't believe it, my back was relaxing. My legs were still cramping, but my back was better. I was back in the game and though my 10 minute break would cost me, I was elated to continue on. Maybe not as fast as I wanted, but IT'S ON! Though I had to attack every hill/mountain by staying in the saddle, I pushed on. The Terrace in sight, I took stock of my situation. The run wasn't going to be pretty, but it was going to be. Like a horse smelling the barn, I pedaled home to a respectable time. 15-30 minutes slower than I would have liked, but overall, solid, very solid.

7:27:25 15mph IMAZ 2007
6:07:10 18.3mph IMWI 2008 (I wanted a 5:45, perhaps a 5:30 on a great day.)
688th place/bike overall

T2
Back up the Helix that we started down 112 miles ago, the only excitement here was when I got off the bike, I was running. Last year my foot cramped immediately. Tight back or not, I was racing! Woo-hoo!

7:27 IMAZ 2007
4:46 IMWI 2008 (You can even tell the I was better trained this time from the Transition time.)

RUN (26.2 Miles)
Shoes, hat, socks, gu packets, a tiny fanny pack and swig of gatorade. Everything you need to conquer the marathon - sans a fresh pair of legs and some extra salt tablets. Step, step, cramp. Step, step cramp. It wasn't debilitating, but it was painful. Daggers stabbing and slicing through my quads, my usual running gait was impossible. The only solution lay in a quick step stride increasing my cadence t0 around 100-120 steps a minute. An uncommon stride, but the only way I could push on. I passed Phil around mile 3 or 4, wished him good luck and pressed on. The run was pretty great, a two loop course around University of Wisconsin's campus including two laps around Camp Randall Stadium and a plethora of Michigan State Fans. (I wore my MSU racing gear instead of the normal DC Tri Club gear for two reasons: 1. The DC Tri Club gear is a little to tight on me and therefore doesn't breathe as well as I'd like it to - leading to overheating and 2. More people recognize the MSU gear leading to more cheers...ergo, I have more people who are watching me, and I can't let them down, can I? I know it's a weird psychological thing, but whatever it takes, right?) My original plan of 8-minute miles went out the window pretty quick, probably while I was on the bike, but somehow I managed to pull off a few of them at the top of the run. However, if was looking to finish this race in one piece I was going to have to reevaluate my pacing. 8:30's? Possible. 8:45's Likely. 9:00's? Hopefully not, but I'd still take it. I refused to walk the hills though most did, I continued to drink water and gatorade at every aid station and even began a new ritual - putting ice under my cap and even down my jersery (front & back). I found that, as the race wore on, my need for ice and water increased frequency, but the aid stations did not. So, whenever I needed some ice, I just zipped open my jersey and PRESTO! Yeah, I know it might seem disgusting, but it was a lifesaver. Mile after mile, I plodded along the course taking an expected and planned break for a 100 yards at the 21st mile and continued on. My pace was slowing slightly, but not dramatically and my dream of finishing the race while there was still daylight was about to come true. 22, 23, 24. I was feeling good. 2.2 miles to go and began to kick it in. Kicked it in at a nearly 7 minute mile pace until the end and I caught everyone that was in sight. Crossed the line with my arms held high, my jersey zipped up and legs completely dead. It was a PR by over 2 hours.

4:32:33 10:25 mile/pace IMAZ
3:55:10 8:59 mile/pace IMWI
267th place/ run overall

At the finish line I found my folks, or rather they found me, being held up by a couple of volunteers, I got my picture taken with my medal and was taken off to the food tent. Nearly 30 minutes later I gathered my wits and began for the exit. Gathered my gear and headed back to the hotel - not before heading to Pizzeria Uno's a late night victory meal. It was just my folks and me, but that was all that was needed. We ordered some wine, ate some pizza and I had a smoothie. I was stuffed and exhausted - and I need to be on a plane in Milwaukee in the early morning. It was time for bed. It was time to recoup. And it was time to rest. Afterall, Ironman Lake Placid is only 10 months away and a 10:45 is within my grasp. :)

Overall: 11:39:19
476th overall
101st/267 overall 30-34M
PR by over 2 hours

NJ State Triathlon - 2008 USAT Mid-Atlantic Regional Championships

NEW JERSEY STATE OLYMPIC DISTANCE TRIATHLON 2008
July 27, 2008
Trenton, NJ
Mercer County Park
Previous Best: N/A
Goal: Finish with a strong run and really push the bike. Also, have fun.

After a long winter of strong training my hopes were looking good for a strong season, but with back to back shows and dueling rehearsals, training took a back seat to work and the inevitable "real world" took hold of my life. I had to withdraw from the Columbia Triathlon due to a previous time commitment and a minor calf injury back in late February had seriously derailed my efforts to conquer Ironman Wisconsin in September. And before I knew it the club championships were here during one of the busiest months of the year. Luckily, Kevin and I went up to Lake Placid the week before to see the race and do a little training--but I hadn't been in the pool in almost 4 months. What does that mean? Even though I've never done an Olympic distance triathlon, I'm not looking to PR.

PRE-RACE WEEK & PRE-RACE
After a long week of work, Kevin & I headed up to Butler, PA for the bi-annual Kelly Family Reunion and a night game at PNC Park, which meant we had to leave in the early evening on Saturday, drive through the night to NJ, find the park, pitch a tent (illegally, that is) and somehow get up after only a few hours of sleep. No problem, right?

