Journey In A Triathlon Lifestyle

Ironman Texas 2017, in Houston, Saturday, April 22, handed me a proposal on the word quit. On my bike in this race at mile 90 is when I decided to look into this proposal. I studied it in depth for 22 miles until I reached 112. Those 22 humiliating miles highlighted every reason why I should quit. I was convinced, by mile 112, to quit. It was time to vacate this race.

Plan A, my only plan, was to compete with the elite for a Kona Qualifying spot.  

“If you fail to plan you are planning to fail,” Benjamin Franklin. And, I failed to make a back-up plan, a Plan B.   

I have two incredible nieces and nephew, and their ages together add up to less than 22. I call them The Minions. 

A couple weeks post-Ironman Texas The Minions and I watched an animated movie. One scene in particular caught our attention. It was about a hippopotamus and its naive audience at a zoo. The audience, who went silent at first sight of this incredible four-legged beast, erupted into excitement after a quick study. They had never laid eyes on an animal of this stature.

The hippo’s reaction to its audience was quite different. It stood motionless for a moment facing the audience and analyzing the situation. Then, casually turned 180 degrees, and began to spin its tail at increasing speed. A loud sound squeaked from its butt to provide the gift of smell to its audience. Then came the big surprise! Its tail launched dung in all directions. The audience’s faces were splattered with poo.

The poo-stricken faces reminded me of Ironman Texas and an inability to avoid disaster.

“I’m done, man. My legs and arms have been cramping since mile 90 on the bike. I ‘soft peddled’ the last 22 miles. Mentally and physically, everything is gone. Honestly, Newland, I can’t wrap my mind around a marathon at this point. A ‘finish’ isn’t why I’m here,” I said to Jason Newland who stood opposite me on the spectator side of a 4-foot tall chain link fence. 

I was several hundred steps away from the T2 tent where I would soon, but not soon enough, disappear and hide from reality, or so I thought.

Both my arms draped over the chain-link fence, and as I looked at Newland he was at a loss for words. My actions weren’t fair to him as we stood face to face in this awkward situation. It was our current reality, and 180 degrees from this morning’s high fives in anticipation of crushing the race.

“Come on man, you don’t have anything to prove. It’s totally cool if you hand in your chip and call it a day,” Newland said.

Exactly what I wanted to hear! Newland’s words were comforting. Permission for freedom. It was so eloquent in this moment of despair. A type of despair I call a First World Problem. This is a problem we can easily escape by making a choice. For example, I choose to eat because I’m hungry. It’s not a life or death situation.

“Hey, one more thing,” Newland said loud enough to hear as I started walking towards T2. “You might regret it if you quit.

He deleted the one comfortable thought in my head. Newland cracked my skull open, reached in and pulled out every ‘you don’t have anything to prove’ thought, and crushed all justifications to support the proposal I studied for 22 miles on the word quit. A 26.2 mile run seemed impractical. No, it seemed impossible.

Liz, my wife, landed in Mallorca, Spain, at about the same time I was in my First World Problem. She booked this trip to shadow one of the best tri-coaches ever for a week, Brett Sutton, . She was devastated with the overlap on her trip with Ironman Texas. But this opportunity to shadow Sutton was a no-brainer to continue developing her coaching skills. 

At Ironman Texas Liz wanted someone there for me who would say the right thing at the right time, especially in adverse situations.

She chose Newland. 

Liz said, “Newland’s the next best thing besides me at Ironman Texas.”  

Good choice. He’s a natural leader with a no-nonsence attitude, and no filter between his thoughts and mouth. He is sought after successful pediatric infectious disease MD at Wash U in St Louis. A 2x IM Kona Qualifier. And, simply put, he is a hell of a friend with a history of rising above anything or anyone who poses a challenge to success.

As I continued to walk further away from Newland, and closer to T2, athletes ran past me on my left side. My mind was so far out of this race. It wasn’t a race at this point. I welcomed each athlete to hit me on my left shoulder when they passed, and most did. 

I really wished for someone to run me over like Bo Jackson did to Brian Bosworth during their first and only meeting in an NFL game. I wanted someone to put my lights out before I reached the T2 tent.

“Yep, look at that guy. The one who obviously went out too hard on his bike, or messed up his nutrition, or both. He is now mentally and physically broke. Rookie mistake! Enjoy walking that marathon! It’s gonna be a long day,” said my irrational state of mind as I caved in more to my First World Problem.

Once I reached the T2 tent I really didn’t know what to do. I just wanted to find my ‘alone’ space. 

I found a chair. And I just sat there mentally numb and watched athletes come in, transition to their running shoes, and disappear towards the start of a 26.2 mile journey.

I realized, for the first time, most athletes in T2 suffer from temporary dementia. It’s the magic that involuntarily suppresses the gravity of running a marathon after a 2.4 mile swim and 112 mile bike.

I was dealing with a reality of a piss-poor attitude. It’s on the other side of the spectrum from magic.

There were several non-helpful comments from athletes experiencing dementia while I sat in T2 suffering from reality.

“Walk the marathon.”

“Stand up and put one foot in front of the other.”

“Take salt. It works.”

“I’m a really slow runner. Come with me. I know you can keep my pace.”

“The wind was brutal out there on the bike, dude. I know how you feel.”

This was like being in the middle of a twitter shit-storm and no way to exit the app. Newland’s comment on ‘regret’ was my platform to a Plan B.

The last thing Liz needed was to be in a worry state-of-mind if I quit. She was starting her exciting journey in Spain.

Newland took time away from his family, and work to be here. I would be a quintessential impression of an asshole by virtue of quitting.

“Excuses are like assholes. Everyone’s got one and they all smell like shit,” Todd Dicus has said many times. One of his many memorable quotes.

I thought about Brother D, Todd Dicus, and all the blood, sweat and swears we shared on our bike trainers this past winter. He was gritting through this same race, which was his 11th Ironman. 

My family’s support is unconditional. It’s there no matter what, and I needed to find a way to apply the same unconditional thinking about the marathon. 

Michelle Simmons applied insightful training strategies, and painful training sessions, the past several years. Consistency with these training sessions each day provided me a lot of growth as a triathlete, and as a person. So how would I answer the question when she asks why I quit? Would my answer feel justified? No, it wouldn’t.        

And, finally The Minions! 

“Uncle Casey, did you win your race?” One of them would ask it. Finishing is winning in their mind. Ironman distance triathlons teach adults this attitude if they don’t already believe it. I witnessed hundreds, maybe thousands of adults over the years cross the finish line with the expression of winning by finishing in less than 10 hours or near the race cutoff at 17 hours.  

For so many teachable reasons my answer to their question couldn’t be, “You know what, it was just too hard and I quit.”

My sister, Aubrey Urban, sent a video of The Minions wishing me luck the night prior to Ironman Texas. I watched and listened to it over and over again in my head as a sat in T2. 

This was it. This was the magic. The temporary dementia. The game-changer. HOPE. 

T2 became my place to recover from the swim, bike and bonk, and not a place to hide. I began to prep for another race for the 2nd time in one day. I finally had a platform for a solid Plan B.  

“Hey, is there a time limit on how long someone can stay in this tent?” I asked an official.

“Na, I don't think so. Never been asked that question. I guess stay as long as you want as long as you finish the marathon by midnight,” responded the official. 

