The 2024 Arizona Ironman

To Tri or Not to Tri?

Swim. Bike. Run.

Triathlons are a pretty simple thing in concept, really. Get in the water. Ride a bike. Run a race. Doesn’t seem like it should be too complicated.

In fact, it actually kind of sounds like fun.

Perhaps those were just some psychotic, ignorant musings of a long-time endurance athlete. But what did I know? Triathlons certainly had always been an intriguing goal of mine. The multi-sport aspect felt like the sort of fresh, interesting challenge I had always been up for. The only problem was it took a long time before I felt like I had the tools and skills necessary for all three sports.

I have spent a substantial part of my entire life running, so I knew that wouldn’t be a problem. But I’ve only recently gotten into road biking. The past few years were the first time I ever felt like I had the fitness and skills to do that one. And I’ve never been a competitive swimmer. But I have at least always been pretty comfortable and halfway decent in the water. So, I figured I could pick that one up easily enough.

In the summer of 2024 it all finally came together. I spent several weeks trail running all over Europe. The running fitness had a fantastic base. And then I raced in the Courage Classic ride for Children’s Hospital. After getting in shape enough to ride 140 miles, 11,000+ vertical feet, and four mountain passes over two days at high altitude, the bike fitness was there too. And I knew the swim would come with just a bit of discipline and effort.

And so, the time finally felt right to pull the trigger and give a tri a try (sorry). The only thing left to do was find a race.

The Arizona Ironman Race

Having never done a triathlon of any distance, I figured the prudent thing to do would be to look for a full length IRONMAN race (2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, and 26.2 mile run) to sign up for as my very first one. I had no idea if I was going to like this sport, so why not get the full value? Plus I’ll admit it, there was something I liked about smugly having my first one be a full one (hopefully).

I eventually settled on the 2024 Arizona event down in Tempe. I liked this choice for three main reasons: timing, proximity, and climate.

On the timing front, the mid-November race date lined up with my training calendar perfectly. I would have just enough time to get in shape for the long distance. From a proximity standpoint, Tempe is a super easy and cheap flight from Denver. I figured this would make all the many logistics easy. This turned out to be correct. And lastly from the climate perspective, I was looking forward to doing this in a situation similar to Denver (i.e. arid and dry).

(Side note: I have absolutely no idea how people do endurance sports in humid climates. My body has essentially no idea how to properly function in high heat or humidity, regularly wiping out any ‘advantage’ supposedly gleaned from being at a lower altitude. But Arizona seemed to be the one place where I could race in a place like I’d trained, but without the risk of dying in the heat and humidity. The race being in mid November meant (theoretically) it should be cool and dry too.)

Besides all that, the course looked pretty cool. The swim seemed reasonable as it was a big lap in Tempe Town Lake. The bike was flat (albeit potentially windy). And the run looked like an interesting set of loops. It was also extremely spectator friendly. All of this added up to a great first tri course.

And so, with my race chosen, I spent the remainder of the summer diving full-bore into this sport. Suffice it to say, triathlons are far more complex, involved, and fun than I had ever imagined…

Road to the Starting Line

Perhaps nothing better reflects this than just packing for the race. The sheer volume of equipment, food, tools, backups, and essential kit is mind-numbing. Everything about this sport is complicated and involved.

Thankfully, however, I found all the training prepares you for this in advance. I mean, as you train for triathlons you are basically constantly thinking of all the crap you need (and in what sequence) at any given moment. Running shoes, socks, sunscreen, food, glasses, goggles, water, Gatorade, bike shoes, wetsuit, swim cap, helmet, backups of pretty much everything…the list seems to go on forever and ever. And not only do you have to keep this stuff accounted for, but then you also have to ensure it is clean, prepped, and organized so it can be used at the proper time.

After all the training practice + packing all this crap + the disassembling and reassembling the bike itself, the race itself was starting to feel like the easy part.

After months of prep, we finally made it down to Tempe to check in at the Ironman Village.

“Village” really is the right word for this as the race takes over the entire park right next to Tempe Town lake for the whole weekend. There was a mass of support tents, check in areas, vendor tents, food tucks, transition areas, bathrooms, start/finish lines, trucks, and volunteer areas just about everywhere you looked.

But this had the advantage of centralizing everything into one place. The start, finish, and all transition areas were within a few yards of one another. This made for a really cool atmosphere as everyone was milling about together basically all weekend long.

