Past sightings of the Jaguar

2000-10-14 - Furnace Creek 508

2010-10-26T19:54:00.000-07:00

Originally posted October 2000

2000 Furnace Creek 508
Post Race Report

A 508 mile solo non-stop bicycle race.
Or as I like to call it...
"An incredible, amazing, spiritual journey."

Where to start? How do I adequately put into words everything that I’ve experienced leading up to, during, and after the Furnace Creek 508? First off, thank you to everyone who sent me words of encouragement and congratulations. If was quite nice to hear from you and your words meant a lot.

Second, I must talk about my incredible crew:

Dick Allen (owner of Brentwood Cyclery) Dick was my crew Captain. I had the pleasure of meeting Dick on Jan. 1st, 1999 while the two of us rode up Mt. Diablo together. A friendship soon developed. I asked Dick to crew for me sometime in the early part of the summer of 2000. He could not have been more enthused.

Jim Ortlieb Jim and I met while going through the San Jose State University Department of Aeronautics in the early 80’s. We have been the best of friends ever since. Jim now flies for NorthWest Airlines where he is currently an Airbus 320 First Officer. I also lived about 2 miles away from him in Antioch. Jim was talking to my (then) wife one-day and she happen to casually mention something about the 508. Jim said, "what’s that?" The funny thing is that I originally never thought to ask Jim to crew the 508 with me. Since he wasn’t really an avid cyclist, the thought just never occurred to me that he might be interested. Well, he couldn’t have been more enthused either. It was just my excellent luck that Jim ended up on the crew.
And also the former Mrs. Martin. My wife then. But now the "Ex".

My entire crew was incredible. With their fantastic support, it literally would have been impossible for me NOT to finish. When I was hungry, they fed me. When I was thirsty, they watered me. When I was achy, they massaged me. When I was cold, they clothed me. When I needed cheering up, they told me jokes. And when I had to….well you know, they waited for me.

So here goes…

We were scheduled to leave for Valencia (the starting location of the 508) on Friday, October 13. Jim had come over to my house on Tuesday and Thursday and together he and I got the SAG wagon ready. The SAG wagon/Crew Vehicle was a 2000 Ford Expedition. Among the items we packed for the race were: my Litespeed, Dick’s Cannondale (my back up bike), my Marin full suspension mountain bike (in case I needed some relief on the extraordinarily rough desert roads…. I never did ride it), spare set of wheels for bike, 3 helmets, every piece of cycling clothing that I own, including 5 pair shorts, and 1 pair long bibs, lights for the bike and many spare batteries, flashlights for crew use, miscellaneous first aid items including lots of A& D diaper rash ointment (for my shorts), sunscreen, 17 gallons of water for racer and crew to consume, 48 Clif bars for both racer and crew (I never ate even one, until our trip home on Monday), 2 extra large containers (5.6 lbs. each) of Sustained Energy drink mix, 6 jugs Hammer Gel, 1 large box of encapsulated supplements/vitamins, bananas, oranges, apples, cantaloupe, oatmeal, rice, bagels, tools for bike repair, baby wipes, and T.P.

We left Friday morning as planned. We picked up Jim. Then it was on to Brentwood to pick up Dick.

The 6 of us then headed down I-5 to Valencia (which is right next to Magic Mountain). We stopped at Denny’s at the Highway 46 exit and had lunch. While eating lunch, we saw another car pull up with 2 bicycles on the roof. Two guys got out and both were wearing Furnace Creek 508 T-shirts. We talked to them after lunch. It turned out to be Rick "Amoeba" Anderson and Mike "Whale" Wilson both of whom are 508 solo veterans. This year they would both be acting as course officials. After a brief chat, we jumped in the crew car and finished our trip to Valencia.

Upon arrival in Valencia, we got checked into the Best Western (which is where the race starts from). Our next order of business was to "convert" the crew car from "travel mode" to "race mode." This included removing the rear most bench seat, getting all of the supplies set up, and attaching the "Jaguar" signs (which my sons Eric, 10 and Alex, 8 had made) to all four sides of the vehicle. My parents showed up during this process and they kept the rear seat for us and eventually would return it to us in 29 Palms. Eric and Alex also stayed with them until Sunday night where they met us in 29 Palms, as well.

Dick and Jim ran out to do a final gas up of the crew car. I visited my folks and took care of some last minute set up items, i.e. the bike, clothing, etc. I went over to the "race headquarters" also known as room 111 of the Best Western where I met Chris Kostman, the race director, and picked up my "race package." This consisted of a water bottle, musette bag, and 4 very stylish Furnace Creek 508 T-shirts and ball caps. One for me, and the rest for the crew. I also met with Steve "Beaver" Born. Steve is the ‘94 508 Champion and also last years runner-up. He is also a 3-time RAAM (Race Across America) finisher. Steve was at this years 508 representing E-Caps/Hammer Nutrition (where he is employed) and also acting as a course official. I mention Steve because over the last 2 months he became enormously important in my race preparation. My current friendship with Steve started out by me emailing him and asking for some 508 advice. Well, over the next 2 months Steve provided me with loads of invaluable information. He would also become a key player during the race, as you will read. I lack the words to express just how important he became both before and during the race.

It was now 6:00 p.m. and time to attend the pre-race banquet. So the entire crew, plus my folks, heads over.

This is the part of the "festivities" that started to build my excitement level. During dinner, Chris Kostman got up at the lectern and talked about the history of the race, the rules, his special ceremony for assigning animal totems to each racer, and then introduced the entire field of racers. Receiving the largest rounds of applause were Charles "Honey Bee" Hanson, age 70, solo racer and Jewette Pattee, age 77, racer from team Whippet. Dinner broke up at about 8:45 p.m. and we all headed back to the hotel for our last quality sleep for a couple of days.

I awoke at 5:00 a.m. to start getting ready for the day. My morning consisted of a shower, some light stretching, and my pre-race meal and supplements. Jim called me to make sure that I was up and moving. He and Dick were busy with the last minute preparation of the crew car. I mounted the bike and soft-pedaled over to the start line at about 6:30 a.m.

I rolled up to the starting line and waited for the magic hour of 7:00 a.m., Saturday, October 14th, 2000 to fall upon us. I think that this was one of the best moments of the entire experience. 40 solo men, 5 solo women, 1 mixed tandem, and 1 all-male tandem waiting to go. Lots of smiles, lot of camaraderie, really good stuff. I give Eric and Alex last minute hugs and kisses as well as the same for my Mom and Dad.

Chris Kostman is at the start line and after taking last minute roll call, he gives a 2-minute and 1-minute warning. Then with about 15 seconds to go, he starts the countdown. Quickly we hear, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, GO! Sounds of applause and cowbells wash over us. We’re off. We’re pedaling. I hear Dick yell to me, "Hey Jeff, lookin’ good!" I’m thinking, "yeah, at mile zero." Dick is off to one side with his video camera going. Jim is too, but I don’t see him right now.

We make our way northeast out of Valencia. The first 4.3 miles of the race is under "yellow flag" conditions. That is, the entire field is supposed to stay together so that we all get through the couple of traffic signals at the same time. This is really the only time during this non-drafting event that we can truly be called a Peleton. I stay toward the back and end up riding next to and talking to Rick "Longhorn" Kent of Austin, TX. I mention that I am a rookie. He then mentions that he is a veteran of ultra racing and would I mind some advice? You bet. He then mentions that he is a 5-time RAAM finisher. He now has my undivided attention. Mostly he talks about pace. Starting easy. Saving something for the later miles. It seems to be the common theme anytime I talk to some of the ultra veterans.

Very soon we reach the 4.3-mile mark and the course officials are hollering, "The race is ON!" We make a left turn and start up the 1st "major" climb of the race - San Francisquito Canyon. It’s not terrible steep. I’m just riding my own pace and keeping one eye on my heart rate monitor to make sure I don’t go out to hard.

The crew is not yet following me. All of the crew vehicles must go ahead to the 12-mile mark of the race and wait. Simply because there is not enough room for 40+ racers and vehicles in this part of the canyon. The roads are not quite wide enough. Therefore, since they are not with me, I am carrying a flat repair kit, just in case. I have one tube, one tire lever, and one CO2 cartridge. Fortunately, I don’t need it (in fact, I never have one single mechanical problem the entire race) because I now see my crew at the 12 mile mark and they can now begin to "leap-frog" me. That is, drive ahead, stop, and wait for me to pass them and then do it all over. The race rules require this support method until 5:30 p.m. on Saturday evening.

