Be careful what you wish for.

 

Yes indeed, like everything
else in my life lately, things were 180 degrees from
my other Ironman races.

Driving into town on Friday, wheeling up the street
towards the dome of the State Capitol building that
marks the center of town and the center of the race
action, I was listening to a song from a collection of
surf music that would prove to be prophetic:

Loading up my woody with my board inside
Rolling down the windows with my baby by my side
Going to Malibu to ride the surf yeh ride.

When the surf is up and the waves roll in
Don't back down baby - be a sin
Going to Malibu to ride the surf yeh ride.

It was sunny then, very pleasant. Checked into my
hotel, went and got registered for the race. Madison
is a university town. Like every such town, it has a
street that is the hangout. Lined with strange little
shops, bars, and odd restaurants ( Himalayen Cusine-
etc ). I did some shopping. That night was the carbo dinner
and meeting, I hooked up with my buddy Scott, who was
also doing the race. Then bedtime.

Saturday morning the weather had changed. It was
cloudy, and quite cool. During the season, there is a
large farmers market on Capitol Square directly in
front of my hotel. I walked around a bit, and bought a
big bunch of fresh-cut flowers. Then back to the room,
put on my race gear, and take the bike out for a quick
check. All systems go, but two people asked me if that
was what I was going to wear for the race. ( DeSoto
one-piece sleeveless tri suit ), I replied yes, and
the response was ' are you warm enough?', and yes, I
was, I would be just right once I started pushing some
watts.

I packed my transition bags, then me and Scott checked
our bikes and bags. Nothing to do now but race.


Race morning. Up at 4 and started shoveling food in.

Two bottles of Ensure, half a bag of Matts Chocolate

Chip Cookies, and a PopTart, Coffee, and Sobe

Green Tea.

Stepping outside the hotel, it was very cool, and as I
walked down to the lake, I noticed the stiff breeze
out of the east. Very unusual. Body marked, tires
pumped, bike stocked with nutrition. Back to the
hotel. Shower, shave my head, apply deoderant.

At 6 am, I put on my wetsuit bottom, and walked out
the door, I noticed a sprinkle or two. Down to the
lakeshore. Oh boy. The lake is a mass of chop. The
swim course is at the west end of Lake Monona, big
lake, a few miles across. This east wind has the best
possible fetch. Much of the shore is a concrete wall
near the swim course, the waves are reflected and
jumble together with no clear pattern.

Nobody wants to get in the water. I'm one of the first
few hundred in at 6:45 for the 7:00 start. Treading
water it isn't too bad, but there are one or two foot
rollers mixed in with the chop. Finally, all 2600 of
us are in the water, waiting, waiting, waiting. On
shore there are crowds of people watching, music, the
announcer - "ARE YOU READY FOR THE LARGEST MASS SWIM
START IN IRONMAN HISTORY?", well I guess so. BOOM, the
cannon and we are off. My world turns into bubbles,
thrashing, and the sound of my own breath.

I have never, ever, been in such a crowded swim in my
life. Arms, legs, bodies, heads - trying not to hurt
people, looking for a chunk of clear water to pull.

We start out with the wind for the long leg of the
rectangular two-loop course. It goes by really quick,
we make the always congested and dangerous first turn
and start getting slapped from the side with the chop,
then another turn and we are heading square into the
wind for the long side of the rectangle. It's hard. I
really have to rotate to breath, sometimes I can't get
air. And still I am shoulder to shoulder, occasionally
boxed in and forced to drop back. My sighting is
pretty reasonable, when I can see the buoys.

On the second loop, the stretch into the wind is
worse, rollers and chop. But, I am just having a
blast. I LOVE the swim, and this is very exciting.

Finally done with the loops, swimming for shore, and
out. I feel great. My arms and shoulders feel great. I
could do the whole swim again, no problem. But my time
is 1:23, not so good. the crowds and the chop have slowed me down.

My T1 time was long - from the water,
we run a few hundred yards to the convention center
where the transition areas are. We run up a
three-story spiral parking ramp. Then inside the
building into a ballroom where our bags are, then into
another room to change, then back out to the parking
structure to get our bikes.  I get my bike, run it
several hundred yards to the bike out, mount, and ride
down a three story spiral parking ramp.

The start of the bike course is complicated. It is
largely no-pass zones on a regular-sized bike path
along the lake. There are a lot of bumps; the path is
so scattered with water bottles, CO2 cartridges,
tires, tubes, gu flasks, bags of salt caps - it looks
like a bike store exploded.

It starts to rain a couple miles in. We finally get
out onto country roads, and I can wind it up and start
passing people. The roads are very wet, puddles are
forming, I'm warm enough, but just barely.

We bike out to the town of Verona, where the two-loop
portion of the bike starts. I'm feeling strong, and
I'm holding 22-24 on the flats, which are few and far
between.

It's difficult to explain to people why this bike
course is so hard. There are no mountains, no
miles-long climbs. But there are lots and lots of
rolling hills, the climbs are short but steep, the
descents are steep, and you are turning constantly.
You will use every gear you have on your bike, and
often.

I don't have much time to watch the country go by, I'm
busy navigating the bike traffic, shifting, and making
the turns. Now we get into the hard part of
the course, the hills are bigger, and the road is
twisty. Every speedy descent has a sharp turn at the
bottom. I'm constantly testing my brakes to make sure
they will grab when I need them. Peoples tires are
kicking up rooster tails of spray. The big hills have
the usual characters, folks in costume, cheering,
beating drums, yelling.