One thing I’ll admit is that eyeballing the other athletes certainly got me a bit nervous beforehand. I have done a LOT of races in my adult life, but the caliber of person at this event was noticeably a cut above. Big running races attract all types of people with varying degrees of fitness, experience, and athletic abilities. This is a big part of part of what makes them great. Ultramarathons attract a certain type as well. These people are almost always tough yet laid back; grizzled yet overly supportive; fit and strong, yet not what one might normally think of as a super athlete. That is all part of what makes ultras so unique.

But man, the people at the Ironman were most definitely athletes. Toned legs, shaved bodies, expensive gear, and very serious demeanors were found in abundance. I had been forewarned about this ahead of time, but still, there was no denying that people who do these things take it very seriously. Or at least it felt that way for a relative nube such as myself.

I’ve since come to realize that ultras really are about competing with yourself, whereas Ironmans are about competing with the clock. In time I would figure out what this all meant, but walking around, I definitely felt like this wasn’t just some ordinary event. This was a race.

Once we had finished checking in and prepping on Friday we had most of Saturday to enjoy our time in Tempe a bit. It’s a great college town with excellent Mexican restaurants, college dive bars, and a very cool downtown. We even made it over to Scottsdale for a sampling of Tiger Wood’s PopStroke mini golf and bar.

The Swim

The morning of the race began with a chilly early wake up call. The air temp outside was 45 degrees and the water was just a touch above 60. Brrrr. As we arrived at Ironman Village I did one final check of all my transition bags, topped off my bike tires with air, went to the bathroom like four times (Katie said is was more like 12), and then joined everyone else for the ritual of squeezing ourselves into a wetsuit. From there I gave final hugs goodbye before heading off to the starting chutes.

The swim featured a rolling start. Rather than a mad group dash into the water, everyone first lined up in chutes according to their estimated swim finish times. After the gun went off each group jumped off a dock in waves of four people, with each wave being five seconds apart. I’m not sure when Ironman moved to this method, but it felt infinitely preferable to a mass start of 1,800+ swimmers all trying to reach the first buoys ahead of one another.

It was a pretty special feeling being packed into the gates with everyone waiting for his or her turn. It also provided the first opportunity of the day to just relax and take it all in. Multiple friends who had done Ironmans gave me the advice to be sure I paused throughout the day and really take the time to enjoy it. This was very good perspective. I’ve done enough of these sorts of things to know that there’s nothing like your first. So, I was careful to heed their wisdom and just soak it all in for what it was. My first moment like this was right before the start. I took a second to look around and appreciate what a preposterous, yet awesome thing it is to be packed in with almost 2,000 other lunatics who find exercising for 140+ miles to be a fun thing.

Slowly but surely I then inched forward until it was my turn. Before I knew it I was at the end of the dock jumping feet first into the frigid waters myself.

The first few minutes were quite the shock. The cold water not only froze my limbs, but also, it took my breath away. I knew to expect this from my practice swims, but still, the initial couple of hundred meters were the worst. It was hard to breathe as my (not yet numb) face and chest started mildly hyperventilating in the cold. Not ideal for, uh, swimming. Thankfully, after a few minutes everything numbed up and it wasn’t an issue for the remainder of the swim. Always best to be too cold instead of too hot for these things anyway.

Above: Swimmers chugging along at the start of the race. Sidenote: This was definitely not me. 

My goal time for the swim portion was 1 hour and 15 minutes. This would put me right at an average pace of 2:00/100 meters. I knew I could theoretically swim much faster than this, but there wasn’t much of a reason to push it. Between it being the first event of the day, my first open water race, and my second time in my wetsuit ever, I knew I had very little to gain and much to lose. This seems to be the prevailing wisdom anyway. You can’t really win the day with a fast swim, but you can certainly lose it. So, I relaxed in the water and took another moment to appreciate all the goings on around me.

The swim course in Tempe Town Lake was very ‘fair’ in that the lake was calm, without currents, and easy to follow. Bright buoys marked the perimeter as thousands of swimmers stroked on ahead. In retrospect the one thing I really sucked at was the sighting. Swimming in open water is a whole different animal from swimming in a pool. This is most clear in terms of just trying to go in a straight line. Like I said, I’m a relative novice when it comes to this, so swimming without drifting proved to be a challenge all unto itself. The outbound leg also looked directly into the rising sun which didn’t help much. Given all of this, I continually found myself veering off course and having to correct. This actually wasn’t the worst thing as it saved me from many accostings in the water. Free gropings (and head kicks) are just a reality of this sport. But staying well outside the tightest swim lanes helped mediate this substantially. I did end up swimming an extra 200 meters in total (whoops), but I think this was worth it for the relative peace and quiet of being outside the hustle and bustle of the fast lanes.