So this is how we spend the first day of racing. I ride by and they hand me a water bottle or some supplements, or whatever I happen to need. When Jim would hand me a water bottle or supplements, he would make these incredible all-out running sprints so that our speed differential would be as small as possible. I would literally have to accelerate to catch him. He made the handoffs quite easy. At mile 24, I manage to drop and destroy the portable CD player I had been listening to. Oh well, no more music until 5:30 p.m. when the crew car will be able to follow me directly and play me some tunes on our external music system.

After the San Francisquito Canyon climb we descend into the Mojave Desert west of Palmdale and head north. This section is fairly flat. At mile 50 we start the 2nd major climb near some windmills. I’m thinking, "I don’t want to ride near windmills, because that means that there is usually wind." Sure enough, we are "rewarded" for our climbing efforts with a nice headwind. Not too strong fortunately.

We now drop down into the city of Mojave. This is where Jaguar and crew encounter our first "exciting" moment of the race. First off, I can see a train immediately ahead going across the road that I must continue on. So I start to soft pedal, figuring that there is no reason to rush up there just to wait on this train. The train passes and I never "break stride". Then my crew is out of the vehicle telling me about these 4 or 5 train tracks to cross and that as soon as I do, I need to make a right turn on Highway 58 (toward downtown Mojave). What the crew hasn’t realized yet, is that as soon as I make the right, I must make an immediate left. I do not know about the left turn. I continue straight. Oops! After waiting through the signal, the crew finally catches me and reluctantly admits that they have "goofed". After snapping at them (which I immediately regret doing), I execute a 180º turn and return to the race route. End of excitement. We’re back on the course and making progress.

We head north on Highway 14 and at mile 74 make a right turn toward California City (where I first soloed an airplane in 1979 at age 17). At mile 82 we turn north and also reach the first of 7 time stations. I see Steve Born working at the time station and he tells me quickly that I am "riding an intelligent race." He’s talking about my pace. The crew checks me in and off we go. Time of day: 12:02 p.m.

We head through some more rolling desert terrain and at mile 107 we start the 3rd major climb. I look back in my head and realize that I have completed my first "century" of the race in 6 hours. Whoa! I’m going out a little too fast, I think. At mile 110, we take our first planned break. I have now been on my bike for 110 miles without ever getting off. This is definitely a record for me. I’m ready for a break.

The crew is ready for me. They have the folding canvas chair out so that I can sit and rest. I change clothes. New shorts (prepped with A&D), new jersey, new socks, & a new headband. The crew "washes" me down with some moist wipes and reapplies a fresh coat of sunscreen. All too soon, my break is over and it’s time to remount the bike.

I finish the 3rd climb and drop into the tiny desert town of Randsburg. I used to come to this place in the mid 70’s as a kid to ride motorcycles with my family. It kind of looks like a ghost town, except that people actually live here. It’s very quaint.

We go through Randsburg (which takes all of about 13 seconds) and then we turn east on Highway 395. After only 2 miles we turn left and head north on Trona Rd. Again I’m riding past familiar motorcycling territory. Many memories. After some more rolling terrain, we turn right onto Highway 178 (at mile 140) and head into the town of Trona. At mile 152 in Trona is time station 2. I have the crew hand me the flat repair kit that I carried earlier and then with about 5 miles to go until Trona, they leave me to go on ahead. They will have to stop and get gas and something to eat, as the next gas opportunity will be in Baker at mile 381. As I ride through Trona, the crew is already fueled and ready to go. They have also purchased some world famous Trona burritos to get them through the night. They check me in with Time Station 2 as I pass. Time of day: 4:39 p.m.

At mile 165 we have a short stop (only my second since getting on the bike) to mount the taillight and headlight. The sun is setting and it’s time to "get legal." The crew also gives me a quick wipe and I grab another handful of A&D and reach inside my shorts to spread it around. Ohhhh! It’s heaven! They also change out the dark lenses in my glasses for clear lenses. We’re now rigged for night mode. The sun sets over the Panamint Valley as we start the 4th major climb over the "Trona Bump." During the climb, the leading female rider passes me: Jeanie "Bandicoot" Barnett, 43, Martinez, CA.. I have seen her and chatted with her at many double centuries this year. It’s her second attempt at the 508. Last year she DNF’d due to the extreme heat. This year she will go on to win the women’s division. However, even though she passes me on the climb, I pass her back on the descent into Panamint Valley and never do we see her again (until Monday in 29 Palms). Therefore, my fragile male ego is still intact. I have not been beaten by a girl!

As we roll through the Panamint Valley we are rewarded by some of the most impressive terrain on the 508 route. To the right is Telescope Peak at over 11,000 ft.

Soon it’s fully dark and we continue over some of the roughest roads that I have ever ridden on. It’s like Morgan Territory (one of my "local" rides) except a little rougher and it lasts for 31 miles. At around mile 175 or so, I look out to the right and am rewarded with the sight of major climb number 5: Townes Pass. I point it out to the crew. Even though it is dark you can tell its Townes Pass because you can see the headlights and flashers of the crew vehicles ahead of us. It is one of many surreal moments of the race.

At mile 199 we finally reach Highway 190, the road into Death Valley. At mile 200, the climbing starts. It's just before 8:00 p.m. At elevation 3000, I have the crew play the soundtrack from Rocky (on our external sound system) to help motivate me up to the summit. During the climb we pass Guppy and Longhorn who are both cramping and having a tough time. Guppy would later DNF, but Longhorn would finish 12th. We reach the summit (Elev. 4956’) at 9:15 p.m. where we take a break and get ready for the descent into Death Valley. 210 miles down. This is the farthest I have ever ridden my bicycle. From now on every pedal stroke will be uncharted territory. 210 miles down, 298 to go.

The crew has my chair ready. They dress me for the cool weather. They feed me soup. Man, does that soup hit the spot. In case you’re wondering: Miso with tofu. Yummy! How do you make soup in the middle of the desert? You buy a portable coffeepot that plugs into your cigarette lighter and use it to make hot water. Presto!

So now I’m dressed and rested for the descent. I have a 15-watt NiteRider system on the bike. I’m also wearing a 15-watt NiteRider system on my full-face helmet (which I wear for this descent only). Down we start. The descent is not terribly technical, but it is fast. I tell myself to take it easy, but I find out later that my computer reports my highest speed at 53.6 mph. Yee Haw! About ¼ of the way down I catch and pass solo recumbent rider Barclay "Beetle" Brown. I estimate that he is moving at around 35 mph while I am moving in excess of 50 mph. First I make my way around the left side of his crew car and then approaching him, I yell at the absolute top of my lungs, "ON YOUR LEFT!" The pass is without incident for Jaguar and crew.

A short while later while still moving at around 40+ mph I come upon some road construction and a bright orange diamond shaped sign that says simply "BUMP". I slow and bounce over the "bump." Huh, not too bad. Another mile or so down the descent I see the same sign. This time I let it fly. My logic? The last one wasn’t so bad, so how bad can this one be, right? Wrong. KAPOW! No damage to be or the bike, but at 50+ mph I now have a NiteRider light that has come unclipped and is dangling precariously from the front of my aerobars.

Dick is driving and doing his best to keep me in his sights. I give him the slowing/stopping sign. I remember that "Beetle" is a little ways back and seeing that there is no room on the right shoulder, I move over to and stop on the left shoulder to fix my light. It takes me just a few seconds and then we’re moving again.

Probably one of the most exciting/scary things for the crew to watch on this descent is when I go down into one of the large dips on the road. To them it must literally seem as though I have disappeared for a moment. I can actually see the shadow of the headlights above the level of my head. Cool!

After a 17 mile descent into Stovepipe Wells the road now starts to flatten out. I exchange my full face (heavyweight) helmet for my regular road helmet and we also shed the heavy NiteRider light in favor of the lightweight Vista light.