Volunteers handed me water that I previously denied. I slowly took in calories from food and gels, and electrolytes from salt. I stood up from my chair, walked back and forth, and sat down again.

I repeated this process until the cramping disappeared and my stomach relaxed enough to absorb nutrition.

It was time to let go. I placed my usual securities I wear and carry with me back in the T2 bag, like my Fuel Belt I wear around my waist with hydration and nutrition. My hat, arm coolers, and a cotton cloth I usually tie loosely around my neck to keep the sun off my skin, also went back in the T2 bag.  

I slipped on my sunglasses and race belt with bib number 260, and exited the T2 tent towards the next timing mat where the marathon officially started.

The first person I saw was Dave Dicus, Brother D’s son. He assured me Brother D was crushing his race.

The next person I saw was Newland. He was standing near the timing mat at the run start. I could see by the way he relaxed his body language he was relieved, and curious.

“Go! What are you doing? Go! Come on, let’s go!!” yelled Newland. Now, to translate Newland talk. This means are you okay? You look okay? What the bleep were you doing? Looks like you didn’t quit. Nice job. But now it’s real. Go run!

Simmons and I discussed running off heart rate instead of watching my pace in this race. Previous Ironman distant races showed my heart rate slowing in the second half of the marathon, along with pace.  

Many variables lead to lower heart rate like nutrition. But together we believe I focus too much on pace, and frustration sets in when I feel I can’t hold the pace I need from mile 14 through 26.2. It’s a mental block. The pace is there because we see it in training.

Heart rate was the one goal I still had left, and I set out to keep it close to 150 beats per minute on average through 26.2 miles.

Running a marathon after a 2.4 mile swim and 112 mile bike really makes no logical sense. But I truly love it. Because, this is the part of the race where all participants are stripped down to their core and everything is exposed like training, preparation, nutrition, attitude and extreme mental fortitude. There is no more faking it. The temporary dementia most athletes experience in T2 is truly temporary, magic disappears and reality takes its place.

So as I gained momentum from a walk to run I crossed the timing mat, and said to Newland, “I’m gonna give it my best shot. Let’s see what’s gonna happen.”

I started this run with a very simple frame of mind, “just run and enjoy the freedom of running.”  

As Newland’s voice drifted off I formed a small tiny dot, a mental place, in the back of my head. It was my magic place. With my eyes down and in front of me I focused on that small tiny dot, and never left it for 25 miles.

The cramps constantly pinged my muscles, but every time they surfaced I literally said out loud to myself “<bleep> you.” 

Four miles into the marathon and I was still running! I felt damn good except for the constant cramps poking at my hamstrings and quads. At every aid station I splashed myself with water and ice, drank Gatorade and Coke. And, at the end of each station I grabbed calories for the road. In between aid stations I constantly took in salt.

After each aid station it was back to the small tiny dot, and a lot of “<bleep> you’s” at the cramps until I reached the next aid station. Water, ice, Gatorade and Coke. Calories, salt, and the tiny dot. Run one mile and repeat.  

At mile 24.5, before I made my 3rd and final turn leading out of a McMansion Woodlands’ neighborhood, and on a descend to the Woodlands River Walk, Newland stood waiting. He yelled, “Kershner, if  you keep up this pace you will qualify for Boston!”

My stamina felt great. I increased my pace as I had the endurance to do it, but I really had to focus on using different muscles by shortening my stride with a shallow right leg recovery. My right hamstring locked twice several miles back which stopped me briefly in my tracks. The warning cramp in my right hamstring intensified, but my “<bleep> you’s” kept winning.

Only 1.5-miles to go! I ran by the drunk half-dressed crazies for the third and final time. Near the end of their cheering section a spectator walked and weaved across the sidewalk perfectly timing her meeting with me. As I made contact she was looking the opposite direction. I was shocked how easily she bounced off and into the crowd. The drunk crazies loved it and their cheering loudly increased, and faded into the past.  

Only 1 mile to go, and I couldn’t move! It was awful, because I looked to my left and there was the finish on the other side of the River Walk. I was so close, but my right hamstring finally locked, and all I could do was stand strait up and try to keep from falling backwards to the ground. 

I reached around with my right hand and jammed my fingers into the back of my right hamstring. It felt like a LaCrosse ball in the back of my leg. It took at least three minutes before the muscle released, and I began to walk with caution. I had to take a few steps and stop, and repeat until the process turned into a jog. At the next aid station I sucked down as many electrolytes as I could before my last push to the end.

My pace slowly picked back up without the debilitating cramp returning, which allowed a ton of enjoyment the last quarter of a mile on the run. I let the small tiny dot go, and began to really soak in the finish. Crossing that Ironman distant finish line was personally the most rewarding one compared to any others.

This was a day packed with many emotions from excitement to pain, to frustration and thought, to focus and busting through obstacles, to finally being overcome by joy.

Jimmy Valvano said it right in his speech at the 1993 ESPY’s, “Number one is laugh. You should laugh every day. Number two is think. You should spend some time in thought. Number three is, you should have your emotions moved to tears, could be happiness or joy. But think about it. If you laugh, you think, and you cry, that’s a full day. That’s a heck of a day.”

A couple weeks post Ironman Texas one of The Minions named Pearl wanted to show me her bike riding skills prior to watching our animated movie. She rode up a neighborhood hill with impressive power and back down several times before coming to a stop. She looked up at me and asked, “Uncle Casey, did you win your race?” 

I knew one of The Minions would ask it.  

-The End.

Personal Notes on Race Analysis

1:15 - Swim. Lined up in the wrong spot? I couldn’t keep swimmers off my legs the majority of this swim. Tons of bumping, and grabbing for position. I remember at the half-way turn-around how tired I felt from fighting off bodies. I remember the turn into the canal and passing under the first bridge and thinking this swim should be done. I had the endurance from my swim training. I believe I just burned a lot of matches from fighting off bodies for 2.4 miles. I never found a rhythm. 

4:29 - T1. Not great, but it was fine.

5:11 - Bike. Bonked at mile 90. Felt like it took 20-miles to shake the swim off my legs. Once we hit the freeway I could see my competition on the two loop course. I measured how many minutes I was behind by marking bridges they passed under. I estimated early in the race I was about 15 minutes behind most of the top guys. I let myself get out of my race and focused on others, which was my plan. I had nothing to lose after finishing 10 previous Ironman distant races, and coming as close to one spot away from Kona Qualifying. I figured if I bonked in this race at least I bonked trying. It was super humid first three hours. Winds shifted and cam from Northwest with 40 miles to go, gusting up to at least 30+ mph. The temps went from hot and humid to actually having a wind-chill on the bike. I nailed my nutrition better than any other race on my bike. Inside of quads seized at mile 90, and there was nothing I could do but stand. Triceps locked and then I had to sit. I rotated between standing and sitting from mile 90-112.