By the turn around point I was feeling in a good rhythm and chugging along well. It was nice to not be looking into the sun anymore. It was more nice to now be over halfway done. I think the strategy for most people is to just ‘survive’ the swim. As I peeked at my watch and saw I was on pace. I breathed a sigh of relief knowing I’d get through the first event without issue. More importantly, I felt really good too.

I even had the chance to throw a few “thank you’s” out to the many volunteers and lifeguards on the course. The whole route was lined with folks in kayaks and paddle boards along the perimeter. These were just a tiny portion of the astounding 2,500 volunteers (!!) who manned this race. I have no idea how they find several hundred folks willing to sit on the almost freezing water at 6:00 am to watch us stride by, but I felt very grateful for them doing so. And that was certainly not the last time I would feel that way throughout the day.

When I made the final left hand turn around the red buoy I knew there were just ~200 meters to go. I could see the ramps leading out of the water and the rows of spectators beyond. Before I knew it it was my turn and I had completed my first event of the day. I was just a touch slow of my goal time, but I didn’t feel bad about that at all. I had survived and thrived in the swim. More importantly, I felt good going into the bike. Given my complete inexperience with all this stuff, I felt very pleased with that performance. Job #1 was a total success.

Above: Video on the bridge of swimmers exiting the water and on to Transition #1.

Transition #1 was quite the experience. A short jog over to the change tents stood in between the bikes beyond.

But not before the wetsuit strippers.

These fine people must have had the most fun job of the whole race. Right before the change tents there was a large area of volunteers gleefully yelling at arriving racers to “lay on your back”. Upon doing so, two large dudes proceeded to grab my wetsuit and pull with full force to rip it right off of my legs. A hilarious spectacle, but for anyone who has ever worn a wetsuit, you know this is also a much appreciated one.

After that I grabbed my pre-prepared transition bag and then headed into the complete chaos of the changing tents. This area was full of all kinds of shenanigans involving gear swapping, bike prep, public nudity, and anything and everything in between. Whew.

My own transition time ended up being on the slow side, but I didn’t feel bad about it. I had decided ahead of time that a few extra minutes here would make a world of difference on the bike. So, I took the extra time to do all the creature comforts before heading out. I applied sunscreen, grabbed bike gloves, put on socks, ate some quick food, and applied cham butter (the 11th essential). This all paid off in the long run as I felt quite comfortable for the entirety of the bike ride. Well worth the 3-5 minutes “lost” in transition.

From there, it was on to the start. A 112 mile, 5+ hour bike ride lie in wait.

ABOVE: Jogging along after completion of the swim. One great thing about this race was all the transition areas were in the exact same spot. This made planning and coordinating much simpler. 

ABOVE: Out of T1 and into the bike portion of the race.

ABOVE: Headed out for the 112 mile bike course.

The Bike

The bike route was a 37 mile out and back done three times. It began with a pleasing urban ride through downtown Tempe before heading out on main roads until eventually meeting the Beeline Highway. This gently sloping uphill portion went out of the Phoenix area and up into the Maricopa Indian Reservation. The turnaround was at the top of a big “hill” before heading back the way you came.

All in all I found it to be a pretty decent course, albeit not quite ideal.

The plus sides of the course were that it was very flat (i.e. fast). It was pretty rural which afforded some nice views. And it was very well marked and free of cars. For a race like this, it had a whole lot going for it.

It wasn’t perfect, however. I think my main beef was actually how flat it was. I knew going into it that it would be a pancake course. The only problem with that was I found it very hard to train that way in Colorado. Colorado is (shocker) full of hills. This makes for a very different type of riding than a flat course. The constant series of big exertions followed by screaming downhills is just a different type of fitness from a long, steady exertion. For the AZ course I found I was essentially just pedaling at a consistent RPM and power level almost the entire time. And in many ways, that is a tougher kind of fitness. As my bike coach neighbor likes to stay, consistent flat zone 2 is the hardest type of riding there is because “there’s nowhere to hide.” It’s also just a lot less fun, IMO. Cruising for 5+ hours hunched over like a gremlin on a flat surface can get pretty boring.

