Your first Ironman? Here's what you'll do wrong.

Your first Ironman. Congratulations! All your training, all the miles, all the hours, all the sunburns and flat tires and aches and pains and early mornings and early nights and bricks and lap after lap after lap after lap following the mind-numbing black line and the chlorine...they're all about to pay off at the big show: Ironman.

You may not think it now, and you will probably be near panic-mode when you see the water, race morning, but once you get into your rhythm on the swim, you'll get to a point where you know you'll be fine on the swim. You'll move through T1, ready to continue that friendship with your bike that you've forged over many miles and many hours in the saddle. You'll settle into the bike, and by the end (or maybe well before then) you'll be so ready to get off the bike... T2 you may be a little less chatty than T1, but you'll be ready for the run, and you'll pump out of T2 onto the run with the energy of the crowd. You'll take the run as it comes, sometimes feeling like you're in stride and on pace, and sometimes just hoping you make it to the end. But you'll make it. And sometime before midnight, you will hear Mike Reilly shout to the world, "You Are An Ironman!"

That's all true, and you WILL be an Ironman. But here are the mistakes you'll make during the day. Believe me, because many of us have made the same mistakes. Some of us, more than once.

1. You'll do too much when you arrive at the race city/venue. When you get on site, you'll see people riding in full kit, running all over the place, and swimming like there's no tomorrow. You'll think you need to do that, too. Don't be fooled. Some of them live there and are riding, running, and swimming because they know they'll LOOK like they're here for the race. They don't have to go 140.6 on Sunday! You go like them Thursday, Friday and Saturday, and you'll be able to go as far as them, Sunday = not 140.6! Take a couple of short rides to make sure your bike is dialed in. Do a short run or two to keep the capillaries open, but if you do the underwear run, don't think you have to win it.

1.1 You'll do too little when you arrive at the race city/venue. Sure, you've done all the training, you tapered perfectly, and nothing you do in the last few days will make you faster or fitter. But doing too little can dull your edge. You need to keep the capillaries in place, and you need to burn off some of that nervous energy.

1.2 Swim: You won't do any of the training swims on the race course because you're still intimidated by the swim. If you're still feeling intimidated, the best thing you can do is take a couple of short swims on the course. (This is also a great place to run into some Pro's when they're more relaxed and just checking out things like the rest of us.)

2. You'll go to bed too early the night before the race. Yes, you need a good night's sleep before the race. But let's get real. You don't go to bed at 8:00, ever, so don't go to bed at 8:00 the night before Ironman! You won't be able to go to sleep, and you'll just stress yourself out. "I must to go sleep!" "I can't go to sleep!" "I MUST go to sleep!" Instead of trying to force yourself to go to sleep un-naturally early, plan to have a relaxing evening. Eat supper/dinner early. Watch a movie. Relax while chatting with your friend/partner/spouse/family. If making whoopie helps you sleep, just DO it! If a glass of wine helps you relax, drink it. (NOT the whole bottle!) Get a good night's sleep each night of the week before race day, and take some naps the days before, and you'll be OK after not sleeping as much the night before the race.

3. Race morning: you'll wake up many times during the night. Do NOT get out of bed before your planned wake-up time. Even if you're awake at 1:30, 2:17, and 4:03 a.m., stay in bed until your pre-determined "wake-up" time. If you're awake, OK, you're awake. Just relax and enjoy this quiet time before your big day.

4. Your bike: you'll load way too much on your bike, and you'll carry way too much weight on your bike.

4.1 Gels: you can load five-six-seven hours of gels on your bike, with electrical tape on your top tube, or in your Bento box, or in your shorts. If you need your special gel mix to survive, then by all means do it. But if you can do just as well with PowerBar gels (or whatever the race is using this time around), then you'll get one every ten miles, and you won't have to carry ANY with you. Maybe one extra on hand just in case.

4.2 Hydration: considering that a full 20 oz. water bottle weighs roughly 1.6 pounds, how much weight do you really want to haul around? Aid stations come along every 10 miles. That means cold water and a fresh load of PowerBar Perform (at least until WTC inks a deal with some other hydration company) every ten miles. If you really need your special drink mix, then use what you need. But if you can handle whatever they're serving, you really don't need more than two or three (really, two) bottles.

4.3 Food: you could feed a lot of people with all the PBJs and bananas that get dumped along the bike route. If you really need solid food on the bike, take it. It seems like a lot of people at every race never tested the theory during training, and end up wasting energy carrying around food they end up tossing on the road.

5. Run: the noise of the crowd and your adrenaline might have you rocketing out of T2. Just don't let it last too long before finding your pace and settling in for the marathon.