We continue and make our way through the rolling hills of Death Valley toward Furnace Creek and time station number 3. We gradually eat up the miles. I can not have any music at this point because we are in a designated quiet zone. We roll into Furnace Creek and TS#3 (mile 254) at 11:41 p.m. Saturday night. This is the half way point of the race. I couldn’t tell you why but for some reason I am delighted that I make it here before midnight. It means nothing, yet I am delighted by it. I must stop at TS#3 because it’s dark. Race rules require that the crew car stay with the rider at ALL times during the hours of darkness. Since Dick and Jim must jump out to check me in, I must also momentarily stop.

Kostman is there and along with one of his helpers, they point a video camera at me. My first words are, "Chris, I hope you don’t expect me to say anything intelligent at this point. Hell, I don’t even know my own name right now." Chris is definitely going to interview me so he is kind enough to start with easy questions. What’s the farthest I’ve ever ridden? How did I hear about the 508? I assuming that this interview will end up on the "official" 508 video that Kostman produces and will be for sale later. At the conclusion of the interview, I look over to see that Dick is still chatting with the time station officials. For the first and only time during the entire race, I am actually ready to leave before him. I grin as I make this comment to Kostman who turns around and yells; "rider is ready, let’s go!" They pile into the crew car and off we go into the wee hours of the morning.

A couple of miles up the road, we make the right turn toward Badwater. Badwater is the lowest point in the Western Hemisphere at 282 feet below sea level. I’ve already ridden this entire section of the racecourse from Stovepipe Wells to Shoshone twice during two different Death Valley double centuries, but I have never ridden Death Valley at night.

Death Valley is an amazing place in the daytime. At night, under an almost full moon, in the middle of a 508 mile ultra endurance bicycle race, with music from my crew vehicle playing, and fatigue setting in, Death Valley extends itself to just beyond the edge of "surreal". It is truly mystical. Too bad I had to ride 260+ miles to experience this!

We continue on through the night and over the lousy roads of Death Valley. Jim is now driving and it is Dick’s turn to go into the back for a well-deserved nap. Actually they ALL deserve to sleep, but unfortunately, only one can at a time.

We’re now well into the section of road past Badwater and this is where my crew tells me I’m getting a little goofy. The are playing one of my CD’s by The Cars. I’m waiting to hear a song that I really like called "Drive." I never do hear it. Figuring that I’ve missed it or that the CD player somehow screwed up, I make them play it again. And again. Jim tells me later (I don’t remember this part) that I asked him to play song number 21 on a 20 song CD. Finally Jim asks, "what is it, that you are wanting to hear?" I tell him "Drive." He takes care of "my problem" and gets the right song queued up. Now I’m happy. At least for a little while.

We continue through Death Valley and the temperature is fluctuating a little. One second it’s 68 - 70 degrees and the next it has dropped to 60. We go around a bend in the road and the temperature goes back up again. I ask the crew to get my arm warmers and my lightweight Pearl Izumi vest out. They had to crawl over the sleeping form of Dick to reach them. Now I’m thinking that the vest and arm warmers might not be enough so I ask them to get my yellow windbreaker. They think that I mean instead of the arm warmers and vest, when in my mind I actually mean "in addition too". So they return the vest and arm warmers to the back and retrieve the yellow jacket. A few minutes later I ask them for the vest as I’m finally starting to cool off too much. They tell me they just put it away. I’m thinking, "why’d you do that, I just asked you for it a minute ago." They're probably thinking, "I wish this tired sleep deprived cyclist would make up his mind."

Around 3:00 a.m. I’m pedaling along when Steve Born pulls up. He chats with me briefly, tells me I’m looking good. I ask him if he got any sleep and I think that he tells me he grabbed a couple of hours in Furnace Creek. I tell him thanks for stopping by and he motors on down the road. It always lifts my spirits to see him.

We reach the base of the 6th major climb, Jubilee and Salsberry Pass, a little before 4:00 a.m. Mentally this is a big climb for me, even though I’ve done it twice before. Most of the experienced 508er’s have said that if you can get to the top of Salsberry and still feel somewhat human that you can probably finish the race.

During the climb I catch Scorpion. We have seen a lot of each other during the race. All the way back as far as California City (mile 82). I pass one of his crewmembers who tells me that Scorpion is very sleepy. I sympathize completely.

Also sometime during the climb, Kostman comes up alongside me and takes my picture. I can only surmise that it is with the digital camera that they are using to post pictures on the website during the race.

At slightly past 5:00 a.m. we arrive at the top of Salsberry Pass. In the last 43 miles, we have gone from -282 feet to elevation 3315’, most of the climbing in the last 10 miles. For the first time in the race I am really starting to "feel the pain." Nothing specific, just pure exhaustion. My crew gives me some more soup and a much needed massage during my break at the summit. At this stop, as well as others, Dick is looking over the Litespeed as well as lubing the chain. What an awesome crew!

I change clothes. I put on much of my warmest gear as morning lows in Shoshone are expected to dip into the mid 40’s. Later we see 45 degrees on the thermometer.
So we’re all there at the top of Salsberry Pass. One second I’m joking with the crew and in a split second after that, my emotions have caught up with me, and I’m sobbing uncontrollably. I’m absolutely beat. I tell myself that if I can just keep going, when the sun comes up I will feel like a new man. Right now that seems a long ways away. Looking back, I now realize that I was actually too tired to cry during the climb. It took a rest break and some crew TLC before I could find the energy to shed tears.

The crew supports, consoles, and encourages me as I remount the bike for the descent into Shoshone and TS#4. As we leave the summit, Scorpion rolls in. Down we go.
Dick tells me later that this is the closest he came during the entire race to pulling me off the bike. I’m not sure, but I think that I may have actually fallen asleep for split seconds during the descent. I mostly remember being dog-tired and very cold (even though I had many layers on). We reach the bottom safely and make the right turn onto Highway 127.
2 miles later we are at TS#4 in Shoshone (mile 325). It’s 6:07 Sunday morning. Several times during the first day, I comment to the crew that Valencia (the start) seems like another lifetime. This is one of those moments.

While the crew is checking me in at Shoshone, Scorpion goes flying past like a man on a mission. There is a nice tailwind blowing and he is really moving. He doesn’t need to stop, even though it’s dark, because he has 2 crew cars. One follows him directly while the other can stop and check him in at the time stations. His crew captain Charlie “Lizard” Liskey is out and walking around at TS#4 as we pull in.
This is the absolute low point of the race for me. Physically and emotionally. I’m spent. Once again, I tell myself that I’ll feel better if I can just wait for the sun to come up. The sky will start to brighten in about another 30 minutes. Already there is a very slight glow to the east.

I tell Dick and Jim that I think I’m just too tired to continue and that maybe I need a 20-30 minute nap. Charlie overhears us talking and approaches. He tells me that he is a 3-time finisher of the 508 and that I should keep going if I possibly can. He cites the rising sun and tailwinds as damn good reasons to continue. His logic is powerful and convincing.

When a veteran of the race tells you something, it’s best to listen. Ironically I would end up finish ahead of his rider, Scorpion, in this event. This points out one of the truly unique aspects of the 508. In spite of the fact that we are all out there competing "against" each other, I found that everyone was also out there helping one another. We ended up giving some Tums to Longhorn’s crew during the Townes Pass climb because he was cramping and having stomach problems. I guess we helped to create some of our own good karma.

I make a deal with myself and I think that I also tell the crew. Yes, I will get back on the bike and continue, but if I still feel like crap 30 minutes from now, I’m pulling over for a brief catnap.
After we leave TS#4 Jim decides to try and get some sleep. Well sure enough, the sky lightens and my spirits soar. Man, I feel great. It’s 7:00 a.m. and although I’m not moving very fast, at least I’m moving and I feel a whole lot better. We start up major climb number 7. Ibex Pass elevation 2090. This is probably the most minor of the "major" climbs, but still it’s good to have another one out of the way. At the summit is a sign that shows us entering San Bernardino County. Hey, at least we are finally in the same county as the finish line in 29 Palms. I take those small mental victories wherever I can find them.
So it’s light out, the temperature is coming up, my spirit has improved immeasurably, and the road is boringly flat going into Baker. Sometime after the sun came up, I asked the crew to remove the lights from the bike. I don’t want the weight if I don’t need it. The flat road is actually a welcome relief after 7 major climbs and many many rollers. What could possibly go wrong at this point? Nothing, right? Well it seems that the cycling gods also have their sense of humor.

