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| Finished. It was a long day for everyone but totally gratifying. |
We arrived in Coeur d'Alene on Friday morning and quickly
realized two things- a) this was some beautiful country and b) that the
weathermen were not joking about the heat. In the weeks leading up to the race
I had started watching the extended forecast and hoped with everything in me that
the talk of 100+ degree temps would be wrong. After getting all checked in and
wandering the Ironman Village for a while we made the short journey up the road
to our hotel for the weekend. Getting
settled in went quickly and while the pregnant wonder-woman (a.k.a. my wife)
laid down for some rest, my sherpa extraordinaire and I headed back down to
Lake Coeur d'Alene for an open water swim session. The lake did not dissappoint- it was by FAR
the clearest water I have ventured into in a LONG time. A short 600 yard swim, while fun, confirmed a
lingering worry- the shoulder was still sore. I had not swam for 3 weeks
leading up to the race per doctor's instructions and had hoped that would
appease the sharp pains that had brought
my swimming and progress with my stroke to an abrupt halt. I consoled myself by
hoping that once I put the wetsuit on for the race that it would help hold me
together and make things alright. We left the pristine lake and headed back to
our hotel for some dinner.
Saturday brought even more heat than the previous day. At
this point I knew I had to actually plan on doing what I had talked about and
hoped not to have to follow through on. I do not do physically well in heat.
For some reason or another I do not sweat as much as I should and have been
that way since a child. I turn all bright red and the core temperature rises
before any sort of "normal" sweating starts. I was actually scared
about racing the next day. I had only
one or two "hot" days that I was able to train in this year. What was worse was that the last hot day,
only a couple weeks before race day ended poorly for me. I took off work at noon so that I could get
out in the heat and go for a 4 hour bike ride.
Two hours into the ride I had to call wonder-woman to come pick me up-
the heat had gotten to me. Light-headedness was enough of a warning sign for me
that day. Nikki came with the kiddos in tow and two big bottles of ice cold
Gatorade. Now back to current day and 100+ degree temps. I knew that if I
wanted to have any chance to make it to the finish line that I would have to be
very vigilant with my hydration and my Base Performance salt and that my time
goals were probably sizzling away. I dropped the bike and gear bags off ,
headed out for an early supper, and then hit the sack to try to chase some
sleep that never did come.
Sunday. Race day. The day I had worked for many months for.
The nerves about the shoulder were gone. The nerves about the distance of an IM
race were gone. The nerves about the scorching heat were not gone- no matter
how hard I tried to focus on other things. I got everything set up, checked and
re-checked my bags, and finally got into the wetsuit to await the start of my
second Ironman. Nervous energy about the day abounded and I was ready to get
the show on the road.
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| Coeur d'Alene offered a swim split, so here I am with one lap done and another to go. |
The Swim. I lined up in the 1:30:00 to 1:45:00 group on the
beach. I had hoped for faster but with the shoulder I didn't know if I could
even hang with that group. Before I knew it, the cannon fired and the pros were
in the water. Seemingly only a few short minutes later I was at the water's
edge and starting the journey. The first
loop of the swim felt ok. There were a lot of people bunched up but somehow I
was able to hang out inside most everyone right along the side of the marker
buoys. I noticed the shoulder a few hundred yards into the swim but was able to
keep pretty good form despite the pain. Upon arriving at the beach for the
completion of my first loop I was ecstatic to see a half-iron swim time over 6
minutes faster than my previous best. I headed back out for my second loop and
it didn't take long before the shoulder and arm went numb somehow. The pain was
not sharp anymore but I couldn't lift my arm out of the water all the way,
instead I had to seemingly half drag it forward. A noticeably slower second
loop ended without any further issues and I headed up the beach for the wetsuit
strippers. Done. My first "real" Ironman swim (not that I minded
Chattanooga's river assisted swim last fall) had been conquered, the shoulder
held up, and my time was way better than I had hoped given my circumstances.
The Bike: Part 1. I had high hopes for the bike. I had put
in some solid work on the bike this year and
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| Halfway through the bike--notice the mismatched wheels! |
The Bike: Part 2. After the first 25 miles I was finally
able to establish a little bit of rhythm and pound out a few miles. The
completion of the first loop brought me back into town and to the start of loop
2. By now it was getting HOT. Way more heat than I was used to. My liquids that
I carried on the bike where all boiling and difficult to continue to drink
because of their temp. I began exchanging bottles at every aide station, even
if they were full just in hopes of the new bottles being a bit cooler. The heat
was starting to take it's toll on those around me. All of a sudden there were a
lot more "slow" people, people stopped along the side of the road,
people walking their bikes. I religiously took my Base salt every 5 miles, and
took 2-3 times more each time than I ever had in training. By mile 80 I was
baked. So hot and so exhausted. A headache had set in and I wheeled into the
aid station for some relief. The aid station was out of water. Out of ice. The
only thing they had left was lukewarm to hot Gatorade. I got off my bike and
leaned over it trying to fight the "I can't do this anymore" demons.
The medics asked if I would like a seat in the shade and I obliged. Rider after
rider came in and stopped. The medic I spoke with said that the heat coming up
off of the asphalt road registered 132 degrees on their gauge. I sat and sat.