5.1 Hydration: don't drink a full cup of hydro at every aid station! Do you drink that much every mile in training? You want to stay hydrated, but your gut's only going to absorb so much liquid each mile: the extra liquid sloshing around isn't going to feel good.

6. Finish: there are no mistakes at the finish line. You Are An Ironman!

2011: taking care of unfinished business

For 2011, I'm going after some of those unanswered questions from the big disappointments of 2009. Ironman Louisville 2009 was a surprising disappointment: training was good, prep races were good, but race day didn't live up to my abilities. Swim time was off by 20 minutes, bike never found my normal speed, and I faded on the run to the point of walking perhaps 30 minutes overall (maybe more). I developed an overuse injury in my right shoulder during the build for Louisville which took almost until Ironman Lake Placid in 2010 to feel swimable, and it's still not 100%. Later in the season, during the Philly Marathon, I strained a hamstring and waived goodbye to my Boston qualifying time of 3:30, even though I had been right on goal pace at 13.1 miles. That hammy took until early summer 2010 before I felt confident I could run a marathon again. So now that Lake Placid is behind me (which, although it was my slowest Ironman performance, it is the one I am most happy with), I am thinking seriously about the 2011 season.

The big goals...

1. Go sub-12 hours at Ironman Louisville. I have not finished an Ironman under 12 hours, yet. I could-a should-a would-a at Louisville in 2009 but it wasn't happening that day. My bike speed is better now, and my running is way better. Just need to get back to work on my swim to bring that time down a bit. Carving time off the shortest part of the day (swim) is not going to make huge gains in the overall time, but 20 minutes here and there add up over 140.6 miles.

2. Qualify for the Boston Marathon with a 3:30 marathon finish elsewhere. My training times and half-marathon time at the Philadelphia Distance Run in 2009 had me on track for a BQ, until the injury at mile 15-ish. I have the , I can get back to the speed. I'll plan up to three regional marathons in 2011 to give me several chances.

The smaller goals...

1. Go sub-6 hours in a half-Ironman. I came close at Eagleman (6:17) and Providence (6:08 - my best 70.3 result so far). As with Ironman, shaving a few minutes off the swim will help, but the big answer is shaving bike time and run time. I know I can.

2. Go sub-21 minutes in a 5K. My best 5K time is 21:22, for a pace of 6:54/mile. I need to shave eight seconds per mile to hit 20:59. I've come close to placing in my age group in a couple of 5Ks (in 2009, not 2010!), and I think breaking the 21 minute barrier just might do the trick in the right race.

And the crazy goal...

Go off-road. I have a friend who does really crazy mountain bike races, like 24-hour races and five-day stage races in the Rockies. He's inspired me to spend more time on the knobby tires, and I'm finally getting a little better, a little less fearful of the rocky downhills, a little better at making it up a climb in the pedals rather than on foot. So I'm going to pick up a 29er (probably a Niner) and plan to do some one-day, off-road races in 2011. (Maybe a stage race or two in 2012?)

So here's the schedule and goals as they stand now:

March 27: Brandywine Valley Duathlon (just fun & training)

April 17: Hibernia MTB Duathlon (don't crash on the bike)

May 2: Broad Street Run (finish under 1:19:36 for a PR)

May 15: Philadelphia Bar Foundation 5K (finish under 21 minutes for a PR and possibly place in age group)

June 12: Eagleman 70.3 (sub-six hours and PR)

June 26: Philadelphia Triathlon (finish under 2:43:05 for an Olympic-distance PR)

July 10: Amica Ironman 70.3 Providence (sub-six hours)

August 28: Ironman Louisville (sub-12 hours and a PR)

September: Philadelphia Rock-n-Roll Half Marathon or Whatever They Call It Next Year (1:40 for a PR and BQ goal time at 13.1)

November 20: Philadelphia Marathon (sub 3:30 for a PR and BQ)

I need to consult my MTB crazed friend for off road races to fit into the schedule. The goal of any off-roading will simply be to finish without any broken bones (broken bike is negotiable). Looking to 2012, potentially, for some more serious MTB action. I also need to look into other regional marathons that are good for PRs (yes, I know about Lehigh Valley).

The hardest part of Ironman

People often ask:

What's the hardest part of an Ironman?
A. The swim?
B. The bike?
C. The run? (Must be the run. How can anyone run a marathon after going 112 miles on the bike?)

The truth is:
D. None of the above.

An Ironman race, or any other triathlon, is hard. You're either pushing yourself to go really fast, or really far, and sometimes both. And you are totally at the mercy of the weather and terrain, which can make it even harder. But pushing yourself in the race is not the hardest part.

Covering the swim distance, whether 500 yards or 2.4 miles, is just swimming. As long as you've put in the training. Covering the bike distance, whether 15 miles or 112, is about pacing yourself and sticking to the hydration and nutrition plan. And the run, well, the run gets tough, especially after 56 or 112 miles on a bike. And running a marathon after 112 miles on the bike, that's just really tough. But it's not the hardest part.