At around 8:30 a.m. my stomach shuts down. I was just riding along (or as Dick calls it: J.R.A.) when I realized that my stomach was very bloated and starting to ache slightly. Not too much pain but definitely not good. Mostly I was annoyed. I thought that I really had my nutrition/diet absolutely down pat. Since using the liquid diet of Sustained Energy and Hammer Gel, I’d never had a problem. So I’m kind of baffled, confused, and mad. Moreover, I’m realizing that I don’t know how to fix this problem.
So I tell the crew what’s going on and that this could be a problem. Now I riding and thinking, "If I can just get to Baker, I know that Steve Born will be there and he’ll know what to do." The guy has forgotten more about ultra cycling than I’ll ever know. If I can just get to Baker, I’ll be able to see Steve. If I can just get to Baker, I’ll be able to see Steve. If I can just get to Baker, I’ll be able to see Steve.
The next thing I know, there’s Steve standing alongside the road out in the middle of nowhere. Literally, there’s nothing around but sagebrush and sand. Later the crew would start referring to Steve as our "guardian angel." He would just show up anytime we "summoned" him.

I holler to him. I tell him that I need to talk to him. He jumps in his car, goes past me, and gets out. As I pass, I ask if he can pull up alongside me while I pedal. He says that as a "neutral" course official that he really can’t do that. I understand. No problem.
I wave the crew up next to me and tell them to go back and talk to Steve. I’ll be okay for a little while by myself, but please go back and ask Steve what I should do about my stomach.
They return a short while later with the following info. First off, Steve says don’t worry, it’s quite normal. He says to tell Jeff, "Welcome to the world of ultra cycling!" Secondly he recommends taking some Alka Seltzer (which we have packed due to Steve’s pre-race recommendation). I take the Alka Seltzer. I also take one quick squirt of Hammer Gel for the calories for it’s been a while since I’ve consumed anything. The last piece of advice that Steve offers (for this crisis) is that when I get to Baker, that I should really try to move my bowels. I’ve been on this liquid diet for over 24 hours so I hadn’t even thought of this.
The Alka Seltzer is starting to make my stomach feel a little better. I’m so "moved" (if you’ll pardon the expression) at this point by Steve’s suggestions that I’m thinking to myself, "well, why wait until Baker? Maybe I should give it a try now."
I look around, the desert is flat for 50 miles in every direction, and the tallest piece of sagebrush is about 3 feet high and very see-through. Even after 350+ miles on the bike, I still have my modesty.
As these thoughts are rattling around my brain, I see these 3 (6 foot tall) piles of gravel 50 feet off the side of the road. Once again, I marvel at the cycling gods' sense of humor. First, they taketh away (thy stomach) and now they giveth back (thy own private bathroom).
I holler behind me to the crew. "We’re stopping!" We do. Fast forward 10 minutes (and not getting completely tasteless). I’m now feeling substantially better.

Shortly after this stop, the crew manages to reach Eric and Alex on a cell phone. They are still at my folk's house. The crew car pulls up next to me and they tell me that they have my kids on the phone. I ask for the phone and spend the next couple of minutes talking to them. Another nice lift for my spirits.

We finish the road into Baker. Once again I am still feeling motivated by Steve’s suggestions. I visit an actual real bathroom this time. Yes, the stomach is starting to function again. Can I get a Hallelujah? We check in at TS#5. It’s 10:16 a.m. and we’ve covered 382 miles. 126 miles left. Just a double metric (200 K). Piece of cake, right? I change clothes for the final time in Baker.

The crew gases the car in Baker and we’re off still heading south on Highway 127. South of Baker the road turns rough. It seems to stay this way until the finish. That’s an exaggeration. I think that may have been 3 more miles of smooth paving somewhere between Baker and 29 Palms.

2 miles south of Baker we start the longest climb of the 508 (major climb # 8). It’s 21.4 miles and rises over 2600 feet. It’s only an average grade of 2.4% but the climb seems to last forever. Some of these desert climbs are so deceiving that you begin to wonder if there actually is a summit.

It is during this long climb that I reach another emotional low. I’m getting very sleepy again, in spite of the fact that it’s approaching high noon. Jim is driving and pulls up next to me. The crew then proceeds to entertain me with stories, jokes, and general conversation. It’s helping to keep me awake. A little farther up the climb, I begin to get teary again. It’s only my second cry of the race and it will be my last until the finish line. I’m almost laughing at myself inside while I’m crying on the outside. I’m so tired that I can’t even cry properly. It’s more of a sobbing, whimpering kind of cry. Not at all right! I stop crying. I seem to have gained some release from it.

A short time later, while still on this long climb to Kelso Peak, I begin to drool uncontrollably. The crew would tell me later that it was truly the only time during the race that they were worried. They were okay with the crying, but the drooling had them quite worried.

I actually remember drooling. I also remember thinking that it would take way too much physical energy to take the steps necessary to stop drooling. So I figured, why bother? I just drooled: on myself, on the bike, everywhere. I just didn’t care. Eventually I stopped. I must have found the power to swallow. I don’t remember. Finally after forever, we reach the summit of Kelso Peak. Elevation 3600’, mile 405. Just a century left now.

The descent didn’t seem to provide much relief as I remember. I think that the roads were just way too rough. Plus the fact that we only dropped down to about 2000 feet. At mile 417, I start up climb #9. At around mile 420, my cycling computer quits. Stone cold dead. I take it off the bike and give it to the crew. I also rip off my heart rate chest strap and toss that to them as well. I figure, if it ain’t working, I ain’t carrying the weight. This climb goes over the top of Granite Pass. The summit is elevation 4024’ and mile 431.

Just prior to the summit is TS#6. I arrive there at 2:36 p.m. During the climb I catch and pass Warthog and move into 9th place. He looks to be suffering. I am too; it’s just that he looks worse, to me anyway. I also make a brief stop to add some more A&D ointment to my backside. It’s really starting to scream at this point.

The descent after Granite Pass is 20 miles long. It’s still rough but it is quite welcome. It's during this descent that the combination of sleep depravation and fatigue begins to catch up with me.
I begin to hallucinate. The sagebrush alongside the road begins turning into people. For the life of me, I can not figure out why all these people would come out to watch this race. I mean, hell, a cyclist only goes by about every hour or so. So why come out for that. The other thing I can’t figure is why they are standing there so stoically. I mean they’re just standing there. They’re not clapping. They’re not cheering. It’s odd to me because everyone else that I have passed along the race route usually offers some applause and cheers. I just can’t figure why you’d come out here to the middle of nowhere to watch us cyclists (only one per hour) and then not even offer any encouragement. Stupid people (sagebrush).

On this same descent with the stupid people I also have my second concurrent hallucination. The road surface begins to develop a rather large crown to it. The odd thing is that no matter what part of the road I ride on, i.e. right side, middle, or left side of my lane, the apex of the crown always stays directly under my wheels. The apex actually follows me or is anticipating my moves. This fascinates me.
The logical part of my brain is saying, "you idiot, they’re just hallucinations." The other part of my brain is saying, "hey you, logical part of the brain, just shut the hell up, will ya?" Eventually the descent, as well as the hallucinations, end.

We cross Interstate 40 and 12 miles later (at mile 450) we turn right and head west toward Amboy. It is at this "T" intersection that I again see Steve Born. I tell him how much trouble I am having maintaining my focus. He says some encouraging words and I take off.

I tell myself that I have got to find some focus to finish this last 58 miles or I am well and truly screwed. So I come up with a plan. I tell my crew that I want them to tell me every time we have completed another mile. So Jim tells me we have 54 miles left. I wouldn’t need this info if my stupid computer was still working. The crew tells me that the kids (along with my folks) are on the way to the finish line.
So I start my own mantra. "54 miles. 54 miles to the finish. 54 miles to see Eric and Alex. 54 miles to being RAAM qualified." I repeat this out loud over and over. Jim tells me 53 miles. "53 miles. 53 miles to the finish. 53 miles to see Eric and Alex. 53 miles to being RAAM qualified." You get the idea. Well, it’s often that the stupidest things work the best. This really starts to work well for me and I find the focus that I so desperately need at this hour. I finally begin to ride like a man on a mission. In this section, I’m averaging almost 20 mph.

