Around 8:30 PM on November 6, 2010, 13 hours and 14 minutes from when I started swimming I heard the Emcee shout over Ozzy Ozbourne's "Crazy Train" (how appropriate)... "Mike Ferranti, from Long Beach, NY... YOU are an IRONMAN!" It was pretty neat.
I'll skip all the other news about the taper, it came fast, and had it's ups and downs. Very scary coming off that training load, it simply didnt feel right to stop what I had been doing so hard for so long.... So here's my race report, for better or for worse...
Pre Race Week
After months of injury free running, I did a couple of fairly short workouts on a treadmill at home I just picked up. It was great not to have to go out into miserable cold, but somehow, it lit up my knees and my IT band. This was there right through race day. Not debilitating, but a factor. What bad luck! I felt indestructable on the run, no aerobic cost, PR's every week, and barely needed a day to recover. I was in some shape on the run. These were a concern, but once down there, all I could do was stretch and deal with it.
Race AM
I felt pretty awesome when I woke up. Rested (enough) and very, very calm and confident. Exactly how you'd want to feel going into your first Ironman. I knew I was strapped for this race, I knew I was strong, and I knew what I was there to do. Frankly I was surprised at how at ease I was. Zero nerves. (really).
Went down to water at it was 38 degrees out. Sun wasn't up yet, I forgot my bike nutrition up in the fridge, and before I could get back up there to pick it up, my wife had given it to some guy in the hall at the hotel who was on his way down to deliver... tense moments waiting, and waiting, and waiting for him to stop by... he did. Yipes. While waiting, I didn't get body marked! Yep I raced the Ironman without my numbers on my arms and legs, THAT was a first. Nagging thoughts about this stuck with me much of the race, as the day and stress wore on, it weighed heavier on me. Sounds crazy, but when the pain came many hours later, it was a factor.
Swim
I started at what I estimated to be a third of the way back. In hindsight that was too far back. 15-20% would have been more challenging, but also a better pace for me. When the gun went off, I had zero adrenaline rush, I submerged and got water in my suit, and began swimming. I felt fine. No rushed breathing, no high heart rate.
In about 5 minutes all the people who freaked out a bit at the start and went out like we were sprinting a 100 yards due to nerves mostly, were slowing down and I started passing a fair number of people. I was shocked and struggled with navigating through so many bodies. The mass start is something I had never done before. It would become impossible to get pass anyone else I tried a few times squeezing through openings, but took a really good kick to the head.
First lap went pretty quick, and though I screwed up my tracking and added another 200 yards to BOTH laps, I never stopped feeling good. My buddy Chris Morgan gave me a tip that really, really worked. I overheat in the wetsuit often, and I always hated wearing it for this reason. I would pull down the neck of the wetsuit periodically, and flood it with new water. Amazing how cool it was, illustrating how hot it was actually getting inside the suit. This seemed to REALLY help. Thanks Chris!
Between the two laps, they had the bizarre course layout that required running up on the beach, parallel to the water for a couple of hundred yards, then back in for lap 2. This must have slowed progress a lot with the wade out and wade back in, but I also grabbed a cup of water and got some hydration. Pretty great really. I felt good the whole time, and picked up my pace in the second half of lap 2.
I got out of the water before a LOT of people. This felt good. There was a large super competitive pack ahead of me that was pacing at a 10 hour race... I'd not catch them unless I blew my bike race power plan, which I wouldn't do.
T1
The run was all the way up the beach, and into a building at the hotel. This was pretty weird. I had never run indoors for a transition. Once in, it was pretty chaotic, guys stripping down in the hall way and changing to bike gear. I Rambo'ed it up and just added a long shirt (it was still freezing out) over my wet Tri Top. Left my wet tri shorts. No one seemed to be in any sort of a rush in there, which was just plain weird --it definitely led me to go slower. I even started talking to a guy next to me. The outcome... the longest transition of my life... 14+ minutes! Ridiculous, but not entirely preventable. There was then a fairly good jog in bike shoes over to the bikes, and a long shoot to walk the bike through before hitting the timing mats. Interesting.
Bike
One word... FREEZING. It was 40 degrees, but there was a good 10-15 mile per hour wind blowing into us all morning. That plus the 20 mph your riding, and it's a hard icy wind blowing on your wet body. That was very, very painful. This went on for hours. I was shivering uncontrollably on the bike for a long while, and I was really not sure how I was going to take this cold. I was unprepared for such cold weather. I saw a few people that were bundled up like a ride in Boston in February.
This created a problem I wouldn't become aware of for a while. I was so cold and trying to stay as small as I could in the freezing wind, that I wasn't taking in much nutrition, and had long 30-45 minute periods where I took in almost none. Finally, after about 2.5 hours or more, it warmed up as the sun came out. My pace picked up and I was able to eat and digest pretty well. I had not realized it, but I fell behind in nutrition.
By the time I reached the half way point I passed at least 100 people or so, I was starting to mow them down and it felt great. All this while I was barely pushing at all. I could hold a lot more watts than I was pushing, but race plan was designed to ensure I had legs on the run. I burst over on hills and when passing, but I was babying it.