Toeing the line at the swim start can be tough. Knowing you're about to go into the water with as many as 2,000 other people, all following the same line, all making the same turns, all at the same time. Knowing some of them are faster than you, and some are going to swim right over the top of you. Literally. Knowing there are sharks and jellyfish in some of the courses. In others, there are things you can't see because the water is so murky you can't see your fingers at the end of your stroke. Not seeing some of those things is good. But still... Knowing that if this were a public swimming beach, the lifeguards wouldn't let you in past your knees because the waves are too high. That can get tough. But it's not the hardest part.

The hardest part of Ironman isn't in the race at all. It's the time, effort, logistics, trade-offs, dark morning runs, rainy afternoon bike rides, swims in the dead of winter (even when the pool's heated, it still seems cold), indoor bike workouts in the basement, paying attention to nutrition so you don't gain too much weight in the winter. It's 100-mile rides in the heat of July and August. It's the 20-mile runs when there's no breeze to cut the 99% humidity. It's the first three minutes of an ice bath after a long run. Deep tissue massages that loosen muscles and tendons and help prevent injury but hurt so bad. Waking up at 5:00 a.m. to meet friends to run up a hill, again and again. Going to bed at 9:00 to get enough sleep to wake up at 5:00. Figuring out how to balance Ironman, family, work, and community in a schedule that already seemed full before the Ironman virus came along.

The hardest part of Ironman is sticking with the commitment, day after day, week after week, month after month, to do the workouts and keep the goal in sight. It's knowing that no single workout is going to make a difference in your ability to finish, or in your finish time, but also knowing that every workout gets you ready for the next. It's mediating the frequent internal argument: am I tired because I'm too tired to get out of bed for this workout and should skip it to avoid injury...or am I tired because it's still dark outside, and raining, and 42 degrees?

The hardest part of Ironman is consistently honoring the commitment you made to become an Ironman. It's being true to the reason you accepted the Ironman challenge. When everything else stacks up against training - work, family, chores, weather, loss of motivation, injury, illness - and sometimes they all stack up at the same time - that's when the hardest part of Ironman comes a'knocking. And when it does, and you answer by shoving a blackened toenail from last week's long tempo run in it's face, the hardest part of Ironman acquiesces: "Right, you are an Ironman."

Race Report: Ironman Louisville

August 30, 2009. Louisville, Kentucky. Ohio River. Rural Kentucky Counties. University of Louisville. Churchill Downs. Fourth Street Live. 2,352 people with a dream.

Overview, 140.6 miles: 14:58:07
Race day was an unexpected beauty. After two years when Ironman Louisville saw temperatures in the 90's with high humidity, the third running of IML caught a break with highs in the mid-70's, low humidity, light winds and clear skies. All those weeks of waiting until mid-day to head out for long training rides and runs, to catch the hottest part of the day to prepare for the inevitable heat, turned out to be good heat training that was not needed. Big crowds in Louisville and La Grange (which the bike route passed through, twice), and smaller concentrations along the course, were great boosters for everyone who passed through. Volunteers were fantastic all the way, with the occasional exception of some on the marathon route toward the end of the evening. They were understandably weary after a long day, themselves.

Swim, 2.4 miles: 1:49:33
IML has a unique swim. Rather than a mass start, where everyone is either in the water or on the beach, and all start at once, IML uses a time trial format, with athletes jumping off a dock one at a time to enter the backwaters of the Ohio River behind Towhead Island. But back up: to stage the swim start, athletes line up, first-come, first-in, with the line stretching for what must have been a mile along a parking lot and road. Once the cannon fired, the line moved fast, like jogging fast, onto the dock and into the water. After swimming upstream (although there was no discernible current) past Towhead, the course turns out into the main body of the Ohio and then downstream for the main part of the swim.

Although it's a major river, the Ohio does in fact taste better than the Hudson in NYC, even though you can't see your fingers at the start of your swim stroke.

Based on swim splits at Eagleman and Rhode Island 70.3, in June and July, I had expected a swim time of 1:20 to 1:30. So I was disappointed when I glanced at my watch a bit before the half-way point in the swim and saw that I was significantly off my expected pace. But knowing that pushing harder than my aerobic pace in the swim would mean losing time to fatigue later in the day, I stuck with the plan and crawled on.

T1: 0:05:29
I came out of the water for the transition from swim to bike, glad to be out of the water and ready to make up time on the bike. Nancy and Ben were there for encouragement. Ran into transition, a volunteer handed over my bike equipment bag, and I ran into the men's changing tent. Ironman has separate changing tents for good reason - maybe because some folks do a total costume change, maybe because what people look like in the tent is just not pretty.