Before I know it, there is 38 miles to go and we are at the base of the last major climb of the race. Climb #10. Sheep Hole summit awaits 10 miles up the road. I can see the summit out in the distance. I am still riding like a man possessed. I totally attack this climb. Looking back, I have no earthly idea where I found the strength. As I start the climb, I see Scorpion just up ahead. We had been catching glimpses of him ever since the sun came up, but I was never able to catch him. Now, I know that he is within my grasp. I absolutely blow by him and move into 8th place. He is still friendly enough, in spite of the suffering, to say "Hey Jeff, how ya doin’?" I offer a very cryptic, "I’m just doing okay." I continue to hammer the climb.

Later at the finish line, Steve Born would tell me that he has never seen anyone climb Sheep Hole like I did that day. He says he is amazed. I’m gratified to hear this from him. 1994 508 champion, 1999 runner-up, 3 time RAAM finisher, and I think he has crewed the 508 something like 4 or 5 times. You bet I was gratified to hear those words from him.

2 or 3 miles from the summit I realize that I will finish in the dark and that we will have to put the lights back on the bike. I wave the crew forward and ask them to wait in their current position so that I can find out how many minutes Scorpion is behind me. I’m in full-on race mode now and I’m trying to decide if we’ll need to hurry at the top and rush to put the lights on the bike.

My crew says that they can’t even see Scorpion and that I should just worry about finishing. They are right, of course, but by now "my brain has capsized" (Steve’s expression). They are worried about me and want to stay with me. I try to convince them that I’ll be okay, but they don’t want to do it. Well, now I’m starting to get a little annoyed that they are not cooperating with me. So I come up with a compromise. I figure that if we have 4 minutes at the top that that will give us plenty of time to put on the lights and not drop back into 9th place. So I ask them to wait for 4 minutes. They reluctantly agree. I have no watch, no computer, so for all I know they waited 2 minutes and then came back up to me. The crew tells me that they really waited 4 minutes. I believe them. It doesn’t even matter. When they catch up to me, they inform me that after 4 minutes they still could not even see Scorpion. So now I know we’ll have plenty of time at the top.

Just short of the summit is TS#7 (update: not any more, it's been relocated). This is the one time station that no one wants to stop at. If you have to stop at TS#7, it means that you have broken a race rule and must serve a time penalty as determined by the officials. As I approach TS#7 a man starts walking toward me. My first thought is, "damn, I don’t remember breaking any of the rules, but after 479 miles, I’m going to have to serve a @#^%&*%*& TIME PENALTY! He then says, "welcome to time station 7." I’m thinking that in no earthly way do I want to be "welcome" to TS#7. I looked at him (mind you, I’m still climbing) and gasped, "if I don’t have to serve a time penalty, then you need to find words other than ‘welcome’." I realized later that he was just being friendly. In fact, they had decorated TS#7 with a Hawaiian luau theme and were handing out lei’s and small cans of pineapple juice, which the crew grabbed as we were driving by. The lei even has a sign on it that says, of course, "I got lei’d at Time Station 7! 2000 Furnace Creek 508." On another day, I might have been able to laugh. Not today!

We passed TS#7 at 5:45 p.m. and reached the summit shortly after that. It turns out that I put 18 minutes on Scorpion by the top of the climb. Basically, I pulled a Lance! (UPDATE – November 2001….I have since come to find out that I wasn’t as “great” as I thought I was that day. You never are, right? It turns out that the only reason that this rookie rider was able to put 18 minutes on {now 4 time finisher…[amazing]} Steve “Scorpion” Winfrey is that he stopped to take a short break. Blame my misconception on the exuberance of being a rookie finisher. Sorry Steve! And Congrats to you and Charlie on your 2001 2-man team RAAM finish. Awesome!)

There was now 28 miles to the finish and 6 of that was downhill. At the bottom of the descent awaits the cruelest part of the race. After 30,000 feet of climbing and 485+ miles of riding, it is a slight uphill all the way to the finish line. Not much, just enough to be annoying. I still had Jim counting down the miles for me. It’s mostly a blur but we finally reached the outskirts of 29 Palms. After navigating a couple of stop signs and several traffic lights, and one more nasty little roller of a hill, we could finally see the finish line at the Best Western.

I make a left off of the main drag followed by a quick right into the driveway of the hotel. I could see Eric and Alex holding the finish line tape. I could see my Dad and Mom. I could not see much else. I crossed the line in 36 hours, 49 minutes at 7:49 p.m. and burst into some quality crying. I hugged Eric and Alex; I hugged my Mom and Dad. By now the crew had run up to the line and I cried with and hugged all of them. I was even still straddling my bike at this point. The moment was incredible. I’m actually "welling up" again as I think about it and write this.
Race Director Chris Kostman is at the finish line also. One of the truly cool things about Chris, is that he goes without much sleep because he wants to be there for EVERY finisher. He hung a finishers medal around my neck. Cool. He actually told a story at the dinner on Friday night about one of the women solo racers who said that she wouldn’t come to the race unless there were finishing medals. I’m glad she talked him into it.

I finally dismount my bike and more photos are taken. I collapse into the nearest chair and take off my shoes. What relief.
I revel in the moment. Stunning, fabulous, wonderful, exhilarating. None of these words come anywhere near describing my emotions at that moment. I wish it could have lasted forever. I’m glad that Steve Born was there at the finish line. I hugged him. What a wonderful human being. The crew tuned into just how important Steve’s advice was to me both before and during the 508. In fact, they were so tuned into it, that during the last 120 miles of the race (when I was in my most uncooperative phase) anytime that the crew wanted me to do something. i.e. eat more, drink more, etc., they would simply say, "Steve says you should do this." I was none the wiser and that was all it took to get my cooperation. The crew had created a new game. Not "Simon Says," but, "Steve Says." Brilliant!

I finished the Furnace Creek 508!
That about says it all. I finished the Furnace Creek 508. I finished in the top 10 (8th place). I finished in time to qualify for RAAM. I’m still getting used to it.

I swear if it wasn’t for the video, photos, and 3 live witnesses I might not believe it. We hung out at the finish line until Scorpion came in about 21 minutes after me.
Shortly after that I said goodbye to my Mom and Dad, as they had to go on home and go to work on Monday morning. Then I was helped to my hotel room where I stood in the shower for about 40 minutes. I fell into bed while the crew went and got dinner. The crew brought back a wonderful seafood combo from the restaurant that they had eaten at. The food was delicious after 2 days of liquid nutrition. I was fast asleep shortly after eating.
I awoke at 7:15 Monday morning and was surprised to find that I could actually move. After Dick and Jim came back from gassing the car we all went to the post-race breakfast at the local coffee shop. Many more smiles were exchanged that day.
We came back from breakfast, loaded up, checked out, and headed back to Antioch.
I have to say one more time, that without such an outstanding crew, I’d have never made it. I consider myself lucky to have been surrounded by such a quality team.
I think we’re all STILL smiling. I know I am.