Well, with lack of sleep and a late start, race morning wasn't going great either. We packed up the tent and drove to the other side of the park to transition and the start of the race that awaited us. To be honest, I really didn't stretch, warm-up, plan, etc. Would it play a part? I don't know, but Kevin was having trouble finding water to put in his water bottles but luckily for me Joe Coyne had extra to share. How long 'til the start? How many people? How long/large is the course? How could we not draft on the bike? All questions to be asked and answered in due time. But first, the swim.

SWIM
With the temperature of the water too warm, race officials informed all participants wetsuits would not be offically allowed, but if you choose to wear one, you could race but not for any overall/age group awards or team points. And with no possession of a wetsuit, the decision suited Kevin and I just fine. So after what seemed to be a 25 minute wait at the ol' port-o-john, I headed down to the start, took a dip in the water, inhaled my last full water free breath for the foreseeable future and was off. Lining up alongside my club favorites, I had more than my share to keep up---and by "more" I mean too much. Quickly I found myself struggling at the top. Unable to find a rhythm and clearly undertrained in the pool, I began to struggle. Any winter swim training had evaporated which was to be expected, but what wasn't to be expected was the major cramping in my left calf muscles with 1/4 of a mile to go. As I pulled up lame in the water, my heartrate skyrocketed as my muscles began to seize. Seconds from screaming for help, the muscle finally relaxed and I continued on though I started to see colors...pink in particular. It was the first wave of the women. Was I really that slow? Yes. And as I crawled out of the water as one heaping pile of S*@t! the clock confirmed my overall lack of preparation and dehydration.

Swim: 41:25 (12 minutes behind Kevin in his first triathlon)

BIKE
Throwing myself up the little incline and into transition, it was a miracle my feet weren't split open by the gravel parking lot we had to traverse to get our bikes. Once I grabbed a swig of my bottle and dressed myself I was off. Kevin's bike was obviously gone (we had set up our stations in transition close to each other so I knew his whereabouts, but not how far out he was) and my main goal was to attack the bike course. I haven't actually tested my new bikes legs I acquired over the off season, so it was important to push the envelope while still leaving some left for the run--and quickly my plan went into action. Smooth in execution, I began to pass most cyclists (sans 2 or 3 who had passed me) with overall my confidence growing, but the lack of a bike computer put me at a disadvantage. Unaware of how much further we had to go, I questioned how fast I took off and without seeing Kevin and TJ no longer in my line of vision, I was concerned I wouldn't be able to hold my speed. But the oasis arose around the corner and as I dismounted and sprinted into transition with only two things perplexing me: first, Kevin's bike was already racked and two, there was something going on with my side.

Bike: 1:02:48 - 22.2mph (fast avg. mph in any bike leg for any of my previous races--Awesome!)

RUN
Kicking off the bike cleats, well, pulling and yanking is more like it, I took inventory of myself and took off to the sounds of Rachel Wadsworth and a few other DC Tri members cheering me on. "How far is Kevin ahead of me?" She paused to think..."He's came through awhile ago. Probably ten minutes." TEN MINUTES! Crap! In the world of a 10K race, 10 minutes is a lot. At best, if I ran a 40 minute 10K race, I had to have Kevin falter a little on the run or I was done. With the shoes laced up and the cap on tight, I took off. Weaving in and out of the other runners I felt that nagging pain in my side begin to worsen. Step by step and breath by breath, my stride began to suffer. Mile 1 was on track, but something was wrong. Kevin and I passed each other on the out and back portion, but it wasn't my legs giving me problems, it was my rib. Or rather my ribcage muscles. Had I pulled and oblique muscles? Tore a muscle? I was beginning to wonder. My breathing became erratic and I began to weaze. I was a running orgasmic noise. My stealth like gait gone as I made little gasping yelps of pain with each step. Again, something was wrong. Thoughts of IMWI flashed in my head--Should I quit? Can I finish? Am I going to need a medic after the race? For those who know me, I never give up during a race, but this was different. It was, by far, the worst pain I have ever felt while running. And to top it all off, I thought my IRONMAN dreams for this season were done. What to do, what to do? The answer: WALK. That's right walk. I had no choice. Either this was the worst stitch caused by either a lack or excess of fluid or I was headed to the emergency room. Fortunately, it was the former, but unfortunately, I was WALKING! I saw Eric Goetz ahead of me and began to shuffle along, attempting to find a miracle on the trails...and it came. Slowly, the pain subsided and I began my assault on the final few miles. Head down, hips forward and my arms in motion I inched closer and closer to the final mile when I finally spotted Kevin again. It wasn't to be. As I did the calculations in my head, it was impossible---the little shit beat me in his first triathlon! But the race wasn't over. I figured, if I couldn't beat him, I could certainly ruin some other athletes day by taking them down in the last 1/4 mile. Humidity rising and sweating dripping off my visor, I rounded the final corner onto the straightaway and headed for the finish line playing cat and mouse with two other runners. With a tug here and a push there, I laid the hammer once more in the final stretch of a race and blew by the few individuals looking for last second glory. For them, it was not to be. (notice there's no pictures of me crossing the line: Too fast for you Mr. Photographer?) Once again, if I have you in my sights with a 1/4 mile, you're mine. Unfortunately, the race was not mine. Kevin had won. (which I'm completely proud of--he's by far a better swimmer than I am and with a 12 deficit out of the water, the race was already his. He's come a long way with only more PR's to come)

Run: 42:43 6:54 mile/pace (my 2nd mile was almost a full minute slower than every other mile)

Overall: 2:31:33
21st in age division 30-34M
154th Male
184th Overall