Lap 1: 30′, 150 avg hr, 206 avg np, 79 avg c, 22.5 avg mph

Lap 2: 30′, 153 avg hr, 215 avg np, 78 avg c, 23.2 avg mph

Lap 3: 30′, 153 avg hr, 212 avg np, 73 avg c, 23.0 avg mph

Lap 4: 30′, 151 avg hr, 211 avg np, 74 avg c, 22.5 avg mph

Lap 5: 30′, 151 avg hr, 211 avg np, 72 avg c, 21.8 mph

Lap 6: 30′, 150 avg hr, 207 avg np, 73 avg c, 22.8 mph

Lap 7: 30′, 149 avg hr, 204 avg np, 72 avg c, 23.2 mph

Lap 8: 30′, 147 avg hr, 196 avg np, 69 avg c, 20.2 mph (heading into bonk)

Lap 9: 30′, 146 avg hr, 179 avg np, 71 avg c, 17 mph (bonk)

Lap 10: 42′, 124 avg hr, 152, avg np, 70 avg c, 16.4 avg mph (quit)  

21:56 - T2. This was not the plan. 

3:18 - Run time. Topped best IM run time since my first one; a 3:23 in 2010 at Ironman Wisconsin. Finally shed that wait off my back.

Lap 1: 1:32, 142 avg hr, 7:18/mile pace. (I could have increased my hr closer to 150, but constantly ought off cramps t try and keep moving forward w/o my legs locking up).

Lap 2: 1:43, 139 avg hr, 7:50/mile pace (this includes miles 25 through 26.2 where I stood motionless for a while, recovered and pretty much jogged it into the finish).

10:11:32 my overall time. 33rd in ag. What’s crazy is I was 45′ from a KQ slot since it seems a lot of ringers showed up for this ‘North America Championship’. Honestly, my perfect race I would have been close to a 9:30, maybe a little faster, or maybe a little slower, but very close to a 9:30. Finishing, and overcoming, was a much better experience than having my perfect race and finishing several minutes away from a Kona Qualification. There’s a silver lining in everything. It’s all about perspective.

Why didn’t I have the race I planned? I conclude it comes down to little things adding up to a great day or a poor day.  There were a lot of little things in my prep for this race that exposed my weakness on the bike.

The little things

I only rode outside a couple times leading up to IMT. Knocking it out on my trainer using power is almost always better than riding outside. No stop lights, no traffic, never stop peddling, uninterrupted sets, safer, etc. But, I needed a couple more solid rides outside simply to train other muscles like balancing muscles to fight wind.

I didn’t have much acclamation to humidity leading up to this race. I took the hot baths, saunas, but not enough of them. Through most of the morning on race-day it was 90 + % humidity, and very warm.

I didn’t get in one open-water swim. I’m not big on needing many open water swims. If you can swim, well, you can swim! But, there is a benefit to getting in the open water, similar to riding outside enough to get your muscles used to the elements again.

"Men as fit as you, when your every day strength is gone, can draw on a mysterious reservoir of power far greater. Then it is that you can reach for the stars. That is the way champions are made." - George Yeoman Pocock; From Boys In The Boat. My mantra heading into IM Texas. 

Anyone who has experienced this reservoir of power knows it is truly there waiting if, and only if, consistent hours of practice, pain, suffering and recovery, are executed months and most likely years leading up to a race. I truly believe finding the mysterious reservoir of power, for most, can only happen when pushing through moments of physical and mental perceptions of failure during one continuous event. That one moment, when a person is pinged by many potential failures - like being stung by bees over and over again - goes down. That's it. That’s the moment. Do you get up? Do you stay down? Most stay down because it’s the easiest short-term survival option.  The mysterious reservoir of power isn’t visible. It’s just there. It’s not given. It’s earned.

At mile 20 on the run, literally mile 20, I toppled over a street curb into the grass laying flat on my back.  Both hammies locked in mid-stride. No warning. I imagined (my imagination) this is what it feels like being shot in the back right leg first and then the left leg.  On my back in the grass, legs hanging off the cement curb, I opened my eyes to see a police officer’s face over mine repeating himself, “are you okay?”

A little dramatized, but exactly what happened.

I came short of my goal on the swim. A 1:13 and coming out 88th of the water in my age group (AG) was disappointing. My goal was faster than a 1:10, and top-40th out of the water. It was a swim skin swim. At IMCDA (wet suit legal) and IMCoz (swim skin but buoyant salt water in the ocean) I swam a 1:04. I came out of both swims close to 40th place in my AG and finished each race Top-10. I still need to write a fun blog on IM Coz! I’m a better swimmer than I was last season. My times show it consistently in the pool. Coming out of the water at IMT 90th in my AG mentally hurt.

I simply didn’t swim hard enough to average a 1:45/m. I know I didn’t. I swam smooth (check). I had a good rhythm (check). Started mostly in front with 1-hour swimmers on right side. I kept up with swimmers around me for a long time, and then I relaxed. Didn’t want to burn too many matches on my swim. I swam smart. I got on the inside of the buoys, and navigated a linear path. My sighting was spot on; looking forward past several buoys randomly way outside and sighting the one in my linear view. Everything seemed perfect. I peed twice in the water during my swim, which was a sign I may have been too relaxed. The pre-Osmo and shot of Beet-It Juice before the swim was looking for a way out, along with the bacteria filled lake water. I was physically fresh exiting the water. When I glanced at my watch I knew why I was fresh. I immediately pushed my head back in the boat.

Peed in the T1 tent standing up changing into my bike gear. My T1 helper was very impressed as we both watched the stream of pee run down my left leg onto my foot and into the grass. I asked him to throw water all over my body and areas to wash off the pee. Then out of the tent to the ‘sun screeners’. Dropped a big bag of nutrition out of my back pocket leaving the sun screeners; ran back to get it. Whew. Ran through the bikes in T1, grabbed mine (#990), and ran to the bike mount area. Everything in check to start the bike.

My training came through on the bike. Huge gains in power during the winter were made on my trainer. Averaged 23.5 mph, 209w average, 211w average for normalized power, 152 average bpm hr, and a variable index of 1.01. My time was 4:02; 13th fastest bike in my ag. And, truly believe I can average more watts. I should ride my race at 215w average and 153-155 hr average. However, during this race, take into account 86 turns. This will bring anyone’s avg watts down compared to any normal IM bike course.

Moved up 52 spots into 36th place after my bike.

This bike course was shortened to 95-ish miles due to recent flooding. I believe my bike on a normal course without the turns would have landed me in the top 25 after 112 miles. My times show I was reeling my AG in; but just didn’t have the extra miles to make the gains I needed to position myself successfully for the run. This shortened course killed me because of my slower swim.

Found Liz at mile 40-ish, and was so proud of her! I knew she rocked the swim (59′ and second out of the water in her AG - would’ve finished 13th out of 20th with the pro women)! She looked strong on the bike.

Oh, to the guy who said “oh, I must have a flat tire” when Liz passed you, well, welcome to IM. Believe it or not there were a LOT of fast female bikers out there including Liz. It’s strange to me you have never been passed by a female. You better start training with them if you ever want to improve. And, you were walking on mile 3 of the run, when Liz passed you again for the final time. I bet you checked your shoes thinking they sprung a flat. 