Other downsides to this course were the wind and the road surface. The wind can notoriously pick up in the afternoons, making the trek back into Tempe a potential nightmare. We had some wind, but I was very thankful it stayed pretty mild. I could see this sucking a whole lot if it really picked up. And lastly, the Beeline Highway really just needs to be repaved. Maybe that’s a first world problem (actually, yes, it definitely is). But still, I did not enjoy getting jumbled around for half of the time on the bike.

ABOVE: Some cool aerial biking footage Katie shot from atop the bluff overlooking the ASU campus. I felt bad for the folks caught in the traffic jam. That is until the final lap back. As I paced with a random pickup full of ASU brovilles for a few seconds, one of them – clearly exasperated by the long line they had been sitting in – calmly looked out his open window right at me and goes, “Hey…fuck you and your stupid bike.” This was the only time I burst out laughing all day long. I flashed him a smile and a thumbs up as this motivated me to pedal off at a high speed, leaving him in the dust. I like to think he had to sit there for at least another half hour or more. 

All that to say, I shouldn’t complain. The course was also incredibly well marked and full of volunteers. The ample aid stations had everything imaginable and the people working them were fantastic. It was becoming clearer and clearer to me just how damn good Ironman is at logistics. I honestly cannot think of a single operational thing I would improve on the entire bike course. And for that I am very thankful indeed. Another huge thank you to all the volunteers and folks who made this possible.

As I pedaled out onto the road for the first time I soon found a calm atmosphere descending. After the initial bustle of the first few miles, everyone settled in and we left the city behind. I found the course to have a quiet, zen-like atmosphere. Everyone was just focused on being as efficient and methodical as possible. This is essential for the bike portion as it is all about staying aero, taking in calories, and managing the longest portion of the day well. But being out there together quietly pedaling away was nice. Another good chance to take it all in and appreciate the day. The soaring desert peaks and million dollar views in almost every direction made it even easier to do so.

My biggest challenge was just not going out too hard. One near universal piece of advice for these races is to not “over bike.” That is, you have to really avoid the temptation to bike as hard as you can as that will kill you for the marathon to come. Heeding the advice of basically everyone everywhere, I did the first lap at a much more comfortable pace than I was used to. I continually found myself backing off the accelerator, opting to eat and drink instead. In spite of this, I was still somewhat shocked at how many people I was passing. Maybe it was because of my (relatively) slow swim, but I was still passing people virtually ALL day on the bike. And that was in spite of my (again, relatively) paltry machine. Any nervousness about the quality of both athletes and bikes quickly evaporated as I left countless bikes far more expensive than my own behind me. Don’t get me wrong…a summer of cycling in a group ride with professional riders and ex-tour de France winners has taught me just what a crappy rider I actually am. But still, I’m proud to say that I out-pedaled plenty of folks with far better kit than my own. I guess it really does go to show you that in spite of how much money you can sink into this sport, it still pales in comparison to the man or woman on the bike itself.

By the time I hit my third lap I switched strategies a bit. My good buddy Brian had told me that THIS was the time to really lay the hammer down. So I did. I got into a more normal rhythm for one of my long rides and started to cover some ground. It felt good to be going faster and to keep passing folks. Especially on anything that even remotely looked like an “uphill.”

I’m most thankful to say that I avoided any calamities on the ride. There is a whole lot that can go wrong when road biking. And I witnessed plenty of it myself. I was nervous about my own mechanical abilities from reassembling the bike. I heard the gut-wrenching screams of some poor dude who blew out his tire 10 minutes before the start of the race. I saw two crashes. And I even witnessed a guy peeing himself on the bike in front of me. Thankfully, I was able to avoid all of that and cruise along just like normal.

(Sidenote on the peeing thing: Apparently there are plenty of triathletes who don’t take issue with doing this on the bike itself. But after witnessing one ahead of me, lemme tell ya, that is NOT the way to go. This really is a disgusting practice, IMO, and one I’ll never do. I stopped twice to pee on the ride and I can say with 100% confidence that the ~2 minutes lost to this was WELL worth it. Bleh). 