Pulled on my bike shorts over my tri shorts - I like the extra cushion over 112 miles on the bike. Also socks for comfort, bike shoes, helmet, race belt with bib, sunscreen, sunglasses, and ran out the tent. I had to get my bike from the rack - often volunteers have the bike off the rack and ready, but when a hundred people are emerging each minute, they can't serve everyone. This is why, even in a well-supported event, it always pays to know exactly where your bike is, and to practice getting to it before the race.

Bike, 112 miles: 7:19:12
Oy. I felt fine on the bike, but my time does not show it. Coming out of T1, the bike starts with a few flat miles before leaving the Ohio River bed and into the rolling hills of Kentucky. This is a great opportunity to get settled into the aero bars, start taking on nutrition and hydration, and get ready for a nice, long ride.

The goal on the bike was to stay in my aerobic heart rate zone as much as possible, and to not let my heart rate climb too high going up the hills. The first hill was a good test - steep enough to force the heart rate higher, and long enough to keep it there. The bike course has one long descent into a creek bed in an out-and-back section, which was great for a sustained "yee-haw" 40-plus mph down to the bridge, and then a good climb back out - twice. The downhills gave me a great chance to see the advantage of the aerodynamic wheels and helmet: coasting downhill I was screaming past heavier people (think about the effects of gravity on bodies with more mass), and loving it. That image helped me as I churned along the flats and rollers, realizing that my aero-gear was making me faster than if I had standard wheels and helmet. Even so, the first two hours were frustratingly slow at exactly 15 mph. I got a bit faster after that, but still well below my expected speed of 17 - 18 mph. That's where the training and plan again probably saved me from an even worse finish: had I panicked and pushed harder, beyond my aerobic heart rate zone, I may well have had a melt down during the bike.

Passing through La Grange at mile 31 on the bike, I saw the sign our friend's son had made for me, and was able to pull over for 30 seconds to give Nancy a smooch. Definitely worth it. Wife & son, along with good friends from a former life and their boys, were in La Grange for both bike loops, and it was great to see them there, even though it was just for a few seconds each time.

The last 40 miles on the bike were much faster, capped off by returning to the flat road along the river to start getting ready for the run.

T2: 0:06:29
Although I wasn't sure if I could pull it off, I did a nice rolling dismount from the bike into the transition from bike to run. A volunteer took my bike to replace it on the rack, and I ran to the volunteer who handed over my run bag, and then back into the men's changing tent. In T1, there's a lot of chatter about the water, how people did on the swim, what the bike's going to be like. In T2, not. Bike shorts, helmet, socks off. Compression socks, hat, running shoes on. Gels in tri shorts pockets, race belt rotated so bib is in front. More sunscreen. Ready to roll.

Run, 26.2 miles: 5:37:24
In the most disappointing segment of the race, my run was 30 minutes slower than my Ironman Florida run, even after posting my best half-iron run in July at Rhode Island 70.3. I felt fine coming out of T2, pumped by the adrenaline, the change of movement, and the great crowd. Out of the chute and into the streets of downtown Louisville before turning onto a bridge over the Ohio. The bridge was just a bit of a climb, and the only real rise on the run course. I ran the first three miles in a comfortable pace of 9:43/mile in my aerobic zone, which I felt like I could carry forever. But after mile three I started slowing, despite my push to keep the pace. I ran through mile 14 and the turn around for loop two, just yards from the finish line with a huge crowd. After that, took several walking breaks. Although I felt well fueled and hydrated, my right knee and hip were complaining and I gave in to the urge to give them a rest. Or several rests.

Sundown hit at about mile 21. Take a few hundred tired runners in the last few miles of an Ironman, when there's not much in the way of sustained conversation, and add a bit of darkness, and you find out how to get solitude in the middle of a city. As I was counting down the miles, I knew I had enough time to walk the rest of the marathon and still finish under the 17 hour end at midnight. But I kept running most of the way, with walking breaks as needed, along with just about everyone else still on the course.

At mile 25, I forced myself to put it in gear and keep it there until the end. I could hear the announcer calling each finisher's name as she or he crossed the line, and I could begin to hear the finish line crowd. "Finish strong," is an endurance sport mantra, and it can be a powerful drug after struggling to finish an Ironman.

Turning the last corner, just a few blocks before Fourth Street Live
and the finish line, all the pain left, all the fatigue faded, and all the frustration washed away in the bright lights of the finish chute and line. "Run toward the light!" Cheering crowds, hands outstretched to high-five runners in the last yards of their day, music blasting, and then a lone voice booming through the din: "Kevin Peter from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!"

Total Time, 140.6 miles: 14:58:07