(i hate excuses, but I feel obligated to speak out) - A QUICK SHOUT OUT TO ALL THE CHEATERS, AND IM TO FIX IT: Due to the shortened course, with 86-ish turns, shortened straight-aways, and narrow coned-off highways, there was an unacceptable amount of deliberate drafting (cheating). I let one person in my age group really have it. For ~20″ I allowed myself to get out of the boat (not focused on my race) and verbally rip into him until his $500 aero-helmet caught to much draft w/ him looking around and backed him off. My only regret was that I couldn’t pee on him as he tried to hold onto my wheel as I passed. Mike Malfer (friend and in my AG) passed a group of 8+ bikers in a peloton at mile 84, and they ALL held onto his wheel for nine miles to the finish. After Mike dismounted they all passed him on the run with fresh legs. IM has built up Kona Qualifying (KQ) as the Holy Grail of Ironman. What comes with this is more responsibility on their part to do a better job of more people on mopeds monitoring bikers. Cheating will never stop, but I am witnessing it getting worse every race I do. The finger points back at IM. I saw ONE moped on the course at IM Texas the entire time. And thank you to that one moped for giving a red card to a cheater behind me riding my wheel. Please IM, put together a better plan in future races to reduce the number of drafters and pelotons. I’m vested financially, mental and physically in this brand. I want to see it get better, and more fair for those who refuse to ‘conform’ to cheating.

Solution: Activate a moped every 10 miles to monitor drafting. That's like 11-12 mopeds. This should be a hell of a lot less expensive and arduous than executing random blood tests to catch dopers.

Back to the race: I dismounted my bike, and had a smooth T2. Hit sun screeners again before running out onto the run course. 

My run felt good. I started slow and eased into a 7:45-ish pace after a mile. Coming around a loop at 6-ish miles I see Todd Dicus standing there. Gosh I immediately felt devastated for him. I didn’t know what happened, but I knew he left the race for an unknown reason. Then I found out I was in 36th place in my ag. I thought, like many times, “are you kidding me!?” The wheels began to come off mentally. I started to slow down and was so close to quitting. I’ve ran myself into top-10 finished my last two IMs. And I just mentally wanted to be close to the top-10 in this race, and not have to run these guys down again. I just planned to be in the mix with the elite AG guys at this point, and when I heard I wasn’t, and knowing Todd was done, I just felt like I was “over it.”

The only thing keeping me going, at this point, was the thought of Liz. I knew she was on the course suffering. There was a sense, an unwritten code, that if she’s moving forward I’m moving forward. It wouldn’t be right for me to quit, and cheer on her suffering. I knew I wasn’t going to quit. The thought passed, and I picked up my pace to a 7:15-7:30 knowing I had to catch a lot of runners in my AG.

I think mentally my run suffered a bit because I lost hope to finish in the Top 10. I have no doubt about it. Then I lost focus somewhere near mile 15, and left my Osmo at the aide station. I didn’t drink anything between the longest stretch on the course between aid stations. This killed me. By the time I reached the next aid station my mouth was cotton dry, and my legs were twitching. I swallowed Coke and Gatorade. It’s definitely a moment when I knew there a better chance than not a serious consequence may occur. I deleted the thought from my head.

90+ degrees. 70%+ humidity. 3 mph winds.   

“Are you sure you don’t need any Gatorade? it’s just in my car,” said the police officer.  

“No, I’m fine,” I mumbled.  

Now how funny is this situation? Really, I’m fine? I literally dropped to the ground like I was dead. Both hammies frozen and locked, and I’m laying in a dead-man’s pose on my back with my arms spread.

“Where is your car,” I asked.  

Like it even mattered!  I can’t move, so why did I ask the location of his car? I can remember thinking, 'if I accept his offer, and his car is too far away, I could lay here for 30 minutes.' I’m not going anywhere! Why does it matter? Scenes of the movie Meatballs started playing through my head “It just doesn’t matter!”

“My car is right there,” the policeman repeats and points to an unmarked vehicle 50 yards away.

“Okay, ya. I think that’s a great idea under the circumstances,” I said.

The police offer returned with a Gatorade. I sit up and chug it. I kind of move my legs. They aren’t locking!  

“Do you mind helping me up,” I asked.

The policeman holds out his arm and I latched onto it. He lifted me upright to my feet. Yeah, no cramps (yet)!

I took a step forward like I’m tight-roping the edge of a cliff. Yeah, no cramps (yet)!

I began to jog like I’m running on ice. Yeah, no cramps (yet)!

Then I began my run. I couldn’t believe it. I’m back in the game! I was seriously running again. Now I’m passing all those people who ran by the dead man. I finished my last mile at a pace of 6:57/mile. My run time was a 3:31. Definitely cost me 7-10′ due to my hammies cramping.

I found it; that mysterious reservoir of power. I got back in the arena! I will never forget it. 

The race didn’t go as planned, but the memories made, that were not planned, will last forever. Again, I learned a lot finishing another IM. My 9th one.

I am excited for the next IM opportunity to put it all together!

End with a favorite quote from Boys in the Boat:

“It is hard to make that boat go as fast as you want to. The enemy, of course, is resistance of the water, as you have to displace the amount of water equal to the weight of men and equipment, but that very water is what supports you and that very enemy is your friend. So is life: the very problems you must overcome also support you and make you stronger in overcoming them.” - George Yeoman Pocock

Photo taken by great friends, Steve and Jenne Fromm. They are so awesome!

Another photo snapped and put together by the Fromms. Notice the wet water splashing up on Liz’s foot. Click on the below link to see a video of the finish line about 30′ before she finished. It’s posted by Jenne Fromm May 15. Yes, Liz ran through 50+ mph wind gust, sheets of rain and hail. All while lightening bolts slamming the ground in Houston’s Woodlands where the race took place.

Training for IM Coz is different. It’s different than training for previous IM races. My perspective recently changed. It’s not about ‘getting through’ training sessions (TS) each week. No, it's more than that. It’s about understanding my training better and each TS’s cause and effect it may have on what we (Coach Michelle Simmons and I) are trying to accomplish.  

These past two weeks, Sept 7 - Sept 21, 2015, I invested 35 hours into training. This doesn’t include prep or recovery time. This is in-the-moment training. These sessions total up to 27,516 swim yards, 17 hours and 33 minutes of bike time and 49.20 miles ran. This volume is what I need to create DEEP layers of fitness. Coach M drilled this concept into me, and I am a believer, i.e. marathon at IM CDA 2015. This type of training increases my depth chart going into IM Coz late November. 

This isn’t ‘long and slow’ boring training. There is a warm-up and cool-down in each TS. The main set (MS) of each session - no matter a swim, bike or run - includes toe-numbing, sweat-drenching, mind-blowing intervals. This is the best way to increase VO2 max (fitness) and speed. Add in volume and a formula for a great race is developing.

Prior to starting the 12-week slide, or I should say climb, into IM Coz training, Coach M said blinders will go on and not come off. My blinders are on, and they aren’t coming off until I cross that finish line at IM Coz.

Oh, yeah. What are we trying to accomplish? We are trying to accomplish more sustainable power and speed than I’ve ever taken into an IM distance race. This will be my 8th one.

#blinders.

I tried to explain my #blinders to Penelope the goat in our Kansas City East Bottoms near one of my favorite places to buy food called the Local Pig. Penelope wasn’t convinced in what I’m trying to accomplish. She thinks it’s crazy. She’s right. But I told her I think her lifestyle of comfort and sleeping on the roof of her house is crazy. We agree to disagree.  

I envisioned, during many training runs this season, nailing the last several miles of my marathon at Ironman Coeur d’Alene (IMCDA) 2015. In six prior IMs I have not negative split my marathon, or thrown down a faster mile at the end compared to the start of the run. So, before signing up for my 7th IM, I researched options and chose a cool-weather race in June - IMCDA - with historical highs in the mid-70s.  A runners race!

