The Dotman Cometh

The surrounding circumstances and exact time period are fuzzy to me now, but I do remember how I felt the first time I learned about the Ironman triathlon.  A relatively new convert to fitness addiction, I was on the cusp of preparing for my first marathon, which I was attempting because I wanted to achieve what I believed was impossible for me.  And then someone, I don’t remember who, told me of a race that begins with a 2.4-mile swim, followed by a 112-mile bike ride and capped off with 26.2 miles of running, all in a 17-hour time limit.  While I don’t remember the details about how I acquired this knowledge, I remember precisely how I felt when I got it.  I was enraged.  What kind of psychotic lunatic would dream up such a thing, and who were the masochistic idiots participating? 

I’ve since learned of other endurance events that either parallel or exceed the insanity of an Ironman.  The Badwater Ultramarathon is a good example – running 135 miles through Death Valley in temperatures up to 130 degrees.  The Western States 100 is another moronic undertaking, a nasty 100-mile trail run with many thousands of feet of vertical climbs.  Of course there are the other activities of weekend warriors lacking mental stability, such as climbing Everest or competitive free diving. 

These types of events only earned a quizzical headshake from me, no anger.  When I first learned about the Ironman, I thought I was pissed because I felt that an event that extreme in some way diminished my own ultimate accomplishment, the marathon. However, since I didn’t have this reaction when I heard about Badwater, which is essentially five marathons strung together in the desert, I think it’s something else.  I was angry because I believe I knew, even then, that I was on the hook.  Yes, though at the time I was overweight and running 12-minute miles, I knew the Ironman bug had been planted, and I was pissed because I knew it would hurt.

Since that time, I’ve come farther in my athletic pursuits that I ever imagined I could. I’ve run six marathons and dozens of shorter races.  I managed to get my half marathon time under two hours and my 10-mile time under 90 minutes.  I’ve even become competitive in my age group in local 5ks, assuming the fast local middle-aged women decide to sleep in.  I’ve now done a few sprint triathlons, two Olympic tris and two half Ironmen events.   

A full Ironman is an entirely different pursuit.  While the distances are only double the half, the preparation and event itself are exponentially more difficult.  A training plan I looked at recently, designed not for elite athletes but for regular mortal working people, commands two hours of training per day on weekdays, six to seven hours on Saturday and three to four hours on Sunday.  You get one day off of training per week, so you can lay slackjawed on your couch while cursing your diseased brain.  And the race itself has a 17-hour time limit. If you finish in 17 hours and two seconds, you count as a DNF, the much feared athlete acronym for Did Not Finish.  You are not allowed to draft on the bike.  You are not allowed an iPod on the run.  You are not allowed to have people on the course hand you things unless they are official race volunteers.  You have to figure out how to get enough nutrition on the course so you don’t curl like a ball on some roadside because you’ve run out of fuel.  You will suffer.  A lot.  This is a race that essentially began as a bar bet from some navy seals.

I’ve been stumbling sort of ass backwards toward this goal for the past few years.  Last fall, after Poconos 70.3, I decided I really wanted to try to do a Full.  I don’t really know why.  Maybe I’m still trying to impress the child I was, the chubby, awkward, clumsy girl who couldn’t run, couldn’t jump, couldn’t climb.  My greatest athletic contribution prior to my thirties was helping members of the swim team pass math in high school.  Maybe completing this event will finally get that “you can’t do this stuff” voice out of my head for good.

After much research, I decided on Panama City Beach in 2013.  It’s considered a good first-time event as an “easy” Ironman, meaning no ridiculous elevation changes on the bike or run, a relatively calm swim, and less likelihood of extreme heat despite its location, because the race is in November.  I chose 2013 to give me time to improve my swimming skills beyond the boulder-like level they’re at now, to get more comfortable with my bike and to acclimate myself to ramping up my training to a higher level.  I would go down and volunteer at this year’s race and scope the course.  It was all so reasonable, well, at least for the circumstances.

And then while I was racking my bike at Eagleman 70.3 this year, a woman I knew from other races told me that she was trying her Full this year, on October 20 in Wilmington, North Carolina, at a race called Beach to Battleship.    While not an Ironman branded event, the distances and rules are the same.  As soon I was told there were still slots available, the wheels started turning.  Even while I was suffering through the 96-degree run at Eagleman, I was latching onto B2B.  

So it looks like my Full is happening.  This year.  In sixteen short weeks.  I haven’t officially registered yet, but I have sought out training resources and started building my calendar around it.  I have a hotel reservation.  I would register right now, except the fee is non-refundable, so I will wait as long as possible.  I hope this will quell my inner beast.  Whether it does or doesn’t, Badwater’s never happening.