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

Crew Comments by Jim Ortlieb
- crew for Jeff "Jaguar" Martin
2000 Furnace Creek 508
As I write about my “508” experience it must be said that I cannot fully put into words the emotions and feelings that I had prior, during, and after this event. The 508 is the most amazing, overwhelming, and insane athletic event I have ever witnessed. All my preparation before the race did not prepare me emotionally for the wave of feelings that I experienced. I had watched Jeff prepare and knew that physically he could do the event. I also felt that Jeff's years of flying on the backside of the clock would be a huge asset both mentally and physically.
My build up to the race began during the time we loaded up the truck. Having “ergoed” the truck up I felt that this was like our bat mobile. It would be like the mothership tending to its child. As we got to the race hotel I was emotionally overtaken by the scope of this event. As a crewmember I didn’t want to show my emotions so as not to affect Jeff. Race day, 0500 wide-awake and revved up to go. My eyes welled up at the start of the race knowing that the journey ahead would be huge. From the start to the hourly feedings I was exhilarated at Jeff's progress. Dick and Jeff both knew the racecourse quite well. I on the other hand tried, but was totally naive as what laid ahead.
Here are many of my race thoughts in no specific order:
- Trona burritos
- White vest, no yellow jacket, no white vest (Jeff unable to decide which clothes to wear)
- Play track 21 (Jeff asking for song 21 of a 20 song CD)
- The look in Jeff's huge gapping microsleep eyes as we pulled up to him in the early hours of Sunday morning
- The breath taking beauty of the desert
- Talking about my rectal exams to keep Jeff awake with some laughter
- The cactus people (Jeff's hallucinations)
- Passing “recumbent boy” on Townes Pass
- Dick’s amazement at how “cool” the sand dunes looked
- The absolute feeling of fear as Jeff's stomach shut down
- Enjoying teasing Jeff about what the cactus people looked like
The time during the race that I truly felt it might be close to being over was when Jeff was having hallucinations, but little did I know that he would prove me wrong. I also felt horrible as we went through Amboy trying to find the correct way. I thought, "my God I can navigate airplanes across the world but I have gotten terribly screwed up on reading simple directions during my friend’s pinnacle event of his life." As we approached Sheephole I was in awe as the “possessed” Jeff powered through to the finish.
Although I didn’t cry during the race, my stomach was turning with angst and concern. It wasn’t until days latter watching Dick's video with Carole (my wife) did I shed tears. Carole knew that not only had it been a life event for Jeff…it had been for me too. As Jeff crossed the finish line I was beaming because he had overcome all that was thrown his way. Emotions were in full force at the finish line and I intentionally tried to stay to the side allowing him to experience the event with his immediate family. In a way I wanted to be low key, as it was Jaguar's hour. I know the support team helped, but hey we were in the air conditioned/heated comfort of the truck. I was in complete amazement of the athletic feet completed and feel honored that Jeff was comfortable in our friendship to cry, yell, and be in complete pain in front of me. I only hope that I can reciprocate the unselfishness that he showed me. The drive back home the next day was very cathartic for me. I felt in a small way were we like warriors returning home from battle. That night as I lay in bed I felt blessed to have been a part of this event. Our friendship is stronger for it. Everyday I think about the 508. Life does not seem so tough anymore and even if it gets worse…it all can be overcome. I think about Dick and Joyce and the long hours of time that we had to work as a team and live like a family. It is November 3rd today and as I said it might take a while to fully put what I witnessed on paper. Thank you, Jeff, for having the confidence in me to be on your team. I will remember the “508” the rest of my life. It was that significant!

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

New Year's Day Ride, 01-01-2009, Mt. Diablo

2009-01-01T14:50:00.000-08:00

Our annual New Year's trek up Mt. Diablo. An east bay cycling tradition since ???

Click on any photo to ENLARGE.

Enjoy!

Happy New Year! And, yes, it was very cold in the fog. Especially on the descent.

Jeff & Jo

2003-10-18 - IronMan Hawaii

2008-10-22T09:12:00.000-07:00

Originally posted October 2003

140.6

"Swim 2.4 miles, ride 112 miles, run 26.2 miles. Brag for the rest of your life.” - - John Collins, IronMan Founder

27 October 2003

Okay, I freely admit it. I’m definitely in “brag mode”. After all, I’ve just finished my first IronMan ever and I’ve got permission to brag from the founder of the original event himself. It’s been 2 weeks since heading over to Kona, 9 days since the race, and 6 days since returning from Kona. I’m now asking myself, “Just how did this incredible thing happen?”

There are 3 ways to “qualify” to race at IronMan Hawaii. 1. Know a race organizer who will put you in the field. 2. Be a lightning fast triathlete (NOT ME) and qualify at any of the IronMan Hawaii qualifying races throughout the world. The closest one to us here in the Bay Area is the Half IronMan VineMan in Guerneville (Sonoma Co.). The third and last way to GET to Kona is actually my preferred method. BE INCREDIBLY LUCKY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Each year a lottery is held for 200 slots. 150 go to U.S. citizens and the remaining 50 go to non-U.S. citizens. This year there were over 4300 applications for those 200 slots. I was lucky enough to win one of them. For the 25^th Anniversary of the event, no less! It almost DIDN’T happen…here’s why…

I had signed up for the lottery in November 2002. Since getting interested in triathlon, I thought it might be pretty cool to try and go to Kona. So I paid the $80 (just to register for the lottery), filled out the forms and forgot about it. After all, the results of the lottery would not be announced until April 15, 2003. Then lightning struck at work. I was flying the Boeing 727 at the time I signed up for the lottery. In March 2003, I was awarded a bid to start flying the MD-11. This would mean going to MD-11 school in Memphis for about 2 months. When the school schedule was posted, I was listed to start MD-11 training on Sept 23,2003. Kona was October 18, 2003. So here it is March 2003 and I’m thinking, “GREAT!! – This will probably be the year that I win a lottery slot for Kona and I won’t be able to go because I will be stuck in Memphis going to airplane school from September through November.”

So with a heavy hand, I log onto the IronMan official website, find an email address for the race office and I write the following email to them:

“Due to work obligations in October 2003, I will be unable to attend this year’s IronMan Hawaii. I therefore request that you please withdraw my name from the lottery, because if I were to actually win a lottery slot, it was absolutely KILL ME to know that I could not attend the race. Thanks, Jeff Martin.”

Fast Forward - - It’s now April 18, 2003. I am sitting at my computer and I suddenly remember that the lottery results were posted 3 days ago on the 15^th. I didn’t even think about it on the 15^th since I had asked them to withdraw my name anyway. The only reason that I am thinking of it on the 18^th is because a triathlon buddy of mine from Walnut Creek also put in for the lottery. So I logged onto http://www.ironmanlive.com/ and I clicked the link that says “lottery winners” and scrolled down to the “P”s to check out my buddy and HOLY FREAKIN’ WOW-----he’s on there!!!!! He made it! Cool. The next thought to rattle in my brain is, “I wonder if anyone with the last name of Martin got a lottery slot?” So I scrolled back up to the “M”s. My pulse rate immediately shot through the roof. The list read:

Martin

Jeffrey L.

USA Lottery

California, U.S.A.

I started yelling out loud, “I don’t believe it, I don’t believe it, I don’t believe it.” Joyce yells from the other room, “what, what, what?” I replied, “I got in the FREAKIN’ LOTTERY.” I was absolutely stunned. My next thought was, “Is there anyway that I can maybe go to MD-11 school some other time, so that I can still go to Kona?”

Now, we step into an alternate dimension as April 18, 2003 suddenly gets “twilight zone” weird. As I’m staring at the lottery results on my computer and thinking about how I can get out of MD-11 school, my phone rings. I am still staring at the screen as I pick up the phone. The conversation goes something like this:

Hello.

“Jeff Martin??”

Yes.

“Hi this is FedEx pilot Captain (so and so). I have MD-11 training in June of 2003 and I really don’t want to spend the summer in Memphis. I was wondering if you would consider trading your September 23 class date for my June 17 class date?”

(Stunned silence) followed by even more silence

“Jeff?”

Yeah.

“Did you hear me?”

Yeah, I heard you. I’m just trying to decide if you’re jerking my chain or not.

“Whadda ya mean?”

Well, you’re never going to believe me, but HELL YES I’LL TRADE!

I let him in on the “joke” of April 18. We work out the details of our trade. I hang up the phone and look at Joyce, who has now come into the room. I tell her about the conversation and she wryly says, “Well, either your planets are aligning or they’re crashing down on you. I don’t know which.” We’re both ALL smiles!

I call the Kona race office to verify that I’m the Jeff Martin that is on the lottery list (common enough name). They assure me that it is ME! I inquire about the email I sent asking them to withdraw my name from the lottery. Their reply? “Oh, we don’t use that email address anymore.” They never got it!

Unbelievable, I’m going to Kona. All I have to do for the next six months is get through the most complex airplane school that FedEx offers and train for an IronMan…piece of cake, right?

Without boring you, suffice it to say that I had a very busy summer in Memphis, TN. I was very focused on both tasks. My summer training plan did not quite go the way that I wanted it to. Too much studying. But, it did go well enough.