Now, as irony has it, the weather forecast a couple weeks before the race, pegged it at record-setting high temps.  Weather.com, at one point, had temps rising to 108.

Mental and physical race strategy transformation quickly began to happen. I knew for sure my Blue Seventy neoprene swim cap was now useless for fighting off the usual mid-50-degree water temps. The water temps were already in the low 70s. But, other strategies like hydration, nutrition, heart rate versus power, and managing body temperature became a much more preparation-in-motion priority, especially with my history on racing in the heat.

How could I forget the bonk at IM Louisville in 2012 at mile 14 on the run due to heat?  How about sun's intense rays at Buffalo Springs 70.3 in 2013 as it sucked the life out my pores? And for extra validity, IM Texas in 2014, when I almost came to tears when I felt weights collecting on the soles of my shoes every mile through the last 13.1 of the run.

IMCDA 2015 - my cool-weather race - shaped up to be one of the hottest IM races in history.

Liz, my wife and best sherpa ever, sat beside me under a tree asking if I was okay. The grass felt like a soft cool mattress. The leaves on the tree's branches blocked the sun's rays making it feel like air conditioning.  I was lying on my back in a dead man's pose. Minutes ago I crossed the finish line of IMCDA.

Keys to success were:

Coaching and Consistency: Nailing 98% of Coach Michelle Simmons (Coach M) plan since December leading up to race day.

Relaxed passion: Shed all negative anxiety; only focused on positive outcomes. Was well rested going into race day.

Nutrition: Osmo leading up to race day and during race day. Bonk Breaker bars, Picky Bars and gels. Consistent approach on nutrition during race compared to training. Slight modification on quantity of fluids, and how I consumed solids due to heat. Did not take one salt tab; huge believer in Osmo.

Beet-It Juice: Consumed every day 6 weeks before race day.

Race Plan: A detailed race plan that includes everything I do and how I will do it starting when my alarm goes off race-day morning. Coach M and I tweaked until final approval. The holy grail of my IM race.

Heat management strategies: Ben Hoffman provides key heat-management tips simply by focusing in on what he's wearing during IM Kona 2014. Easy to learn from people who have already conquered the heat.

Confidence: My confidence sucks when I race. I thought it was good. There's a difference between a confident 'I can do this' approach, and 'I will do this' killer instinct. Fortunately a couple of my friends, and Kona qualifiers, Jason Newland and Mike Malfer, finally convinced me that my mental approach sucked and I needed to change it. I wrote down a mental killer mantra (a little out of my comfort zone), and it felt good. It changed my approach on race day. They were right. 

Mental toughness: A ton of grit - literally blocking out all distractions and anything not positive.

Focus and poise: Never losing my shit, and closely listening to my body every second of the race.

Race Day:

I lined up with the 1:00 to 1:05 swimmers at the back of this pack. My strategy was to draft off feet. I knew I could save watts and emerge from the water by 1:05 or faster by drafting and surging on these faster swimmers. 

The water was crystal clear making it super easy to find feet. Coach M gave me swim sets to practice bursts in the water simulating a surge to catch someone's feet to draft. This practice paid off big-time. Several times I pulled off a draft to make sure the person in front of me was not slowing, and each time I did this it was easy to see we were swimming similar speeds, and I felt my muscles working harder, a.k.a. shedding extra watts. It was an easy decision to fall back in a draft, and I did so using several different swimmers during the 2.4 miles. One swimmer pulled me through the entire first loop!

Swim - 1:04:26

*36th out of the water in ag, 210th male, and 254th overall.

**Crazy athlete note... A female swimmer on our first loop and second turn back toward the beach, literally stopped to tread water with her head sticking up like a vertical bobber. Her bobber head was perfectly aligned with my swinging left swim arm. **Now, this is a race, and everybody around me is moving forward in a pack. It's one of the coolest things to be a part of if you are accepted, and acceptance is allowed if you flow with it at similar speeds.** The human bobber did not flow with it. The human bobber received an incredible blow and elbow lock to the back of her head from my swinging left swim arm. I tried to shed her off quickly after the blow, but the momentum took her with me. I was surprised how I carried her head with me for a moment. Her fight ended after her face slammed into the water allowing her bobber head from being a part of my swim. Moments later I hear her scream, "Hey, assssss-hoooooole!" I so badly wanted to holler back "Welcome to Ironman!"** 

Running with my T1 bag in hand I heard Liz yell, "You PRed the swim!" In the T1 tent I sat down and asked a volunteer to put my two zip-lock bags of nutrition in my back jersey pockets. I quickly slipped on my bike shoes and sunglasses. My $20 pair of Oakley's have survived every IM.  All rubber pads are missing and one plastic temple piece shows German Shorthair teeth impressions. They are bad-ass, and look kind of crusty and out-of-date. I stood up to run out while slipping on my helmet, but realized I didn't have my zip-lock bags of nutrition in my back pockets. I turned and asked the volunteer about my baggies of nutrition. He pointed to my T1 bag. He put them back in my T1 bag!  No need to fuss, although I probably looked a little perplexed. I know the volunteers feel pressure too, so I reached into my T1 bag and grabbed the two zip locks and stuffed them into my back pockets while running to my bike.

Oh, yeah, before I ran out of T1 I slammed down a 12 oz pre-Osmo and Active Osmo mix. This was money! 

T1: 3:35

**Our sport is so foreign to most of the volunteers, and they do such a great job.  They are out there cooking themselves in the heat helping us with our selfish sport. They don't have to do it. The oldest volunteer was an 85-year old lady who stood outside in the heat all day helping athletes.** 

The bike course was brutal.  It was the hardest bike course i have experienced in a race, and that includes comparing it to IM Wisconsin, which I have completed three times. I refused to let it get in my head.  I don’t know how many times I said “shut up legs!”  The only part of the race I look back and regret is my last hour on the bike. It really pisses me off when I analyze the data.  But, when I place myself in that moment, my hr was rising, and my power was slightly falling (it was taking more effort to keep up my power).  My goal was to run fast the last several miles of the marathon, so I kept my poise. Yes, there is a little regret looking back as I write this blog in an air conditioned room.

The second loop of that bike course highlighted by a blue-bird sky and sun threw down temperatures that set records. According to the National Weather Service it was the hottest day on record since August 4, 1961. On the bike a few challenges athletes experienced was extreme heat, nearly 6,000 feet of climb, no clouds, lava black road, hills that seem to never quite with one at a 6% grade for nearly 1 and 2-mile grades that we hit twice during the two-loop course, and warm water at aid stations. I am sure other athletes could add a hundred other challenges to this list including a lot of flat tires and few bike crashes.  

I carried two 24-oz bottles on my Cervelo P5. I consumed 10-12 24-oz bottles of Osmo. I can’t remember the exact number, but it was slightly more than two bottles per hour (200 calories/hour). I ate close to a full Bonk Breaker, or Peaky bar, and gel every hour (approximately 300 calories/hour). I did not force anything, and consumed small doses of everything. There were a couple times my stomach felt woozy for about 10 minutes.  Both times it happened I stopped eating.  After about 5-10 minutes when my stomach calmed I slowly consumed calories with very small mouse-like portions. My stomach recovered fine each time. I took a sip of Osmo about every 3 minutes.  Lastly, I did not stop at the half-way point to grab anything from my Special Needs bag.