I finish the first loop, the bike is about half done.
It is raining harder, I'm occasionally cold. The
second loop is harder. The bad hills are low gear and
out of the saddle, 5-6 mph tops. But I'm enjoying this,

 I realize I'm having
the time of my life. The descents on the wet roads
with questionable traction and wet brakes are scary, I
like that. I hit 44+ on a couple of them, sitting up
and feathering the brakes the whole way.

Finally we head back to Madison, into the wind. It
continues to rain. I think of a song by Garbage:

I'm only happy when it rains
I'm only happy when it's complicated
And though I know you can't appreciate it
I'm only happy when it rains

Pour your misery down on me
Pour your misery down on me



I've covered 108 miles. I can see the Capitol. We are
on a stretch of concrete 4 lane hiway. The cones steer
us into another lane. I notice the seam between the
lanes is an ugly gap, I have to cross it. I steer
across it as sharp as I can, but still it grabs my
wheels, as I pop out of it, the bike is skidding
sideways. I'm going nearly 25 mph. My heart is in my
throat, I have that coppery taste in my mouth. That
was very very close.

Ride back up the spiral ramp. Off the bike and into
T2.

I'm soaked. I change socks. Run shoes on, back
outside.  The rain is steady. There are still good
crowds, but all decked out in raincoats, umbrellas.
One thing I've got going for me is that my nutrition
is working. I get off the bike slightly hungry. Chug
an Ensure in T2. At the first aid station on the run,
I snatch up some slightly soggy cookies. Mmmmm good.
Nobody offers ice this year, go figure. My legs feel
OK, not great, but OK. I jog off. Great crowds for the
first couple miles. I've got a big smile on my face,
I'm having the time of my life.

The run course is two 13.1 mile loops, that spend a
good amount of time on the University campus. We even
take a lap around the field in the football stadium
every loop.

I'm eating at every aide station, and scarfing down an
occasional GU. At the halfway mark, I see my friend, a
quick stop and kiss. A bit further on I see Mom and
Dad, another quick stop. I get my run special needs
bag   that has a bottle full of Sobe teas Power
formula, similar to Red Bull, but not as concentrated,
good stuff. I drink some and feel the boost. As I head
out on the second loop I realize I've already gone
further on this run course without walking than I
ever have. I start to contemplate running the whole
marathon.

I go past a frat house. The boys are sitting on junk
furniture by the curb, under a tarp. A large pile of
beer cans and bottles in front of them. They yell '
Keep going! Don't stop running". I yell back 'Don't
stop drinking!' They like that. I love college kids.

I'm still having fun. Saying Thank You over and over
to the people cheering me on and the volunteers. I
start to get people yelling 'Keep Smiling!'. One of
the volunteers yells 'That guy's having way too much
fun.'

It is getting hard, though. It's near 5 pm when I
start the second loop, and it is STILL raining, and
starting to get cooler. I realize that if I have to
stop and walk, I'm going to be in serious trouble very
quick. How about that. Last year it was heatstroke.
This year hypothermia. Every edition of this race is
some kind of natural disaster.

I am glad to see the high-numbered mile markers,
18-19, the ever-popular 20. I have the moment when I
KNOW I will finish. And I'm sure I can run the whole
marathon. I'm running slow, but steady. 21-22. Only a
5K now. 23-24. I notice the frat boys have quit, maybe
they were making a beer run.

Mile 25. It's hard.

I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real.

OK, show time. Up past the Capitol, then the last bit
is a nice downhill to the finish. Big crowds,
bleachers, the music. I'm not happy with the cheers.
These poor folks have been STANDING in the cold and
rain for hours, they look like wet rats. I yell at
them 'I want to HEAR something'. It works, they
respond, down the carpet, the finish! Jim Cummins, YOU
ARE AN IRONMAN!. I never get tired of that. I crossed
in 11:48:xx, a PR of this course, anyhow. I can do
better, though.

I feel great. The catchers grab me, medal me. There
are two of them that know me.

Well, I get my finish line photo taken with my friend,
then she helps me go get my bike and bags. Last year I
had to do that all by myself, after laying in the med
tent for an hour. I can tell you it is much better
this way.

I'm starting to shiver hard, I have to keep moving.
Back to the hotel. I take off my race stuff to get in
the shower. I notice that when I take my stuff off, it
looks like I have tan line. I realize it's dirt. 138
odd miles of road grime from the bike and run. In
addition, my shoulders are shiny silver from the foil
blanket that has started to dissolve. In the best hot
shower of my life, the grime runs off me in dirty
little streams.

I take a handful of
Ibuprofen, and walk back to the finish area. It's
raining even harder. I eat 6 slices of pizza and a sub
in the food tent. Pitiful fare compared to Ironman Germany.
And no naked Aryan Goddesses in hot tubs either.

I love to hang around the finish area afterwards, it is magic,

I stand by the finish and cheer, but I don't want to
get chilled and wet again, so I head back.

The next morning, I signed up again. It CAN'T be cold and
rainy again next year.

I'm home now, and even as I type this, the rain is
beating against the windows, and there is a chill
breeze.

But I have seldom had a better weekend.

later

Jim