13 October 2003, Monday

We’re up at 6:00 a.m. for our 10:15 a.m. non-stop Aloha airlines flight from Oakland to Kona. The bicycle is in the hard case and along with the rest of the items we will need for Kona; the back of the Ford Expedition is already packed. Joining me for the voyage is my wife Joyce, and our 2 sons, Eric 13, and Alex 11. All 3 are “skipping” school in favor of cheering me on in Kona. We leave Antioch a little before 7:00 a.m. and grind to a halt westbound on Highway 4. Fortunately the traffic cooperates and we make decent time to the airport. As we check in, I notice 2 other bike cases and 2 other sets of shaved legs (male) to go with them. I chat with one of the individuals. He qualified for Kona at IronMan New Zealand back in February. This makes me realize that along with me, and the other 199 lottery winners; I will be surrounded by the very best age group triathletes in the world.

Our 5-hour flight to Kona goes by pretty quickly and before we know it, we are in the rental minivan and headed to the host hotel, the King Kamehameha. This will be our home for the next 8 days. After getting into our 5^th floor room, which has an awesome view of Kailua Bay, I decide to go down to the race registration room and get myself checked in.

The view from our 5th floor hotel room.

I get down to the first floor ballroom that is being used for athlete check-in. It is very well organized. First go to this station where we will check your I.D. and USAT card. Then go here to get your wristband (which I later find out has a small data chip in it). The yellow wristband is king. It gets the athlete into everything! So you have to have it. I wore it for 8 days.

The athlete's yellow wristband.

Then get weighed. Weighed?!?! Oh well. Then pick up your race packet with race numbers (#833 thank you), timing chip, and tons of schwag! Done. Now, back to the room to unpack and assemble my bicycle. Bicycle assembly goes well, nothing broken by the airlines…..whew!

The Bike is ready to go.

So now we’re here, we’re checked in and we’ve got the rest of the day to kick around downtown Kona. We go and look for some dinner around 4:00 p.m. and end up eating at the nearby Italian place. We walk around Kona a little more and then it’s back to the hotel to settle in for the night.

14 October 2003, Tuesday

After breakfast, I decide that I’d better get out and stretch the legs today. I also need to ride the bike and make sure that it is functioning properly after its flight inside the hard case. So I go out for a swim at 7:45 a.m. My little 20-minute swim is amazing. I am swimming in the area in which we will start the race. The water is only 10-15 feet deep in this part of the course and as I swim along, I am being treated to a Jacque Cousteau sea special. Rocks, fish, coral, sea urchins, and many other life forms are just beneath the surface as I swim along. They are obviously well conditioned to the presence of humanoids because they don’t seem bothered at all. This is by far the neatest swim I have had at any triathlon. I’d like to swim longer, but I don’t want to do too much prior to Saturday. I decide it is time to exit the water.

Heading out for a little warm-up swim.

Since everything in life is now corporately sponsored, Gatorade has not missed an opportunity and is the official sponsor of the “7:00 a.m. morning practice swim.” You can drop your gear at the Gatorade tent while you swim, then after your swim, you can get some (you guessed it) orange Gatorade. Nabisco is also there passing out small packs of Fig Newtons. So my post swim snack is Fig Newtons and orange Gatorade. Is this what Peter Reid uses?

Back to the room, change clothes and out on the bike for a 1-hour easy spin. This will serve to check both man and machine. Up Palani Rd. to the Queen Ka’ahumanu Highway (also known more simply as the Queen K highway) turn left (northbound toward Hawi, pronounced “Havi”) and I am on the actual racecourse that we will ride on Saturday.

There’s not much out here except small rollers and lots of lava. Fortunately there is a beautiful ocean view to my left as I proceed northbound. Out for 30 minutes, turn around and back to Kona. After my return, I clean up and then we all pile into the minivan and drive up to Hawi to have lunch and to see the entire bike course. As we drive along the Queen K highway I notice that on certain portions there is a TREMENDOUS wind blowing. I am silently hoping that Saturday will be MUCH calmer.

We have a nice lunch in Hawi. On our return we stop at one of the other hotels to take a quick look at their beach. It’s time to head back to Kona because we want to see the athletes’ parade at 5:00 p.m.

Eric and Alex at a beach west of Waikoloa.

The IronMan parade is definitely a big deal. I could have been in the parade myself, but I figured that I would see more if I found a spot on the street to watch with my family instead. Everyone that’s anyone in Kona is in the parade. The mayor, last years champions, local high school marching bands, race volunteers, you name it…..they are there. It takes place on Alii Drive, which is the street that the race finishes on. We found a good curb and sat there and enjoyed the spectacle. Hey look, it’s Gordon Haller, the very first IronMan champion.

The very first IronMan Finisher - Gordon Haller.

Here come the Australian athletes.

It's the Aussie contingent.

All of the athletes come down Alii in alphabetical order by country. After the team from Brazil goes through there is a giant lull in the action. So, figuring that we have seen most of what will be offered, we get up and head over to the IronMan Expo (also known as the athlete’s village) where all of the sponsors are set up in booths pedaling their goods.

We stop at the IronMan greeting booth and Joyce, the kids, and I sit down and record our “greeting from Kona” which will be post later on the IronMan live website. We check out a few more booths. Janus is sponsoring sign making. The kids and Joyce make me signs that Janus will put up on the racecourse on race day. We head to dinner, and then it’s back to the hotel to call it another fine day in Kona.

15 October 2003, Wednesday

I got a call from my buddy Kai (the one from Walnut Creek who also made the lottery) on Tuesday. We decide to meet at 11:00 a.m. for an hour easy spin on the bikes. We are fortunate enough to be part of a small group that is going to be met by 2 Pro triathletes. Jamie Cleveland of Canada and Andrea Fischer of Austin, TX (also husband and wife) meet us in the parking lot of the King Kam hotel and before our ride, they take the time to pass along a little information about the course and the race. The ride ends up being pretty much the same ride I had done on Tuesday. Out the Queen K highway and back.

After cleaning up and getting some lunch, it’s time to attend the mandatory pre-race meeting (also in the parking lot of the King Kam….I love staying at the host hotel!!). Here all of the directors (swim, bike, run) get up and talk about their part of the course and what the athletes will see in terms of support and also in terms of race officials. Of course, the big deal on the bike is NO DRAFTING. They pound this rule into our heads. The meeting lasts about an hour and then it’s time to go back to the room, find the family, and go find some dinner. Before leaving, Kai and I agree to meet at 7:00 a.m. for a swim the next day

16 October 2003, Thursday

Carbo Day! Carbo is the big pre-race dinner. I guess they do it on Thursday so that you can do your own thing the night before the race. But Carbo is not until 6:00 p.m. I decide that I will go ahead and swim with Kai at 7:00 a.m. I only swim for about 20 minutes again, then I change clothes and head out on the bike for my last ride until the race on Saturday. I do another easy hour. We spend the rest of the day relaxing and walking around town. Eric and Alex (my sons) decide that they would like to rent boogie boards and try some boogie boarding and body surfing at a nearby beach. We spend an hour or so at the beach. I, or course, have found a nice shady in which to park myself. I’d love to go down and bodysurf with the kids, but there isn’t much sense getting worn out by the sea, the surf, or the sun. So I just stick to the shade and my novel. Yeah, I’m really living it up in Hawaii!

“Dad, I think those waves are kinda big.”

We head back to the hotel to clean up and go to the Carbo dinner. This dinner also serves as a kind of opening ceremony. Mike Reilly, the voice of IronMan, is the M.C. and after getting our plates and dinner we find a nice spot to settle down and watch the show. A nice welcome from the stage, an opening prayer for the athletes (in Hawaiian), some hula dancing, a very cool video with a 25 minute retrospective of IronMan Hawaii, and a very emotional video about Dick and Ricky Hoyt. This is the AMAZING father/son combo that does the race. The son is in his 40’s and is disabled due to cerebral palsy. I invite you to learn more at http://www.teamhoyt.com/. When this video is done, I don’t think that there is a dry eye in the house. Other stories are shared about athletes who have overcome tremendous odds to make it to Kona. It’s a great high to hear such tales.

One of the other videos that are shown is about the original trophies that were handed out to the 12 finishers of the very first IronMan Hawaii in 1978. The original trophies were hand welded by the founder of IronMan in his garage. It is basically a stick figure made out of metal with a nut (like nut and bolt) for a head. You can see the chance for double meanings here: a nut for a head, a hole in the head, missing screw, etc. Well this year for the 25^th Anniversary, and for the first time since the original IronMan, they are going to hand out those same finishers’ trophies again. In fact, they have hired a welder to make almost 2000 replicas of the original trophy and the welder, himself, will be competing on Saturday.