At every aide station on the bike I grabbed a water and filled one 24-oz bottle with Osmo on my bike below my seat, and then grabbed a second water and completely doused it all over my body. The coolness from the water and wind lasted only for minutes after each aid station, but it was just enough to immediately give my legs power again. I imagine this is what doping feels like. My doping was 100% clear H2O that provided a liberating cool feeling for several minutes. I peed myself 3-4 times leaving my mark on the black-top road in places on highway 95. I saved one for someone who was drafting a little too close in a no-pass zone.

I have been training with power for more than a year. This was my 3rd IM riding with power. Because of the heat and the long ascends and descends my focus began to shift more to hr than power. Again, my goal was to run fast the last several miles, and with that thought branded in my head for this race I sacrificed power in the last hour of my ride. Looking at my power data really pisses me off.  

First 2:30 my avg normalized power was 204.2, avg hr 147.6, avg cadence 77.

Second 2:30 my avg normalized power was 195.2, avg hr 145.2, avg cadence 75.6. 

My last 30′ my avg normalized power was 182, avg hr 139, avg cadence 70.

These are KEY stats. This is not how Coach M taught me to ride. I responded well on the run with these stats, but I need to average 204-210 through 112 miles. My cadence needs to bump up to avg at least 82-85. My heart rate above 145 for 112 miles was a lingering concern when I put myself back on that bike during the race in real-time. I thought my sweet spot was an avg of 143-144 hr according to many training miles outside and on an indoor trainer.  

Two silver linings come out of these stats. The first is I can average 204+ normalized power on my bike with my current fitness through 112 miles now that I know my avg hr can be in the higher 140s without sacrificing my run. The second is I know with more time on my bike I will increase my FTP (functional threshold power) giving me more watts.        

Bike - 5:33:39

26th off my bike in ag, 131st male, 148th overall.

T2 was a simple routine... dismount bike, hand off bike to volunteer, receive T2-bag hand-off from volunteer, run into changing tent, remove bike shoes and helmet, put on socks and shoes, strap on Fuel Belt, strap on race belt with bib #, place on hat, slipped on arm coolers to my wrist, grabbed cotton cloth for neck, slammed down on bottle of Beet-It Juice and ran out of the tent.

T2: 3:10

**Flashback to IM Louisville 2012: Running out of T2 an athlete zoomed by me, and said, “see you at the finish line.” I let it in my head. My pace sub-consciously increased. “Stupid is as stupid does,” says Forest Gump. I realized how stupid it was at mile 14 when I started walking. To pour salt into the wound, soon after I started my death march a guy dressed up as Forest Gump passed me. He had the beard, the hat, the pants and shoes. At each aid station I submerged my head in ice water for as long as I could hold my breath just thinking how awful this dream was, and hoped I would awake. After lifting my head out of the ice water, wouldn’t you know it, there was Gump. I then passed him on my survival jog, and he would eventually pass me. This tug of war went on until I went through the finishers shoot. I heard spectators say, “Oh my gosh! Look, there is Forest Gump!” It was utterly humiliating. Fortunately, when we arrived at the turn for the 2nd loop I went to the finish line (I was on my second loop) and Gump turned.  He had one more loop!  Thank God.**

Running out of T2 at IMCDA brought back the IM Louisville Gump memory. An athlete zoomed by me (douchebag). It was like he was in a 5k race. His form was completely opposite of IM running idle Mirinda Carfrae (Rinny). His write and left hands were swinging and punching at something invisible, and his feet were moving wildly up and down. It looked like someone running downhill prepared to jump in a lake at any moment. Unfortunately for him we were running slightly uphill, and this was the first several hundred yards of a marathon with temps being measured on the race course above 110 degrees. Maybe douchebag just wanted the misery to end sooner than later. No doubt he received a DNF sooner than most on the run course.

I ran slower my first mile than any other IM. It was my plan, and it was pain-staking hard to execute because mentally it doesn’t feel natural. I distracted my mind from douchebag, and the spectators yelling, by going through my checklist: Small steps, gently unroll arm coolers up to my shoulders, tie cotton cloth around my neck, pull my hat’s neck-flap under my cotton neck-cloth, adjust Fuel Belt and wet my entire body with water especially arm coolers and cotton neck-cloth on my neck and hat. Any and all water on my body felt like magic!

At about mile two I found zip-lock bags of ice. I took one and placed under my hat. It was perfect timing! I immediately felt the cooling effect. My arm coolers were working like magic, and so was my cotton neck-cloth.  

My strategy on the run was hydration with Osmo and Coke; body temp control by keeping as much sun off my skin; ice down my pants, jersey, under my hat and in the palms of my hands; and staying drenched with water keeping my arm coolers and cloth around my neck wet.

When I left T2 I had two 8 oz bottles of Osmo water mix, and two 8 oz bottles of Osmo powder only, on my Fuel Belt.  Four Power Gels were in my pouch, and one in my hand.  During my run, I consumed a total of eight 8-oz bottles of Osmo water mix and consumed five Power Gels.  

A man on a bike slowly pulled up beside me somewhere near mile six. He rode beside me for about a quarter mile until I finally realized he was pacing a pro. Jokingly I finally asked him if he was pacing me. He caught the joke, and said, “It seems that way. You are running at an incredible pace in this heat. I’m pacing the second place male, Callum Millward from New Zealand.”  Eventually Millward slowly went by my left side. Wow, what a confidence booster! I felt a rush of excitement and noticed my pacing quickly increasing to under 7′ miles. My voice of reason quickly reminded me not to be stupid and blow up the second half of this marathon. I pulled back and settled into my pace, and collected my focus.

**Seeing pro athletes on the same race course is such a cool feeling. It’s like a golf fanatic who may have a chance to play a round with the pros. The experience is something surreal and unforgettable. To actually run with a top pro in a race for a bit is something I will never forget. His overall average pace was much better than mine, but I was taking advantage of the descends, and we were on a very long descend together. It was perfect timing for me to be able to run with Millward for a bit.**

At the 13.1 mile turn-around I felt fresh.  At mile 15 Liz was yelling “you look awesome!” 

I told her (ear-muffs kids), “This is my f’ing race.  I feel great, and I’m f’ing keeping this pace!”

Once I ran through mile 15 I knew this was a special day. Finally I masked over all past race issues with solutions that were working. I had obviously put together a successful plan, and it was working.  Only dueschebag had passed me and I’m sure he was resting quietly in a medical tent replaying his quick start on the marathon. I was zooming by everyone. At one moment I started to get choked up because I knew I was running my way to a Kona slot. And I specifically remember at that moment I cut out the non-sense and said to myself you better f’ing focus - don’t be stupid!

With 5 miles left I started focusing on increasing my pace a bit.  And with two miles to go I threw caution into the wind.  My wife was out there at that point and I heard her yelling, “Go! You gotta go! You gotta go!!”

With a mile left I passed a female pro. I could feel her surge onto my heels for a bit. And with a half-mile left in the race she passed me. At that point she was truly the leader I desperately needed on the course. I surged onto her heals and we flew by everyone. With less than a quarter mile to the finish line I passed one more male athlete in my age division. I remember Rinny saying how you must destroy the competition. I didn’t want anyone in my ag to feel they had a chance when I went by them. I flew threw the last age station without grabbing any fluids, with the female pro, to put down anyone in my ag who might try to make a surge for me. And it worked.  

