Written By Raymond Britt
“Only those who have come to this place . . . and have done the work . . . know the feeling . . .”
For most of the previous year, these words, spoken by Al Trautwig during NBC’s 2002 Ironman broadcast, ran repeatedly through my mind during hard training efforts and races. I had been a rookie at the 2002 Ironman Triathlon World Championship in Kona, and as a finisher, I knew the unique feeling. The words served to remind me what I was gunning for this year. Returning as a veteran age-grouper to the Ironman World Championship after a challenging and ultimately successful 2003 season, I felt I better understood the island and the course, and I was ready to race.
At 6am on race morning, walking toward bodymarking I ran into Marc Herremans, who was also ready to race. Herremans, a Belgian triathlete who finished 6th in Kona in 2001, had been poised to return with a shot to win in 2002. Instead, a tragic accident left him paralyzed from the waist-down, limiting his abilities, but not his resolve. His 2002 attempt to compete was inspiring to everyone who saw it, and even though he had to drop out, he vowed to return. I walked up to him and shook his hand. ‘It’s amazing that you are here.’ I told him. ‘You are outstanding, and an inspiration.’ I hoped he would do well.
An hour later, I joined Marc and 1646 other triathletes in Kailua Bay for the start of the 25th Anniversary Ironman Triathlon World Championship. Looking at the sky while treading water, it was remarkable to see the moon that had been so awesome in the dark when I left the hotel at 4am was still high in the clear blue sky. A nice moment of calm before everything started.
Last year’s Ironman swim was reportedly among the toughest on record. The water was so churned up, I saw nothing below the surface, and above, I saw whitecaps. I just tried to hang on, and I had finished in 1:18:57. Unsure of what to expect this time, before the race I said I’d love a calm swim, maybe in the 1:15:xx range.
In stark contrast to rain and choppy waves last year, this year the sun was out and the water was calm for the 7am start. I waited for the cannon, and then we were off. Immediately, I knew things were different from last year. Amid the typical chaos of the Ironman swim start, there was peace below as schools of fish continued their business, unfazed. The visibility was spectacular, like an aquarium. I’ve never enjoyed an Ironman swim as much.
Currents helped scoot me out to the halfway point in no time, and I temporarily entertained thoughts that I might actually be a decent swimmer. The pack of swimmers around me seemed so graceful and fluid, and I felt lucky to be among them. This feeling didn’t last, unfortunately, as the chop and currents picked up, and I swallowed salt water several times on what seemed like a trip on a water treadmill back to shore. While I did shave some time from 2002, it was less than I expected, and I crossed the timing mat in 1:17:12.
The new transition area behind the King K hotel was great – spacious, well-organized, and easy to navigate. I had no trouble finding my bike-to-run transition bag, one reason being that 1168 people had exited the water before me, and most bags in my area were already long gone. I put on my cycling shoes, jersey and helmet, grabbed my bike, and set off to try to move a few hundred spots closer to the leaders.
Kona is renowned for its winds, and I knew my bike experience could be unpredictable depending on conditions. I’m told the winds were relatively calm last year, when I rode a 6:01:54 still having felt I battled strong headwinds on the way home. Before the race, I told friends I’d like to see a 5:50:xx bike split, but would do my best against what was out there.
Pedaling out of transition, I felt terrific, ready for a good ride. After spending the first 77 minutes of the race gazing at fish in the ocean, it was great to begin seeing people, starting with friends watching at the side of the road, then athletes I recognized on the course. Some were doing well, others not. Three miles into the ride I saw unhappy pro Wendy Ingraham sitting next to her bike, her race apparently over. On the other side of the road dozens of riders were speeding back from the first turnaround, including wheelchair athlete Randy Caddell, followed in hot pursuit by Marc Herremans. They were flying.
After 10 miles, I was on the Queen K with them and everyone else, riding north into the endlessness of the lava fields. The winds seemed similar to 2002, but I was riding faster. For the first 30 miles to Waikoloa, I averaged 21.8 mph, up from 20.4mph a year earlier. Things were starting better than in 2002. Maybe because I was more in tune with the course and the island. Like a veteran.
The next 30 miles including the long climb to mile 60 in Hawi also went reasonably well at 18.8 mph, compared to 17.9 mph the previous year. I was feeling stronger, attributing it to better long training rides during the year, and my upgrade to the Softride Rocket. An apparent tailwind didn’t hurt, either. On my way up to Hawi, I noticed a dozen or so lead pro cyclists screaming back towards Kona on the other side in a pack that looked too comfortably tight to be true.
After I made the turn in Hawi, it turned out I was right about that tailwind. Headwinds on the downhill slowed me to 20.0 mph for the next 28 miles to Waikoloa, compared to a breezy 20.8 mph in 2002. But this time, I began to really appreciate the beauty of where I was. A day earlier, I had taken photos of the ocean views here, and had shared them with friends. When I reached these spots in the race, it was like living in the middle of those photos.
I was soon brought back to reality when I saw Marc Herremans coming from the opposite direction, powering his way in a handcycle uphill towards Hawi. He was followed shortly by Dick Hoyt pulling his son Ricky, a quadriplegic with cerebral palsy, up the hill on his bike. Inspiring to see, these are each incredible athletes.