Anyway, by the time I did the final turnaround I kept blazing down the long hill and back into the city. I was starting to feel it. Not so much like I was physically exhausted, but I was mostly just really tired of being on the bike. On the way back I fought the light breeze while I kept track of the landing airplanes high above. One interesting thing about the course is I always knew how far or close from the finish I was based on the height of the landing planes. Because the course paralleled the airport glide path, they steadily got lower and lower as we neared the city and them to their waiting runways beyond.

As I cruised into the exit chute I once again felt great about my performance. I had a goal of doing 5:30 for the bike and I was just a few minutes shy of this. But I didn’t care. My exertion felt spot on. My fueling had been perfect. The bike worked like a dream. And a few pit stops long the way were well worth it. Some 7+ hours in I was right where I wanted to be.

I hopped off my ride and handed it to the waiting bike snatchers. They stashed it at it’s designated spot (again, more awesome volunteer work) and I jogged over to grab my transition bag and head back into the change tents. I took a bit of extra time for some running creature comforts. I ate some food, I slugged an entire de-carbonated coke, and I calmly gathered my gear. It was a markedly less busy atmosphere than before, probably owing to the fact that I was much further ahead of where I had been after the swim.

All that was left to do now was go run a marathon.

The Run

As I rolled onto the run course I had two very clear thoughts:

1. I was really happy to be running and no longer biking. Running is my comfort zone. I was glad to be on to this.
2. The reality of a full marathon ahead sunk in for the first time. The funny thing about these races is everyone says to do it “one step at a time.” And while that is exceedingly good advice, it also has a funny way of masking the fact that eventually you have to run a full 26.2 miles.

ABOVE: Finally off the bike and ready for a casual marathon.

Reflecting on thought #2 for the very first time all day, I took a few deep breaths as the adrenaline of Transition #2 wore off and the reality of a long run ahead sank in. The advantage of running many marathons in the past was that I knew exactly what to expect. But the disadvantage of running many marathons in the past was that I knew exactly what to expect.

But as the famous Colorado ultrarunner John Lacroix likes to say, there’s only one direction we know how to go: forward.

The first few miles of the run turned out to be pretty rough. It started with my stomach. My GI track just wasn’t having it after so many miles and so much crappy food being shoveled in all day. I got the gurgles in a real bad way as my body transitioned from biking to running. Then it turned to my feet. They were rubbing pretty badly. I could feel some wicked blisters coming on just a few miles in.

Thankfully, I was able to draw on the plethora of experience that I do have in this sport and form a game plan. I knew neither of these issues would magically resolve themselves. So, after four miles of initial suffering I took a break at the fourth aid station in order to resolve them. First I defiled the nearest porta-potty. Then I walked over to the medical tent where a very kind dude (I’m sad to say I forgot his name) helped me apply Vaseline all over both feet. I snagged a few Tums as well, which  were a game changer. I felt much better already as I departed. After another quick stop a mile ahead to finish my bathroom business (runners will understand) I finally got into a rhythm and felt like an actual runner again.

The course was shaping up to be pretty awesome. It was a three lap weaving route along the shores of the lake. It crossed the transition areas multiple times, went over the water twice, and had aid stations every mile of the way. And with the exception of a single hundred foot tall hill in the middle, it was completely flat. I have to imagine this area and it’s A+ paths are filled with runners and cyclists on a normal day. I’m not sure it would have been great if it was just a marathon course, but for the triathlon, it was perfect.

It was another excellent spectating route as well. My crew could see me multiple times each loop. And by this point I was really looking forward to seeing them too. Their encouragement and support was a very welcomed break from the pounding of all the miles.

I also tried to make friends along the way. I knew from experience that if I could strike up a conversation or two that would really help to pass the miles. But the funny thing was, I failed at this effort spectacularly. There were two reasons for this.

First, given the looping nature of the course, the longer the day went on the more I was running with folks a lap or two behind. And thus, they were usually slower and not as inclined to chat with someone who would drag them along at a faster pace. And second, I was just feeling much better than everyone else.

This meant that as hard as I tried to strike up some friendly conversation, I just kept failing at it miserably. Apparently no one else was in the mood. My favorite was when I went up to one random guy and said, “Hey man, how you feeling?”

Long silence.

“This your first or second lap?” – Me, thinking maybe he didn’t hear me the first time.

Another awkward silence.

“I kant…understand you…” Him, exhaustedly and with a thick accent.

” Ah. I’m sorry.” – Me, realizing this dude probably didn’t speak much English, let alone at this point of an Ironman.

Another long pause.

“I am from Austria.”  – Him, attempting to explain.