I turned left on Sherman Street for the final few blocks to the finish. I looked behind me and could not see anyone. The only athlete I could see was the female pro in front of me. I eased up to take in my surroundings. Random cheering sections were scattered on either side of the street. It wasn’t packed like it usually is the last couple hundred yards before the finish due to the extreme heat. A random stream of water was falling from the sky on Sherman Street coming from someone’s condo window. I heard Mike Reilly, voice of IM, announce the pro who went through the finish. I took another glance back, and relieved to not see another athlete. I wanted to ease into the finish and enjoy it! Finally Mike Reilly said, “Casey Kershner’s 7th IM - You Are An Ironman!” And I crossed the finish line with my hands above my head.

I just finished the best IM race of my life.

Run: 3:38:40

10th in my ag to finish, 60th male, 72nd overall

3rd fastest run in my ag. 1st fastest the last two miles. My last five miles were faster than my starting five.

Soon after the finish line I spotted Liz jumping up and down on the outside of the fence that separates athletes from spectators. She was yelling, “You did it!  What an awesome race. You did it!”

I didn’t know exactly where I placed at the moment. Although, I received feedback on the course late in the race that I was in 12th place. There were only going to be 5 or 6 Kona slots in my ag, so I hoped I finished 7th or 8th.

“You finished in 10th place. You cracked the Top-10! I’m so proud of you,” Liz said.  The entire day’s experience completely overrode the reality that my Kona hopes were gone.

An incredible tree nearby the finish looked so proud as it provided a safe haven for a few spectators. I walked over to the tree, used its trunk to support my body to the ground, and I lied their looking up at the leaves with Liz beside me, reflecting on the day. Life could not have provided a better moment.

**Liz and I attend the awards ceremony Monday morning.  It was so cool being a part of it.  Andy Potts and Heather Jackson (male and female pro winners) gave incredible speeches to compliment their races. We watched all the top-five ag athletes go on stage to receive their IM plaques via Mike Reilly announcing their names.**  

And then the Kona slots were handed out to the Kona Qualifiers (KQ).  This part of my blog is rated R. Leading up to my age group everyone took their Kona slot.  An athlete, for whatever reason, can turn down a Kona slot, and that slot is referred to as a ‘roll-down.’  How many slots are available per age group is determined by a formula giving a larger number of athletes in an age group more slots.  

The 35-39 age groupers had 223 athletes and 5 Kona Slots available. The top-5 took their slots.  There were no roll-downs, which was consistent with all the other age groups thus far.

My age group had 275 athletes, and Mike Reilly announced there were 5 Kona Slots available. I thought that was odd since my ag had the most athletes, and everyone in the 70-74 male age division recorded a DNF. I know they had one Kona slot, so where did it go? I thought that Kona spot would roll down to the largest age division, and without question give my age group a total of 6 slots.

In my age division Mike Reilly calls the athlete’s names, and this is what happens:

#1 takes the slot

#2 takes the slot

#3 does not take the slot (roll-down)

#4 does not take the slot (roll-down)

#5 takes the slot

#6 does not take the roll-down

#7 does not take the roll-down

#8 takes the slot

#9 Takes the slot

#10 (me) looks down at the ground. My wife puts her head in my back and yells “Nooooo!”

I know I controlled everything I could within my plan, and I nailed those last several miles.

Finish time was 10:23:30. 

This race was a rolling swim start so the time when I crossed the finish line above me is not accurate to any ag athlete crossing it.

It’s not easy being a sherpa. Liz was passed out in minutes after finding our bed race-day evening.   

Laying a little smack talk down on Andy Potts after the race on race-day. Honestly, I thanked him for being such a class act pro and role model. Potts was an Olympian in the 2004 Athens Olympic games, 6-time all-american at the University of Michigan, and multiple IM wins and podium finishes. He won IMCDA 2015 coasting to an 8:20 finish time, more than 20′ ahead of second place Callum. I did not know Liz took this photo until later.

Liz and I a day before the race. In the background is Lake Coeur ‘d Alene where the 2.4 mile swim takes place. I am definitely taller than Liz! 

Our amazing crew the night after race-day finishing up dinner by the lake. From left to right is Liz, me, Todd Dicus, Jennifer Dicus and Kim Dicus. Brother D (Todd Dicus) has more than 60 triathlons under his belt starting in 1992, and multiple IMs starting in 2008.

Monday morning’s ceremony with the pro men accepting their awards. 

Monday morning’s ceremony with the women pros accepting their award, and Heather Jackson giving an outstanding speech.  It was her first IM pro win debut. 

Pre-race day morning swim at lake IMCDA.

“Liz, I’m signing up for Coeur ’d Alene (IMCDA) June 28, 2015,” me.

“Are you sure? It’s typically in the 30s race morning and the water temp is in the mid-50s. Numbing cold water on your skin,” Liz

“Yep. I just want an IM run with cool-type weather. I think that suits me,” me.

The irony? Sunday is forecasted at record breaking temps. Some forecasts calling for as high as 108. For now the forecast is calling for 103. The water temp is 71 degrees.

This is my 7th IM, and every race throws something unexpected. It’s part of it. It’s part of what makes this journey so much fun; to conquer a challenge. This is one hell of a challenge tomorrow. It will be one hell of a journey.

Those who consistently trained and trained hard for this race, those who can adapt to adversity, those who stay poised, and those who do not waiver from their plan will finish well in their age groups. Every athlete out there, including the pros, will add 45 - 60 minutes to their goal time. Yep, everyone will be in the neighborhood of an hour slower than planned. Those who deviate from their adjusted plan will fall out of the race with a DNF. The athletes who do not adjust their plan will wake up with an IV in their arm soon after they put on their running shoes. There are no times. There is the finish. There are no excuses. An athlete who has one did something stupid before or during the race. The best thing to do is not make stupid choices. Those who do will be greatly exposed.

I don’t know if I will make it to Kona. But I know I have a hell of a good chance to finish high in my age group. My age group has one of if not the top amateur field. I don’t know how this happened… you never know who is signing up for a race.

The link below opens up a spreadsheet that shows my scouting report. An impressive line-up to say the least.

There are live updates on ironman.com. The race has been moved up an hour due to the heat, so the amateurs will line up and start a rolling start at 5:45 a.m. That’s 7:45 a.m. CST. We are far enough north and west that the sun rises at 4:45 a.m. My Bib #436.

It will be a beautiful race morning much like this morning. The lake sits in a valley with mountains surrounding it. The water is ocean clear. Even in 20 feet of water it looks like I can touch the bottom. The lake was smooth like swimming swimming lap lanes in the pool this morning. Tomorrow will replicate that until 2,100 bodies are in the water.

How many of those 2100 athletes have a target on their back? I am counting on one of those athletes not being me. Here’s a link to “Age Group Athletes.xlsx” in my Dropbox:

One of my goals this year was to start a blog. I’m sure, like many people experience, when starting something like this, it’s just hard to know where to begin. What’s my first sentence? What’s my point? Who will care? I haven’t written anything like this, ever.  

The great thing about this blog is I don’t care who cares. It’s liberating. I don’t have anyone critically looking over my shoulder telling me I’m in ‘passive’ tense and we need it more ‘active.’ Or, the fear of a client not liking how I portrayed their brand, even though it’s not the brand that’s their problem, it’s the CEO running their company. But, I have to write it their way. They’re paying the company, and I’m getting my below minimum wage salary. 

