After over three years of training and anticipation, I awoke in my hotel room somewhere just within what could be called Sunday morning in nervous excitement. Waking up over an hour before I expected to, the 1:50am wake-up would work in my favor I was sure; there is no such thing as too much preparation time. Just because I was too excited to go back to sleep doesn’t mean I wasn’t tired, however. I threw on my long sleeve shirt, blue jeans and sandals and headed out to try to find some breakfast.
The IHOP was about a half mile from my hotel and, as I was accustomed on this trip, I had no car. I walked all the way until I got into the parking lot before I saw the sign read “Open Daily 6am-12am.” Well, horseshit. I had to turn around and backtrack to the hotel and hope either the Denny’s or Perkin’s were open. East Washington Avenue was still bustling with activity at the 2:30 hour; with last call behind them, one of the largest party schools in America were heading home or grabbing some late night grub after what was certainly a long night. I find myself tearing up twice thinking about the finish line. Miles 140.5-140.6 are going to make all this worth it. I’ve thought of nothing else for so long.
Denny’s is open and brimming with energy. I look around at the restaurant, of which is well over half full of customers with plenty of loiterers as well, and don’t see a single person with an Ironman wrist band. Being that I sat by myself, the service was quite quick. I order my breakfast, a “create your own Grand Slam” and listen to my iPod to pass the time. I’m not visualizing the day; I’m just waiting and trying to not let all the adrenaline in my body make me sick. And people-watching. Breakfast comes and I do my best to eat all I can. I ate oatmeal (1/4), yogurt (all), hash browns (1/2), eggs (all) and toast (1/2), washing it all down with a large orange juice, some water and a half glass of milk for my oatmeal. I’m bloated, but my watch reads 3:15am; I’ve got plenty of time to digest.
Upon getting back to my hotel, I have little to do in a large amount of time. I sit and watch 300 and try to make as many “natural stops” as possible before leaving the hotel. After wasting away over an hour, I put my tri suit on under my clothes, make one final check that everything is in my special needs bags, and head out of my room towards my parents’ car right at 5:00. There’s a girl wearing an Ironman bracelet in the lobby of our hotel room who needs a ride. She’s a pro from Brazil and would go on to become the 4th overall female finisher, though I did not know this at the time. It’s clear her first language isn’t English during the exchange, but we eventually convince her that we have room in Denise’s car and we all exit together, bound for Downtown Madison.
I stumble out of my parents’ rental car a couple blocks from the Monona Terrace (the coolest transition area in all of triathlon) and start the playlist on my iPod I created specifically for this day. I drop off my special needs bags and head down to check out my bike, which I had racked yesterday afternoon. Still carrying my finish line drop bag, I head over to body marking. After I was marked, I asked a volunteer where I could find some Gatoraid, as I had not a drop of liquids on my bike at the time. She radioed race management and we both found out that there is not one bottle of Gatoraid anywhere in the Monona Terrace; she recommended I walk back to the Capitol building and get some at the local Walgreen’s. Seeing Ben for this first time of the morning, I head back to my bike and grab the emergency $5.00 I always keep in there and head back Downtown. After the quarter mile or so, I find out that Walgreen’s is only open from 7:00am-10:00pm. Asking another volunteer, I was advised to go BACK to the Terrace, walk up to the roof and ask someone in the VIP tent for some of theirs. During this commute, I stop by the volunteer tent (which already has food out for the 3,000+ volunteers) and ask them. The race director is standing there at the time and tells me that there is water in transition already. Water will do at this point, so I head back to my bike to fill my bottle.
Now it’s come time to pump up my tires. I borrow a bike pump from the guy next to me, but quickly give it back as I’ve forgotten something important. I rented a Zipp 404 and a disk wheel combination from Race Day Wheels, and both of them have valve extenders; I need a special adapter to get air in my tires. This means a walk back into the Terrace was in order so I could dig the valve out of my T1 bag. I grab the stickers for my wheel while I’m in there and head back to my bike. By the time I get back there, my playlist is winding down and people are heading out to this swim; I’m running out of time. I get back to my bike and find out there are volunteers with compressed air tubes filling bike tires for athletes; what’s more, they have the valve extender I needed and immediately go to work on my tires. The stickers meant to go over the holes on my valve were wet and wouldn’t remove, so I just racked my bike and got ready to head down to the swim start.
Ben is there, as we agreed, and we head towards the helix together. As soon as I pick up my drop bag, I notice something else: my wetsuit is not in it. Mother Fucker! I guess I took it out of the bag when I got bodymarked and left it on the ground. Sure enough, at the end of transition I see it sitting there folded up in such a way as to fit best in my bag. I put the bottom half on and walk down the helix with Ben, talking about the day and giving what advice I can give. We get to the bottom and are adequately distracting each other from the fear and the promise of pain the day will hold. I spot William Jenks from the forum on the way to the water; I hadn’t been formally introduced to him, but I recognized him and his wetsuit from Facebook pictures. I shake his hand and talk for a minute, but I have business to attend to. Ben and I are following the sea of people down to the swim and looking for the drop bag location. We make it all the way to the water’s edge before finding out that we had passed it several hundred feet ago. We have to backtrack through the ocean of athletes until we find the location. Dropping off our bags and heading back to the water, I forget my last thing: I’m still wearing sandals. Drop them at my bag really quickly, and Ben and I are ready to enter the water. Even after all the chaos, we’re still walking in at 6:45.
At the direction of the race officials, we swim out a good ways to make room for the people still entering the water. We make it over to the boat ramp in plenty of time to see the pros make their start at 6:50. After that, it was time for Ben and I to make our departure as we headed back into the mass of athletes and seed ourselves as best we can before the start of our race. I’m treading water with 8 minutes to go and just trying to take it all in. Over the intercom I hear Mike Reilly’s all too familiar voice barking orders and giving encouragement. “Who’s ready to be an Ironman today?” We all cheer. Oh, I’m ready Mike, I’m ready. The remaining minutes tick away quickly and the national anthem plays. Taking one last look at the time clock, it reads 6:58:30; 90 seconds to go. Then, out of nowhere, the very familiar sounds play out. The airhorn blasts, I hear shouting, people in front of me begin to swim, the water is churned white, I see arms begin to flail and, just as last year, I hear the opening riff of “Sugar, We’re Going Down” by Fall Out Boy blast out of the loudspeaker. And then, nothing. All I hear is the water. Oh my God, here we go. Ironman Wisconsin is officially underway!
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