Ironman Louisville: The Swim

After several dozen sessions in the pool in which it did not happen, I immediately upon entering the water felt river water shoot into my right goggle. I wrestle with it for the first few hundred yards before cutting my losses and trying to ignore it. I then concern myself with nailing down my form early and finding my pace. The water, though measured at 83 degrees race morning, is cool against my body and in no way warmer, murkier or less comfortable than local Percy Priest Lake and I soon start to wonder what all the fuss is about.

The swim is a combination of a single loop and a point-to-point. You swim roughly 1,200 meters out until you reach a turn buoy, at which point you turn about 330 degrees and swim the remainder of the course down stream back towards transition. I split the swim up as such: warm up until I reached open water (out of the channel), pick it up a notch against the current, lock into a smooth pace and try to find feet after the turn buoy. There are swimmers of all sorts occupying space in the water; unlike mass start swims, the swimmers are seeded randomly, which causes far more time for the swimmers to sort themselves out. Not as intense as a mass start, but I still don’t prefer it.

Exiting the channel and heading towards the turn buoy, I reminded myself to keep my arm cadence high and to swim “smooth.” It was easy work doing so and I found myself largely with plenty of room around me. I check my watch at the turn; though I don’t know how far out it was, I was happy to see that I had made the trip in 26 minutes.

Making the turn and heading back, I was disappointed to see that there was still no established hierarchy of swim talent, making it much more difficult to find someone to draft off of. The trade off was that I was flying past 90% of the field without much effort. Clearly, the only logical choice was to go harder and I picked it up to more of a half-ironman swim pace. I kept looking for feet to follow and soon came to the realization that the only swimmers worth drafting off of would be ones who passed me. This happened twice, both times I kicked up to their feet and both times I couldn’t hold their slipstreams for longer than 50-100 meters. I was more or less content to continue at my smooth but rapid pace as I saw the bridges in the distance. I knew going into the swim that there were 3 bridges I’d have to swim under between myself and the swim exit. The problem was that you can see all 3 bridges after about 500 meters from the turnaround. As one might imagine, actually getting to the bridges was a process that seemed to take far longer than it rightfully should have.

As I neared the second bridge, I started sighting to my left to try to identify how much further then swim exit was. For a moment, I deduced that we had passed the Great Lawn and were in the finish line chute. Unfortunately for your naive author, I was at the time crossing the Great Lawn and quickly running out of gas. Passing under the second bridge, drawing ever closer to the third and leaving Transition area behind me, I really started to suffer. My arms started to burn and threatened to detach themselves from my body. I began to have trouble controlling my breathing and maintaining my form. I really, really, really wanted to see that big inflatable “Swim Exit” sign, but I had simply miscalculated the swim course and was starting to pay the price. What’s more, my efforts towards a more impressive swim split started to slip away as I watched 1:00, 1:05 and 1:10 slip away. I figured I’d be between 1:10 and 1:15, though I had hoped to surprise myself. By the time 1:10 had slipped by, we had made the turn past the Lawn and I could now clearly see the swim exit. I plugged away with whatever strength I had left and soon saw volunteers shoulder-deep in the water helping people up the steps; with good reason too, those steps were treacherous. The volunteer who helped me find my footing was nice enough to unzip the back of my speed suit, which helped me a lot.

Estimated Swim Time: 1:10-1:15
Actual Swim Time: 1:14:11

I climb out of the water, punch my Garmin and see that my swim split was right around 1:14. I’ll take it; still way better than last year. I wasn’t sure if it recorded my lap key, so I punch it again to be sure, remove my cap and goggles, pull off the upper part of the suit and begin my jog to transition through a wall of screaming spectators. It’s all par for the Ironman course and I don’t pay it a lot of mind. Nearing transition I hear Denise screaming, but don’t see anybody I recognize. My right foot is a bit tender as I gave myself the smallest of blisters under my 2nd toe in the days before walking untold miles in my minimalist Vibram Five-Fingers, but I make quick work of grabbing my T1 bag and heading into the change tent to the chorus of cheering spectators and my Garmin wildly alerting me that my heart rate is out of control.

Inside the tent is pretty crowded, horribly humid and featured no volunteer help. Volunteers were there, some of them helping athletes dress, but nobody so much as looked at me as I struggled to slap on my biking gear. I instead made small talk with a guy next to me and continue to dress quickly. Finishing up, I hand my gear bag and wet clothes to a volunteer and jog out towards my bike. Grabbing it and approaching the mount line, I see Amy and her camera as I jog past. I go to punch my Garmin as I get on the bike and am confused to see it say “T2.” Apparently it did read my lap the first time, and had recorded my transition time as my bike split. I have to stop the multisport, erase the memory and start another bike/run multisport workout before I can get it going again. Sill, though, within 15 seconds of mounting, I press the start button and begin my ride.

T1: 5:18