Na, this blog is something I want to do because I have always wanted to become a better writer for the right reasons, or maybe better said for right personal reasons. It challenges me mentally in good ways, and I’ve always liked to put my thoughts on paper.

This blog is focused on a journey I have found completely and utterly amazing. I will share current experiences, past experiences and future opportunities. It’s really about life, and not just the good stuff. Hopefully interesting, inspiring, and maybe helpful to someone. I will also highlight cool visuals in my notes/blogs.

I’m 39, several days away from 40. Ironman Coeur d’Alene is in 5 weeks; my 7th Ironman distance triathlon. For those who may not know, this event consists of, in this order, a 2.4 mile open-water swim (lake or ocean), 112-mile bike and 26.2 mile run. 

Anyone, and I mean anyone, is capable of doing this event. It’s simply a matter of ‘want to,’ like anything accomplished in life. 

My wife, Liz, is sitting in a chair to my left at my bed-side, and Dr. Ernest is standing to my right. He explains the Angiogram/Heart Cath procedure.

“I’ve read your file. You’re an endurance athlete. Your recent abnormal EKG’s indicate something has changed. It’s pretty common, with endurance athletes who are training and have consistently trained for years, to see an abnormal EKG. We expect a clean angiogram. But, if we run into anything (a blockage or collapsed artery) I can assure, you are in good hands.”

How did I get here?  Friday, May 22, 2015 I’m at KU Med, in the cardiac division, with IVs in both arms waiting for Dr. Ernest to slit my right wrist, run a Heart Cath up my artery next to the right side of my heart, and shoot die into my arteries to try and find a blocked artery, and stent it if necessary.

Tuesday, three days prior, I experienced one of the best training rides this season easily hitting my goal-power numbers at the Kansas City downtown airport.

********************

It was five years ago in 2010. Na, it really started in 2008 when I decided to hang up my basketball sneakers, and dabble in triathlon. 

I have always been a gym-rat. I was always drawn toward physical improvement at a young age. I was good at it, passionate, and my internal feedback equaled incredible satisfaction from the hard work complete. This feeling probably parallels to a friend I grew up with who was a book-rat, and incredible at solving math problems starting, as I remember, in the 4th grade. Jennifer worked hard, and she encompassed an incredible passion for it. Now, she has a family of her own, and is an extremely successful math teacher in Chicago challenging young minds.  

Basketball became my go-to sport, like Math became her go-to subject. The gym smell, fresh sweat, squeaking of sneakers, sounds of basketballs dribbling, coaches yelling, inspirational speeches, the Xs and Os, and game-day. It completely diluted any and all insecurities. Hell, I just wanted to play basketball. I wanted it to last forever. it was my identity growing up, and a strong attachment for my well being even, as crazy as it may sound, into my early 30s playing in leagues around Kansas City. It became sort of like tug of war, and I was holding onto to the muddy side of the rope as it slipped through my hands. No, basketball didn’t last forever.

Bob Zender, a good friend of mine, from my PR (public relations) agency days, agreed to meet me at the local YMCA several mornings a week before work, in 2008, to learn how to swim. When basketball was slowly dissolving from my passion, I kind of drifted a bit from who I am, and, with the help of several awesome poor decisions life threw at me, things kind of compounded into a person I didn’t like, or even know. To curb it, I signed up for a mid-summer sprint triathlon - Shawnee Mission Tri (SMT).  It was totally random, a new challenge, and something I could really sink my teeth into outside of work.  I had no idea how to swim; couldn’t swim 25 yards in a pool without panicking to find the end. 

I convinced Zender to sign up for SMT. We were so awful in the pool; truly a minor miracle to finish an open-water swim of any distance. But, we were in it together. A common goal. A huge challenge and accountability. Several months from when we started swimming (wait, I mean just moving forward like turtles with a missing leg in the water), we were going to be released in the open water to swim 500 yards.  

An Ironman distance triathlon was like trying to understand Black Matter in space. It was totally out of my wheelhouse.

In 2010, after completing multiple triathlons, in 2008 and 2009, including a half-ironman distance, I was hooked.

Little did I know, at the time, Zender was one of many incredible people, and friendships, I would encounter on this triathlon journey.  

This sport put balance back into my life. The people I met were extremely goal oriented, driven, excited to try new things, loved pushing themselves past their perceived expectations, and successful at their careers. These ‘new’ people being introduced in my life were different, and I wanted to surround myself with them. 

Now, after completing multiple triathlons, and meeting many people who finished IMs, the thought of doing one began to find ways to enter my wheelhouse.  I explained to my primary physician at KU med I was thinking about doing an IM distance triathlon - only one - and wanted to do my due diligence and have my heart checked out since there has been a history of some heart issues in my family.  And, in no time I had a clean bill of health with a successful EKG and Stress Test.  I signed up for 2010 IM Wisconsin, a September race. This was so far out of my comfort zone, but I committed. Game on.

My one race in 2010, turned into a second IM Wisconsin race in 2011, a third IM Wisconsin race in 2012, a fourth IM Louisville race in 2013, a fifth and sixth IM Texas and IM Wisconsin race in 2014, respectively.

********************

As I am being wheeled into the surgery room I am convinced I have a blockage. Earlier, one of the doctor’s assistants, said a runner had the same procedure a couple weeks ago. He was in his upper 30s and in good shape, and a blockage was found. They gave him a stent, and a new lifestyle.  They probably saved his life! But, I didn’t want a new lifestyle. I love my triathlon lifestyle!! And, then the damn assistant reached in his pocket and pulled out a little spring looking thing. He held it in front of my face, and said “this is what we will use if we see a blockage 70% or greater.”  Hm, assistant leaves.

Pale look. Can’t breath. All these flashbacks on ‘the good old healthy days.’

“Casey. CASEY. Snap out of it. I can see it all over your face. I know you are going to be fine,” Liz. 

Thank God for my wife Liz! One of the toughest, passionate, driven, caring people I know.

The surgery room is cold. It’s is so damn cold. I’m moved from my bed to the surgery room. There’s a young assistant over me, and I can see her bleached blue hair strands coming out of her cap.  I’m wondering if I saw her at Mid-Town smoking a cigarette the other night when Liz and I went out for dinner. Then I hear someone say “I just gave you the good stuff.”  Oh, I can feel it go up my right arm, into my shoulder, and now the high no-care-in-the-world feeling. I start asking everybody’s names. People start raising their hands around the room laughing and saying their names one at a time. I’m in a good place. I’m ready.

“So are we about ready to do this?” - me

“We are done.” - someone

“No, we’re not. Let’s go ahead and get this done.” - me

“Casey, I’m serious. We are done.” - someone

“Ok? Well, what are the results?” - me

“You are clean. Everything is good.” - me

At that moment. I just closed my eyes and thanked God. I really really did.  A peace, like no other, went right through my mind and body. I’ve never been more thankful for my health, or more appreciative of a moment, than that instant. I’ll never forget it. 

What a gift several days before age 40!

I just want to say I am so thankful for my very close friends and family, and two dogs! 

And, someone who has physically and mentally pushed me these last couple of years so far beyond my limits, Coach Michelle Simmons.