Forged in the Furnace: Becoming an Ironman

The road to the Ironman was truly a trial by fire. I was a novice swimmer who hadn't swam in five years. I was novice cyclist who hadn't been on a bike more than three times in the past decade. I had never completed a triathlon of any distance, let alone a full Ironman. The task at hand was daunting and loomed large, but the task was simple. As a child growing up, and even as a young adult, I had considered athletic feats like the fabled marathon and Ironman to be in a realm far beyond my natural abilities. But, as I got older and took on endurance challenges head on, I realized how false my misconceptions were about my own personal limits. After years of setting aside the notion of attempting an Ironman, I decided that 2014 was the year I was finally going to make it happen. In February 2014, I took the plunge and entered Ironman Louisville.

The training for an Ironman was a much needed reality check, and due my spring running schedule, I only had four months to spare. In the early stages, the idea of completing a 2.4 mile swim seemed overwhelmimg as I struggled to swim even a couple laps in a pool before needing to rest. Learning how to ride a road bike wasn't much better as I found myself stiff and sore from riding only 30 minutes. For the first time in a long time none of my running experience mattered, none of my marathon times matter, and none of my ultras mattered. Swimming and cycling were completely different beasts, and they couldn't care less how many races I had run. This was not running, and at times I wondered if I was in over my head.

But.....I was patient. I picked up good advice, practiced, and kept practicing. I went at it day after day, week after week, and month after month. Slowly but surely I could ride 30 miles comfortably, then 40, 50, 60, and 70. My swimming efficiency also improved as I increased my workouts from 500 meters, to 1k, to 1 mile, 1.5 miles, and then 2 miles non-stop. But, it wasn't some amazing overnight transformation. After grinding it out for months and months, I could start to see the triathlete being born, and eventually witness myself becoming more than just a runner. All was going as well as I could have planned, and then on one of my final long rides my IT band completely gave out and forced me to cut my ride short by 30 miles. One of my big fears had been realized as I was now only two weeks away from the Ironman and my IT band was shot. The doubts began to rear their ugly heads, and I began to wonder how on earth I could complete Louisville's notoriously hilly 112 (actually 115) mile bike course, when I couldn't even do half the distance without pain on a flat bike path. I trained my ass off for four months and it came down to this? The questions mounted. Did doing the rim to rim to rim at the Grand Canyon three weeks earlier jeopardize my chances at completing my Ironman, and did I virtually sacrifice one bucket list item by doing another too close? Only time would decide, but one thing was for certain. I owed it to myself to at least show up to the starting line.

On August 21st, my dad and I made the long 700 mile drive from Virginia to Kentucky. The hustle and bustle of race weekend could have been a blur, but I took the time to enjoy it and enjoy some quality time with my dad. The weather forecast was ominous as an unusually hot heat wave was predicted to blanket Louisville through race weekend. On top of that, race day temps looked to be the worst, as the heat index would reach 103 degrees with very little shade. In the mean time, I shifted my focus to doing last minute gear adjustments, trying to relax, and also enjoy a bit of the town.

Race morning was a bit surreal to wake up knowing what would transpire over the next day. In that sense it was much like any other race morning trying to absorb the great expanse of physical and mental things I knew I would experience by the time I would be back in my hotel room. From a race perspective, I had waited six months to do this event, and it always seemed that race day was some far off event that was just out of reach. The reality sank in as I acknowledged that that very day had arrived, and in essence it was a day that I had been waiting not just six months for, but rather many years.

The early morning was still dark, but alive with energy from the spectators, athletes, crews, and thousands of volunteers. I made my final round dropping off gear bags and walked to the swim start with my dad. The sky was beginning to lighten and the energy was building up to a palpable frenzy of focus and nerves. The only real glitch of the day occurred when I was misdirected as to where to line up for the swim which cost me 2 miles of walking and also had me being one of the last athletes in the water. I shook off the incident, made my way to the dock, and waved to my dad one last time before jumping into the water and officially starting my Ironman quest.

I knew the swim would be the toughest leg of the race mentally, and I was right. Having never done an open water swim of any kind, I freaked out as soon as I hit the water. Visibility was non existent and I was experiencing the bumping and nudging notoriously associated with triathlon swims. This was made considerably worse knowing that it was the point of no return, and there was only one way to go, and that was forward. For some reason, it brought me back to learning how to swim as a child. I would stand at the edge of the pool, my dad would hold out his arms and tell me to jump, I would take a leap of faith, swim as hard as knew how, and eventually get scooped up in my dad's arms. This, by comparison, was like the first time I had to jump in a pool without my dad there. I knew I could swim, but the proverbial safety net was gone. The Ohio river was not a pool where I could rest at the wall every 25 meters if I had to. Somehow I quickly collected myself and remembered to apply the smooth swim techniques I had practiced over and over in the pool. My breathing calmed down, my muscle memory found itself, and soon I was passing a number of folks in the water. At the turn around I took advantage of the generous current and gained some much needed time before the crux of my day, the bike portion. I popped out of the water, ditched the wet suit, waved to my dad, and made my way into transition one.