Volunteers were taking the water from the melted ice that had been sitting in
the little pools to keep the bottles
cool and dumping it on people's heads to try and bring some relief. I witnessed
a person being loaded into an ambulance on a stretcher and another proclaim he
was "done". After close to 30
minutes I won the battle with myself and decided to at least try to keep going.
The rest of the bike was all about making a slow steady progress towards the
end. It was definately not the ride I
hoped for, but after a seemingly eternal amount of time I reached the end. I
was so tired and hot I don't even remember handing my bike off to a volunteer,
I just remember walking towards the changing tent and thinking of what lay
ahead.
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| Fighting the mental battle of the day's extreme conditions. |
The Run. How can I do this? I can't do this. I am so hot and
so exhausted. If I see anymore orange Gatorade I am going to hurl. These where
just a few of the thoughts/battles going on in my head as I sat in the changing
tent after the bike. I haven't cramped a single time. (You really need to give
Base Performance a try if you have not). The headache isn't too bad. I do have
7.5 hours still. I owe it to my friends, my family, and myself to keep going.
These are the thoughts that countered the negative. I pulled on my running shoes,
stuck a cold wet rag under my cap, filled a bottle with ice water, and headed
out. The crowd was amazing. They can all see the name on your bib and soon
everyone knows you and is calling you out by name urging you to take that next
step. After a mile or so of walking I rounded a corner and saw a guy dressed up
as Lucifer- red pitchfork and all standing right in the middle of the road. As
I got closer he shouted out "Jason- welcome to Hades!" I laughed and
replied "No doubt man" and started running. After another mile I ran
into the Base Performance guys set up on course doing their thing. They cheered
me on and another mile disappeared. The rest of the marathon brought a mix of
walking and running. The temps still soared into the extremely uncomfortable, but
resident after resident waited by the streets with sprinklers, hoses, buckets
of water, children with squirt guns- all ready to soak you down if you gave
them the slightest nod. They saved the race. After 6 miles or so I had been
soaked with cold water so many times that I actually started to feel like I
wasn't going to burst like an over baked potato. The course was lined with
people laying down, people trying to stretch, people throwing up and people
looking at watches. I kept on moving and soon knew that the finish line was in
fact going to be something I would see- something for the first time in my
racing "career" I actually doubted for quite some time. A few more
miles and the last turn was made- a seven block stretch straight down to the
finish line. Crowds lined both sides of the street and bleachers that had been
set up for the final 20 yards of the run were full of screaming people that
lent me a charge like none I had experienced. I ran the best I could those last
blocks and finally- after the hardest, most blistering hot, longest day I've
ever had I heard the voice of Ironman- Mike Reilly-- say "from Madison,
SD...Jason Troxell...YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!!"
worth it. For me to reach the finish line was something maybe more meaningful than any race I've ever done. I have never struggled with so many things- my shoulder, mechanical issues, the heat, self doubt and been able to come out "on top". To continue and fight through the day brought the reward of the finish and a new mental strength that can only come in helpful in the years and races ahead. Don't get me wrong, the mental aspect is a constant battle. As I sit here and write this I am still struggling with my inflated finishing time, "sub-par" efforts on the bike and run, and thoughts of "what if I had done this different". No one likes to fail or have a bad race. I had much higher goals going into this race and now I am left with the mixed emotion of finishing the toughest race of my life and the desire to pull on the race kit tomorrow and do it all over again to prove to myself that I'm not that poor of an athlete. I will be back. Someday I will do this again. It is too much fun and too much of a ride to not do again. Next time YOU should join me and experience something that is life altering. Thank you to ALL who supported me one way or another for this race. Because I knew of all of you at home cheering, following along, praying, helping with kids, watching dogs, etc I had that extra "stuff" in my corner that kept me plugging along until 140.6 miles were behind me. Until next time, thank you from the bottom of my heart for your support and God bless.
Nikki's Note:
I had wonderful things I planned to say, but then I read Jason's race report, and I couldn't stop the tears because he was so spot on with explaining what this day entailed. I still maintain I'd rather be out there, enduring a race, rather than waiting for the person I love more than anyone else in the world to finish. When we were waiting for him to finish the bike, serious anxiety set in. He had not checked into one of the check points for two hours when the distance normally took him a strong hour. We went to the med tent even to see if they had any information. And then we finally saw him roll in. I managed to holler into transition and ask him what happened. And he replied with a disheartened, "Everything." My own heart sunk as well as I saw him slowly plod into the run. But I cannot adequately express the pride I felt seeing him run down Sherman Avenue, the final stretch of the race, nor the pride that I still feel. I know he's still fighting the demon of time, and when he does, I remind him of the dozens of fit-looking, sad-faced athletes I saw wheeling their bikes out of transition with no finisher medals on their chests. What Jason didn't mention above is that 300 registered athletes didn't show up to start that day, and of those who did start, 22% did not finish, including 9 male pros. This was a hard race. Again, I cannot express how proud I am to see him finish (and how much I ache to tackle another Ironman as well). On to the next chapter.
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