2006 Ironman Coeur d'Alene Race Report

An extract from my post race YAWHOO!!! email.

Hello EVERYONE!
Before a full month sets in let me get this email out to you. On June 25th, 2006 I successfully completed my first IRONMAN distance triathlon. How was it you might ask? It was a good long day. LONG of course is the word that you should be keying in to right now. Why did it take so long to get this recap? Well, I've been "recovering" (read: sleeping, and eating lots...)

I successfully crossed the finish line after completing all 140.6 miles after dark with a total time of 15 hours 43 minutes.

(Note: I just finished typing this and it goes on for a little while so if you're at work and should really be working, maybe later is better for this... or not) ;)

The Ironman was something that, until a month ago, was inconceivable. Who in their right mind would get voluntarily move that far for that long without a valid excuse, like being chased by a wild hungry animal of some kind? Well, on that day in June there were 2500 of us, walking and talking at six a.m. waiting for the race to start. I'd say that that was at the crack of dawn, but in Idaho in the middle of June 4:30 a.m. is the crack of dawn (who knew?).

The Ironman of Coeur d'Alene, Idaho grants competitors of all skill levels the opportunity to participate in what is known as a mass start. Standing shoulder to shoulder, ten and even twenty deep in some places, in a line stretching thirty or forty yards down a beach 2500 people, surrounded by fellow racers clad in wetsuits, stand poised for the blast of the canon which will start the race (yes, there actually was a canon, I have video to prove it). At the blast of the canon every racer charges the water to make a pair of 1.2 mile loops, at the end of each, you get out of the water and charge back in or head off to the transition area to prep for the bike.

For those people who were watching my times online (THANKS!!) my swim wasn't as fast as I would have liked, and here's why... Cornering at the buoys was like sitting in traffic on the 405 freeway on a Saturday afternoon, everyone seemed to know where they wanted to go, couldn't get there, blamed the person in front of them for stopping so suddenly, and was left at the mercy of the block of people in front of them. Needless to say that took some time. On my second loop a swimmer in front of me stopped and I ran in to him. When I stopped to see how I could get around him he was floundering around with two huge cramps in his legs and no way to get to the safety kayaker. Stopping to help him stretch out and then eventually pushing him through the steady stream of traffic cost me some time too (but you can't just leave someone like that out there can you?). So yeah, not quite like doing laps in a pool or even a solo open water swim at the beach.

After an hour and twenty minutes it was finally time to start the bike. Up until this point all I knew of the weather was that the sun was out and it was time to get out of the water. At this point it was still under 80 degrees outside. Funny note here, there are people in transition to "help" you out of your wetsuit, basically they yell, "Get down on your back!" Whereupon two volunteers strip the wetsuit right off your body. It takes less than 10 seconds.

The bike is a charming 56 mile loop from the town of Coeur d'Alene, along a river, up two good sized hills (ugh... pain), and out past the Idaho/Washington border and then back again (repeat just one more time for the full 112 miles). The first loop was great, a balmy 78 degrees and nothing but joy throughout my body and mind over having survived the melee that is a mass start group swim. Within an hour the temperature shot up to 93. By the time I started my second loop the temperature was well on its way past 100, ending up spiking at 103 (I have a thermometer on my watch) by the time the ride was done. Couple that with humidity at over 60% and you have GREAT conditions to complete what was the longest physical day of my life. Supposedly the rate of people dropping out of this race was the highest that it has ever been for this venue.

At mile 80 of the bike I found a pair of my teammates sitting off the road, off their bikes around some volunteers at an aid station well on their way to dehydration, heat stroke, and some other heat related malady. Only slightly disheartening because they were/are the two best cyclists that we have on our team, if they're getting beat up, what's next for me? We rode the last thirty miles in to transition together.

Nothing like being done... with the bike. Now we just cool down with the marathon. Note to the masses here, I'd never run a marathon (measured or timed) in my life. I'd made it to 22 miles, 24 miles, but never the full 26.2. Thankfully again, the venue won me over. We ran around the lake, and through town. Some of the neighbors, in addition to cheering us on for hours and hours, volunteered to hand out food/water, AND turned on their sprinklers and hoses. Two hours in to my marathon the temps were still over 95 degrees and just starting to come down. With aid stations every mile you can't help but stay hydrated and maintain a fair amount of energy. They had all the usual stuff, Gatorade, gels, water, fruit, pretzels and some surprises. You wouldn't believe it but there's coke on the course and it's great for runners (provided that it's flat), that plus water in equal amounts has sugar, caffeine, and for most people it is familiar and easily digestible. The other life saver on the course was warm chicken broth, sounds strange, but it was really good.

Those last three, the coke/water, and the chicken broth brought me in the finish line (that and all the ice I could shove under my hat). It was dark by the time I hit the home stretch. I had had dreams of finishing in daylight, but the heat of the day threw all that out the window and now finishing was all I could see in my head.

One of the cool things about small towns is that there really aren't any street lights, so winding through the streets on my way in to the finish line there were spectators and volunteers with glow sticks in most places and the simplicity of the road, my shoes, and me plugging away at the last few miles in the dark for the rest. The last turn on the course is a left that dumps you out on the the town's main drag, it's a downhill stretch over a mile long (or that's what it felt like). Coming out of the darkness of the street the finishing stretch is lit up with huge portable stadium lights, bleachers with family/friends/well-wishers of all kinds, and over a loud speaker is the voice of Ironman announcing the return of each successful road warrior with words I've waited two years to hear. My legs lost whatever fatigue was there renewed with adrenaline and hope, hope that I'd see the finish line and not drop on the road in sight of the end. I dropped in to a mad sprint toward the lights. Spectators at the finish line watch the chute, an inflatable archway housing the timing mats and cameras displaying each finisher on a huge screen. One by one over the last seven hours participants, now finishers, have trickled in. Some in fine shape, some in not quite so fine shape. Every one of them is met by a pair of "catchers" who escort the lucid finisher towards the final aid station, stocked with pizza and more gatorade than you can shake a stick at; And those not so fine ones off to the medical tent, for a heating blanket and/or an IV. On my way down the street I pass one person after another as they will their bodies just one more step and then another, collecting high fives from the spectators and cheers, huge cheers, the closer I got to the finish line. With everything I had left I actually crossed the finish line in midair celebrating my first finish as the voice of the Ironman announced over the PA, (pronouncing correctly I add):


"DEAN SAKIHAMA YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!!"

When I crossed the finish line I felt fine and as it turns out I knew my name, what day it was, and who the president was so they deemed me well enough (physically) to grab my well earned slice of pizza.

I crossed the finish line in 15:43. I beat out a mass start, hills, heat, humidity, eight months of training, and that part of the brain that most people call sanity which continuously yells, "Just go to the movies next time" to finish the distance. I loved every minute of it, no matter how hard it was, and perhaps because it was hard... Having said that, I can't wait for the next one. Though a few long naps before I have to start training again are probably in order.

My thanks to all of you for supporting me in the ways that family and friends do, talking me through the things that life throws at you, by encouraging me along the way, not writing me off when I stopped talking or writing or falling completely out of touch, and most importantly by being there.

My love to all,
Good night and thanks for reading.
-dean

ps.
Shameless plug, if you have the opportunity to get involved with Team in Training for an endurance event, be it a half or full marathon, a century ride, or a triathlon, I highly recommend it. I've been surrounded with dedicated, positive people, throughout this training period, without whom, I am certain, I would not have been able to finish my race. (Nor would it have been as fulfilling)