Ironman Wisconsin - The Bike, Part II

I don’t really know what to say about the 2nd lap. It was the same course as the first, and everything was exactly as it was three hours ago. That is to say, the same as it was one octave of exhaustion below the first. The boring stretch to Mt. Horeb seemed longer and more boring the second time around, but I still had relatively high levels of energy in the tank. Eating the cookies helped my mood, but it wasn’t quite the treat I expected it to be. Energy bars taste like garbage when you eat them in everyday situations, but when you’re exercising, you really do develop a taste for them. At the time, it’s exactly what your body needs to yield the best results possible. My mom’s cookies just didn’t do it for me. They were sweet, they were delicious, they were soft and thin and chocolaty. In the end, though, they were just too sweet. I ate on them for about an hour and a half before throwing away what was left of them. All I could taste was the vanilla extract. The thought of continuing to eat them made me grimace. So, I went back to the bars and enjoyed the variety, very satisfied with the diversity and another hour and a half of proper nutrition in the books.

Riding through Mt. Horeb the final time was nice in the sense that I knew going into it that I would never see it again. This became a common theme throughout the second loop. It’s unclear to me if and when I’ll ever be back. I may do IM-MOO again some time down the road, but I know my current goal is to do a tour of all the American M-Dots. So, last time in a decade. In any case, it was great to see the familiar streets and people. Witte and Garfoot were certainly harder the first time, but they flew past once again with but a glance of the gorgeous countryside along it. The mile-long plummet on the other side was just as nice, perhaps more so because I need the rest even more. The ensuing 15 mile commute to Cross Plains and Old Sauk Pass was much worse the second time and I started to notice my pace dropping off. It was getting harder to stay in the aero position and I found myself coming out of it whenever possible. My butt began to hurt so much that being out of my aero position was just as painful, so I had to find that balance.

Old Sauk Pass Rd and Timber Ln. were so much worse. My body was so roasted after the roughly 85 miles completed thus far. The crowd had thinned and it just wasn’t as magical an experience. I passed several people on both climbs just as before. I’m reasonably confident that not only did I pass more people on the second lap than the first, but I got more comments about my pace from both racers and spectators on the second go-around. They both hurt worse, though. The Timber Ln. climb was hell on wheels. I could only get my heart rate up to about 185, but I was going to failure. A semi-permanent grimace was etched on my wide open mouth as I struggled, out of the saddle, up the climb. Motivated only by what spectators were left and seeing the top of the hill oh-so-terribly close, I got my fragile body up the hill. I swear I felt 50 pounds heavier the second go-round. Exiting Cross Plains, the next 10 miles of boring were expected, but not welcomed. By this point, I was in real awe of not only my mileage, but my average pace thus far. I was certainly on the top end of what I considered possible going into the race. I could limp home and still make my goal time. I was tired and very sore, and I had my doubts about how I’d handle the marathon, but I was go excited at the idea of getting off this damn bike.

Verona finally appeared in the distance, just as it had before, and was even more beautiful that the first time. I took special care to quickly exchange bottles at the aid station and hug the far barricade so I would have an opportunity to feed off my cheering section. It had thinned some, but Denise and my mom were still there toughing it out, and their cheers gave me what energy I needed to make it to the turnoff point. The second trip through, I noticed some sidewalk-chalk graffiti with my name on it, which was a very cool sight to see.

Turning off onto the short 14 mile trip back into town was so relieving, but I had certainly forgotten two things about this little stretch: there are a couple climbs worth suffering over and the roads were so rough! The climbs came and went with little agony, but after 105 miles of riding the rough roads were almost unbearable. I slowed down considerably and simply grunted my way over the street, occasionally glancing at the distance reading on my Garmin, and watching it tick closer to 112. I knew I had to sweat out these damn poor streets until I hit the Alliance Energy Center at mile 109, then we’d be off the main roads for good. More patience was needed and drawn forcibly from my mind, but I eventually saw the building in the distance and eagerly dropped off John Nolen Blvd. Going around the Energy Center, retracing my steps along the side streets and the cool-as-hell bike trail hugging Lake Monona I knew I was just moments away from Downtown. Then came the stunning sight I’ve wanted to see for the last 6 and a half hours: the Monona Terrace. As I approached the great building, I threw my fists up and smiled in accomplishment. I put my bike into my easiest gear and spun up the helix, listening to the faint roar of the crowd from the top level. Finally rolling around the last turn, I entered T2 and handed off my bike. A little wobbly at first, I jogged my way into the Terrace to the music of my family screaming my name.

T2 was even better than T1. It wasn’t nearly as crowded and I got to sit down. There was far less clothing to put on, and the task was easier with dry skin. I was much more coherent and had a much deeper conversation with the volunteer helping me change. He was a big cyclist who was earning his spot to race at Wisconsin next year. I shared with him that I had volunteered last year, and how exciting it is to finally be doing it. After getting fully dressed, I bid him farewell, but stopped and stretched out my abs before exiting. I was in no huge hurry to hustle out of T2 and start my 26.2 mile death-march, so I didn’t really do anything in much of a hurry. As soon as I got outside, a volunteer slathered me up one more time with sunscreen and I hit the porto potties again before I embarked. Everyone in my cheering section with a camera had multiple opportunities to snap pictures of me exiting the porto potty and running towards the start of the run. I was so excited to see them again and so glad to be off the bike. I’d found my running legs before even exiting the transition area and knew that after another 26.2 agonizingly painful miles that I’d forever be an Ironman. At that juncture, just as I crossed the timing mat and reset my Garmin to record my running time, I was ready for the sacrifice. “Pain is temporary. Pride is forever.”

Bike Time: 6:58:55

T2: 9:20