I knew the bike was going to be my weakest link. IT band issues had cut several important long rides well short of their intended distances. I had also feared the rolling hills, which I couldn't train for on the flat Dismal Swamp bike path, would flare up my already iffy IT band. Conservative would be the name of the game, but I would learn that even a conservative 112 mile ride is still hard work. The first 10 miles were fairly flat and sufficient cloud cover meant the temps rested in the mid 80's. However, the comfort was short lived as the sun would come out for the remainder of the day and the hills would begin and not relent for another 90 miles. Per usual, the beginnings of Ironman carnage began to show as bikes began to break down and then the athletes themselves. Two loops of the bike course meant you knew what hills to expect the second time around. Both good and bad. For most of the bike portion I was passed by quite a few folks. For most sports, I believe the gear does not make the athlete. An expensive pair of running shoes, or golf clubs mean nothing if the person using them has no skill. However, though I have a fairly nice bike that retailed for $899, there was absolutely no way I could compete with folks on triathlon bikes that cost upwards of $2,500-$5,000+. One sad reality of triathlons, and specifically Ironman events, is that they cater to an audience that has a high level of disposable income. I would have to make do on my bike, and realize that sometimes you can't always have what others have, and that's the way the playing field goes at triathlons. Much to my chagrin, my bike was going to take an hour longer than my goal time, but at least the final 10 miles back to transition two was flat.

Finally off the bike, I was now in familiar territory. The run. From here to the finish, those fancy $5,000 bikes no longer gave an advantage, and the only thing we had to project us forward were our feet and a pair of shoes. I welcomed back the even playing field, but alas the 103 heat was undeniably present. While the bike provides a constant breeze, running the downtown streets of Louisville was unforgiving. There was no shade, no wind, and only the heat resonating from the pavement and buildings like a furnace. Water stops were plentiful, the course now flat, but the toll was heavy on many of the weary athletes. I was only managing a light shuffle with walk breaks to hydrate and fuel, but it was still faster than many of the folks reduced to a lethargic 26.2 mile "death march". After reaching the outbound turn around, I made my way back to the city and to the end of loop one. In a most cruel fashion the end of loop one literally brings you a hundred yards from the finish line cheers and coveted Timex finish clock, but then directs runners to veer right to endure another 13 miles of pavement.

Those last 13 miles are a gut check, and for many it's where Ironman dreams either live or die. As the sun set, the temps remained in the 90s, but even the slight cool down gave me renewed energy. If anything, I wanted to make sure that I finished my Ironman experience feeling strong and looking strong. I found my stride and passed mile markers 20, 21, and then 22. It was the homestretch with less than four miles to go, but with persistent heat even at night there was still no room for error. I continued to hydrate, take my gels, and dump water on my body as I had the entirety of the run. With 5k to go I accelerated, with a mile to go I pushed even harder, and with a half mile to go I flipped the switch to a full out sprint. I negative split the marathon by 11 minutes. A quarter mile from the finish I saw my dad, made a left hand turn, and finally a right toward the electric 4th street finish pavilion. I blasted down the final hundred yards, urged the crowd to make some noise, and arrived at the finish line in a place I had envisioned being for many years. As I crossed under the clock a voiced boomed over the loudspeakers "Mike Bailey, you are an Ironman!".

It had happened, and it happened on a day that saw the most DNF's ever at Ironman Louisville. One of my lifelong dreams had finally become a reality. I WAS an Ironman. While it was a sweet victory in itself, it was made even sweeter by having my dad to share it with. While my family hasn't had the opportunity to witness many of my running events, it harkened back to a time where they saw me become a black belt, play baseball, win my first ultra, and finish with my sister at her first marathon. While in duration, the road to the Ironman was only six months long, with four months of training, it was a road far longer in length. Thanks to the many volunteers on the course and my #1 support crew, my dad, for being there the entire way. Here's to many more adventures along the way.

Afterthoughts: In 2005, a friend of mine discussed which was harder, an Ironman or an ultra. Having now done both, an Ironman is much harder than a 50 mile ultra, or even 100k ultra. However, it does not beat you up nearly as much as a 50 miler, and definitely not as much as a 100 miler. Ironman training is more demanding and stricter as you are training for three sports. When doing solely running, you can have high mileage weeks and still work in rest days. Rest days are almost non existent in triathlons because you are always rotating sports. The only real soreness I have from the ironman is in my glutes, neck, and shoulders, which is entirely from the bike portion. My quads only have moderate tiredness from the marathon, and it doesn't appear the swim caused any soreness.