Despite a fever on the morning of the race, and disregarding the meniscus issue I developed on my Tour de Los Angeles, I am happy to report that I was somehow able to power through and finish my first official Ironman distance triathlon on August 2nd. (I did an impromptu Ironman myself on June 28th, but there is nothing like the expectation and excitement of the real thing.)
The 2.4 mile swim was a relative breeze considering that when I started this training in November I couldn't make it 10 lengths of the pool without sucking wind. In fact, the 74 degree water served to keep my temperature down and I felt fresh and confident coming in to the first transition.
On the 112 mile bike, my goal was to keep a steady pace early and not go out too fast. I managed the effort solely by my heart rate and just stayed down on my aero bars. The first 60 miles went very smoothly and my pace was surprisingly quick for a guy who was blowing his nose and taking throat lozenges the whole time. However, by mile 75, the 98 degree Sonoma heat had kicked in and I found myself on the side of the road tossing cookies. I puked again at 85, and one more time for good measure at 95. Sheer competitive stupidity allowed me to get back on my rig and maintain a swift pace. However, needless to say, by the time I got to the run transition, I was a mess.
I stood there in the searing hot parking lot of Windsor High School, with Minnie and my parents shouting encouragement from the sidelines. I felt completely detached from my body, a mere close-up observer to an athlete's agony. I came back into the present and put my head down on the bike rack for a minute, pausing to remind myself of why I was doing this and how hard I had trained. Just a marathon to go. Heh.