By mile 70 or so, a lot of folks were showing fatigue, I remember ripping through a huge pack of athletes like a buzz saw, I went over race power target a few times as the adrenaline surged, and I felt like a million bucks. I had so much in the tank still, I couldn't believe I could feel so fresh at this point. I was visibly smiling and I knew it. I kept trying to get down nutrition, and avoid blowing through my race power target. My averages stayed under race power, but I was concerned about the little spikes.
At Mile 90 I was still very fresh and kept reeling in small packs and lone athletes. By now however I was still playing catch up with nutrition and was deliberately slowing it down. I started pulling up on the pedals and not pushing fist to prepare my legs for the run, and second to slow down and buy time to digest before the run. I had too much in my stomach, and I was trying to "will it" through digestion.
At no point did I feel any fatigue on the bike, which was awesome, the down side was obvious, my stomach didn't clear. and I've had Gi before when I ran before my stomach cleared. I wasn't happy, but it was all in from here...
T2
I transitioned faster than T1, but the same weirdness with running into the building, and people lollygagging along. I was a little faster, but knowing the run was the grand finale, I didn't rush it too much either.
Out of transition "building" and into the sun. It felt great to get the Under Armor cold gear mock off, and start running. As I left T2, someone asked for my number, I realized then that my number got ripped from my race belt when I pulled the shirt off. No body marking, and no number. I was concerned I could be DQ'ed for some rules violation. This would continue to distract my focus on the run.
Run
I went out a little fast, but worked pretty hard at throttling it down. I dont run as well slow as I do at a faster pace, my form falls apart, probably because I never practiced running slow. Every workout was fast (and it worked at getting me faster). I cruised through the first 10k on an 8:40 pace no problem. Zero aerobic cost or as i had planned "easier than easy."
As I started the second 10k I started to feel bloated. My gut was shutting down from the over eating late on the bike sloshing. My stomach distended badly, I looked pregnant. It put some pressure on my diaphram and I wasnt getting full breaths. I am very particular about my breathing when I run. Then a chain reaction. I struggled with my run form, began heel striking, and my knees lit up. I hadn't had a knee injury in a year. My pace plumeted, which had a very negative psychological effect. I was in trouble. I tried walking an aid station, and was gimping when I started running again. I tried eating a cookie, and felt like I was going to burst. I walked a mile --the first time I had walked on a run since the last time I got rocked by GI. I never walked on a training run. That was mentally crushing.
I slow jogged, gimped, and ran while holding my stomach for the next 20k. It got dark and I was hurting. I remember feeling depressed as the sun set on not only the day, but my race. What a spiral I was in. Then a wave of people I beat on the bike by an HOUR started passing me on the run, slow steady pace, probably a 9:50 or so, but it looked quick to a guy in my shape at the moment. I had not eaten through the whole marathon... and carbohydrate depletion was affecting me adversely. Not fun. Trust me. It screws with your thoughts, and it felt like I was doomed. I never get like this! I like the adversity, and I love the hardest challenges... but this was different.
Ultimately seeing people passed me sparked the competitiveness in me back up, and I just decided I would fight back. Fight, fight, fight I kept saying to myself trying to get full breaths past my bloated stomach. Whatever it took I was going to run and not gimp.
While I never ran like I am capable of after the first 10k, my stride opened up a bit and the last 5k or so I was running like a runner (a rather sick banged up one).
I looked down at my Garmin watch as I have a thousand times before, and usually looked at a number like 10, 15, 20 miles on a long training run. This time, I looked down and saw 138.6 miles... then enormity of this race hit me. That's a long, long way to drive in a car... and I'm not done yet... I passed people straight through the last 5-10k and felt ok. The last mile I figured I would drop it and atone as much as I could for a poor performance relative to what I know I am capable of on the run.
I finished the Ironman.
Ultimately I was right at the 50th percentile among all athletes that day, almost 3,000 of them, which is not as competitive as I could have been, but what we can do on paper means nothing on race day. That day, and in that mornings cold, I did what I did, and I suffered through the run to earn what I got.
I could have really beaten myself up over the run, but I have not. Disappointed a bit sure, but I know there was a lot to appreciate too. I will HAMMER that course one day, because that's what's inside me. Like every race, I went in with a thousand achievements in training that I never would have imagined. Ironman interviewed an older guy before the race, he said he "won" before the cannon went off... he said "doing what you've done to toe the line at the Ironman, that's an accomplishment that is as big as the race itself." This was a guy who had multiple heart attacks in his life and came back to race (and finish) the Ironman.
This was an experience I will not forget, and of course, it probably started a fire inside that I won't be able to extinguish. I am taking 1 year off the Ironman distance race. I will do 70.3, Olympic and maybe a sprint or two with friends or family next season. I want to spend a lot more of next summer with my family. My wife Janine and the kids sacrificed as much as I did this season, and I am grateful for their support in preparing for this day.
In the interim as they say, I've got a race under my belt known as a 2.4 mile swim, a 112 mile bike, a 26.2 mile run, and an experience to remember the rest of my life.
I will train hard, and make a run at the Ironman again and we'll see what happens. I still can't do anything without going all in... of it's next run at the Ironman or just about anything else... you can believe, I'll continue to "hammer it." ...for me, life is to short to do things any other way.
While glad this was done, the sands in the hourglass were running very low before I was out for the count within 45 minutes of this picture, I was motionless on a couch and didn't move for many hours.