“Ah. I went there this summer.” – Me, still trying to be friendly and make conversation to pass the time.

“Where did you go?” – Him, clearly not too interested, but begrudgingly trying to be polite.

“Ummm” – Me, frantically scanning my exhausted brain to try to remember the cities we visited. I 100% knew where we went, but in the moment of racing my mind just went blank. Oops.

“I can’t remember.” – Me, failing at this conversation, epically.

“Oh. Ok…” – Him, wondering WTF this dude trying to talk to him was going on about.

“Ok well, have a good race.” – Me, thrown out sheepishly as he trotted off.

And that wasn’t even the worst one. At one point I started chatting with this lady for a few minutes (in what I thought was a nice conversation) until she stops her self mid-sentence and goes, “I’m sorry. I just can’t do this. I have to walk. Goodbye.” Haha. Roasted.

After mixed results with a few more folks the best I got was finally two college buddies that I talked to for five minutes before they eventually cut me off by declaring, “Ok man, we just gotta walk this next aid station. Cya.”

Feeling a bit like a weirdo after so many failed attempts at friendship, I chuckled to myself that I guess feeling pretty strong towards the end of one of these races comes with it’s downsides too. Oh well. This was good motivation to hustle along and snap up more and more previous lappers as I pushed through my final 8.5 mile loop.

ABOVE: Just 6 miles to go. As my friend remarked later, “This face is absolutely the “I’m feeling better than everyone else” face.” Apparently I should have made friends with that guy right next to me! 

As the desert sun slipped beneath the horizon I had just a few miles left to go. My original goal had been to finish in the daylight. I knew I was going to be a bit behind that pace, but I wasn’t beating myself up about it. My run pacing was pretty good, all things considered. And I was on track for a four hour marathon, in spite of the early issues. I leaned back to enjoy the final miles as they slipped by. The dark actually created a cozy, intimate final few miles that were most welcome. I took one last chance to pause and appreciate the whole experience.

I soon reached the turn off on the third lap that led to the finish line. I could not have been more happy to not have to go back out on the course. The packed bike paths instantly gave way to wide open streets as I was now only with the few others about to finish. I mustered my remaining reserves for the final quiet mile through the city, thankful for all the spoken support from the meandering spectators along the way.

One thing I’ve learned is that no matter how far away or impossible it seems, every mountain has its summit and every race has its finish line. Mine eventually came in a wave of jubilation and pride. I felt a surge of good feelings the last half mile which meant I got to lean in and enjoy it. Crossing every finish line is special, but this one certainly stands out. I had done it!

ABOVE: The final strides of the 2024 Arizona Ironman. My only regret from the entire race was forgetting to ring the first timer’s bell at the line. Oh well, I’ll be sure to do it at the next one to make up for this. 

ABOVE: Official finisher’s webcam from Ironman itself. 

I crossed the line for a marathon finish time of 4:08:00 and an overall time of in 11:13:30. Good enough for 193rd place (30th in my division) out of 1,695 athletes. I was a bit slower than my goal time of 11 hours but that didn’t matter. Everything considered I was damn proud of how it all went and my performance. There were plenty of learnings and experiences I could carry forward to the next race, but I am proud to say there really wasn’t a single thing all day that I did “wrong.” Lots more time to be saved for future races, but for a first timer, this felt great.

By the time I exited the finisher’s area I was high on adrenaline. One of my favorite memories from the whole weekend was the 30 minutes or so after the race just sitting and debriefing with my crew. It was such a special little window to reflect on the day and talk about all of our experiences. I’m pleased to report they had a really great time. This made me glad as my whole goal had been to loop in people I care about into the experience. If they enjoyed it then that was the best result I could ever hope for.

I’d like to wrap it up there, but there’s one final story to share.

By the time we loaded up in the car and drove back to the Airbnb the adrenaline was wearing off fast. By the time I sat on the couch the sky-high feelings of the finish were quickly devolving to ones of nausea and collapse. It started with some wooziness, then it quickly changed to a mild state of shock. I retreated to the bathroom where I waited the inevitable.

Thankfully I never actually threw up. But I did lie on the floor mildly convulsing for a the better part of a half hour. A good reminder that no matter how well one of these sorts of things go, it is still full exertion for almost half a day, after all. But nothing a quick bathroom floor nap couldn’t fix.

Thanks for reading along if you did. Happy racing!