In 2002, I had I reached mile 90 near Waikoloa averaging 20mph, feeling confident, foolishly thinking I might hold that pace. I was in for a rough surprise that veterans know well; the strong headwinds for the remainder of that ride had me panting at 13-15mph, and not feeling too happy. This year was different. At this point, I was still feeling strong, from the training, the bike, and possibly a new experiment — a salt tablet every 10 miles. It seemed to help. And that veteran experience – knowing what to expect – made a difference.
Soon, Larry Parker passed me on my right. The 2002 NBC Ironman coverage had featured Parker, an NYPD firefighter who was racing to commemorate the spirit of the 343 New York firefighters who lost their lives during 9/11. He was back, and again, sporting a jersey with the names of each lost fireman. I pulled up aside of him, shook his hand, then we rode on for the last 25 miles through headwinds back towards town averaging 17.7 mph. I finished the ride well ahead of expectations in 5:43:58, 17 minutes better than in 2002, having passed 516 athletes. Excellent.
Now, I was ready to run. I ran 3:50:14 in the heat last year, but I told friends I’d do better this time. Having run a 2:55:26 marathon in Milwaukee thirteen days earlier, I felt in solid marathon form. My target, in the 3:45:xx range, had me finishing the race in about 10:55:xx.
Reaching Alii Drive on the first miles heading south to the first turnaround, I saw friends at roadside who had been following me around the course all day. Each time I saw them it brought a smile and a burst of speed, and I reached the turnaround after running 5.3 miles averaging 7:37 per mile. This was a marked improvement compared to 2002, when I covered the same ground at 8:04/mile pace. It turned out that these fast first miles would make the main difference in my overall marathon time compared to 2002.
At mile 10, I caught up with Missy LeStrange, a 51 year-old legend who has won many age group titles in Hawaii. She had missed the 2002 race due to injury, and she wanted to reclaim her status as age group champion this year. As I reached her just before the Palani Drive incline out of town, she was receiving word from her spotter that she was in the lead of her age group by 25 minutes. She was doing incredibly well, and we headed out toward the Energy Lab, passing athletes along the way.
As I reached miles 13 and 14 on the run – halfway between town and the Energy Lab, it seemed that this was a point some breakdowns were occurring. It was near here that defending champ Tim DeBoom, closing within 300 yards of race leader Peter Reid, had earlier been forced by injury to drop out. In real time, two other elite athletes were reeling from dashed expectations. Chris McCormack, once among the lead men, was on the other side of the road, having been reduced to a walk back to town. And Ironman Idaho and Wisconsin champ Heather Gollnick’s reported knee problems slowed her to the point that I overtook her, to my surprise. To McCormack’s and Gollnick’s credit, they both finished what they started, making it to the finish no matter how long it took.
Rounding the turn at mile 18 deep in the Energy Lab loop, Michael Fisch, a friendly rival, called out to me. As in Ironman USA Lake Placid earlier this year, he was stalking me from behind, and running well. I had covered the previous 12.4 miles at 8:52/mile pace and I was fading, though probably not unlike just about everyone else. Michael shouted a private mantra we share, and it picked me up when I needed it.
I pulled out of the Energy Lab, took the right turn at about mile 19 onto the Queen K highway, and headed back toward town with a new sense of urgency, if not speed. Something interesting happened at this turn. It was as if everyone in front of me looked at their watch, said to themselves ‘hey, I can finish under 11 hours’, and began running collectively harder. One of these people was Julie Moss, and I caught up with her at about mile 22.
A 45 year-old Ironman hall-of-famer, Moss’s complete collapse and gutsy finish in on ABC in 1982 put triathlon on the map for the first time. This finish will be forever depicted as one of the great moments in triathlon, and it’s gripping. After having seen it often over the years, it was nice to be able share a few hundred yards and to thank her in person for what she had done for this sport. Then I moved on, racing the sunset to the finish.
Long before I ever entertained the idea of racing in Kona, I knew that for those who go, finishing before sundown is an ultimate goal. On this day, the sun was due to set at 5:58pm, with lingering daylight until 6:20pm. In 2002, I was close, but it was nearly dark when I finished at 6:17pm. This time, as I approached the final uphill at mile 24, I glanced over my right shoulder at the setting sun, I was increasingly certain I would beat it home. The race was on.
Rounding the corner at the Queen K Highway and Palani Drive at about the 25 mile point was special. In 2002, I had passed this point alone and quietly struggling, but this year I was feeling reasonably great, picking up speed toward the finish. My friends were waiting at the next turn by a big sign that said ‘One Mile to Go’, and by then I felt like I had wings.
After being near racers all day, it seemed like I had the final 200 yards to the finish on Alii Drive — the best final stretch in this sport — all to myself. Wrapping up a 3:46:58 marathon, and after passing 173 runners, the clock ahead read 10:55:27. It was 5:55pm, and the sun had not yet set. I had come to this place, I had done the work, and I knew the feeling. I don’t think I’ve ever smiled so broadly for a finish before.
Over the next few minutes, other sunset-racers who had shared parts of the day with me arrived for their own Ironman finish, including Julie Moss, Missy LeStrange, Michael Fisch and Larry Parker. As daylight passed, I heard that Marc Herremans was on the run course. Incredibly, he made good on the commitment he had made one year ago, crossing the line again, this time in a wheelchair, in 13:24:25. Outstanding.