Replica of the original "Hole in the Head" trophy.

The Martin men head into Carbo.

Carbo in full swing.

The performance of "Island Breeze". The white T-shirt in the foreground is the original finishers shirt.

More stage activity at Carbo.

2 hours passes by and Carbo is over. Another day in paradise is a wrap and it’s time once again for the Martin Clan to hit the sheets.

17 October 2003, Friday

Today I am in FULL REST MODE. No cycling, no swimming, and definitely no running. Just some light stretching. In fact, I had purposely NOT run all week. I figured that my legs would get enough of a pounding on Saturday. So today we just take easy AGAIN. The kids do some swimming out in back of the hotel in Kailua Bay. I will have to check my bike into the transition area later this afternoon, so for now I just go down and get a free massage from the massage team that is there specifically for the athletes. They won’t even take a tip. These folks are just too nice. After that I go to watch the kids snorkel and swim. While Joyce and I are sitting there a woman gets out of the water and comes over near us because her towel and bag is sitting nearby. I notice that she has a pair of NASA shorts on. We strike up a conversation and I learn that she is Dr. Yvonne Cagle, an astronaut, living in the Bay Area and working at the Ames Research Facility in Mt. View. She was scheduled to go into space in the next year or so, but the shuttle accident has postponed her mission for several years now. I make sure and introduce my children to this genuine American Hero and also make it a point to have Dr. Cagle explain the value of her education to my sons. I ask Dr. Cagle if she is staying for the race, but unfortunately for her, NASA commitments have her taking a red eye to LAX to speak there on race day. She tells me she is volunteering in the bike transition area later today so maybe I will see her. I never did. We part ways and head back to the room to change because we need to get some lunch and go back to the airport.

My good friend Dick Allen (my crew chief at Furnace Creek 508 and former owner of Brentwood Cyclery) is flying in specifically to watch me race. What a cool thing to do! I’m glad that Dick is coming. He was definitely one of my good luck charms at 508 and I’m quite pleased to have him around again.

"Welcome Dick, glad to have you here!"

We round up Dick, make our way back to the hotel and at around 2:00 p.m. Dick helps me round up my bike and transition bags and we head down to the transition area behind the hotel to rack the bike and hang up my T1 and T2 bags (T1 = swim to bike bag with cycling gear, T2 = bike to run bag with run gear). This is the last time I will see my gear until race day. They have security there all night so no one messes with anything.

Getting the bike into transition. The volunteers are amazing.

These racks will be completely filled later.

Now that the bike and bags are done we leave the hotel at 4:00 p.m. and walk down Alii Drive to find an early dinner. We end up going back to a place that Joyce and the kids and I have already been to once. We liked it a lot, so back we go.

The pre-race dinner.

As we make our way back to the hotel after dinner, we notice that almost all of the race day equipment has been set up. Bleachers, finish line arch, announcers booths, have been steadily going up throughout the day.

Alii Drive is plenty busy this particular Friday night.

We stop along the sea wall that marks the official swim start and run finish line of IronMan Hawaii for a couple of photos.

This is right next to the King Kamehameha hotel.

Kailua Bay in the background. I'll be swimming there in a little over 12 hours.

We head back to the hotel, where I do a few last minute things to get ready for Saturday. Lights out at 8:00 p.m. because that alarm is going to go off at 4:15 a.m. on Saturday. It was really starting to feel like the race would NEVER get here. I’m about to be proven wrong!

18 October 2003, Saturday

Yeah BABY! Race day is finally here. Sure took long enough! I actually wake up just a few minutes before the 4:15 a.m. alarm. Good. This way I can turn all of the alarms off without anybody else having to wake up. I eat my breakfast and take my pre-race supplements. Dick has crashed on our floor for the night and he and Joyce and the kids are still sleeping soundly (but only for a few more minutes). Soon my activity has them slowly stirring. Dick grabs his camera and start shooting photos.

My kids and wife show their enthusiasm on race morning.

Before I do anything else, I put my timing chip onto my ankle. Without that, the rest of day, would “not count”. I eat breakfast and take my pre-race supplements. I follow the fueling and supplement guidelines written by Steve Born at E-Caps. Steve’s advice paid huge dividends at Furnace Creek 508 in the fall of 2000 and I have continued to live by his advice ever since then.

I take a nice hot shower to warm up my muscles and follow that with some light stretching. Swim suit on. Sunscreen on. Gather up my personal stereo (gotta have the tunes to stay mellow on race morning………..if case you’re wondering nothing but Rush will work today! Thank you Geddy, Alex, and Neil). I’m feeling caught up and even a little ahead of schedule, so I decide to head down to the transition area to pump up my tires one last time. I grab my pump and head out the door and down to the bike.

I arrive at the entrance to the transition area only to be told that I can NOT get in to see my bicycle until I have been “body marked” (where they write your race number onto your skin). Okay, fine. I go and stand in the line for body marking. Remember there are 1600+ athletes trying to accomplish the same thing, so the line is very small (NOT!). I get to the front of the line and the guy says, “where’s your swim cap?”. What? “Yeah, you can’t get body marked unless you have your swim cap.” CRAP! Fortunately, I am carrying one of the walkie-talkies that the kids have been playing with. I call up to the room and Dick answers and he brings my swim cap down to me. You da MAN, Dick!

The body marking line takes about 30 minutes to get through. I pump my tires up. The guy next to me blows a tubular tire right then (sounds like a gun shot). Of course, now he wants to borrow my pump. I feel rushed to finish up, but how do I say “NO”? I don’t. He borrows the pump. I wait. Another couple of minutes wasted. I’d swear that I was ahead of schedule just a few minutes ago…….not ANYMORE!

Back up to the hotel room to drop off the pump. Everyone is up and moving now. I have now gone from feeling ahead of schedule to feeling VERY behind. With or without me, the cannon will sound the start at 7:00 AM. Inside the room I grab the rest of my race gear: goggles, water bottles for the bike, and my “special needs” bags for the ½ way points of both the run and the bike. This time I will get EVERYTHING done and be checked in and ready to race. Yeah, right! Final hugs, kisses, and well wishes are exchanged and I head down to make my way into the final part of check in (right before you get into the water).

I drop off the 2 special needs bags (bike and run) in the designated spot. I then proceed along the green Astroturf down to the swim start. I finally have time to don my headset and now the music is working and I’m starting to relax a little. Right before the entrance to the water is one more bag drop-off. I strip down to just my swimsuit, swim cap, and goggles. The clothes that I was wearing over them, as well as my iPod stereo go into the bag and I hand it to one of the volunteers.

I was across the timing mat and hear the familiar “chirp” of the electronic timing mat as I am now officially checked in for the 2003, 25^th Anniversary, IronMan Hawaii World Championship Triathlon. I climb down the 3 steps into the waters edge and make my way into Kailua Bay with my fellow triathletes. I look at my watch. It’s 6:50 a.m. Hey what was I worried about, I had 10 minutes to spare. I look back toward where swimmers are entering the water. The line still looks kind of big to me. But, somehow they get everyone into the water in time for our start at 7:00.

Typically the total number of competing athletes at Kona is around 1500. This year, because it was the 25^th Anniversary of the event, they had allowed almost 1800 to sign up. With dropouts, we had 1649 line up to swim on race morning. This was the largest field ever assembled for IronMan Hawaii.

I swim over to the left side of the group and find myself a spot to tread water about 2/3 of the way back from the front part of where the fast swimmers are hanging out. I turn about to look at the sea wall hoping to catch a glimpse of Joyce, the kids, and Dick. Futile as you might imagine. There must be several thousand people lined up to watch all of us start. It looks pretty awesome! I check my watch again. It’s getting pretty close to 7:00.

3, 2, 1……….BOOM! The cannon sounds and we are OFF!

I'm somewhere in that mess! One of the green caps in the middle of the photo.

Yeah, there I am...right there...no, right there!

I like to describe the beginning of a triathlon swim start as an “underwater wrestling match.” I’m guessing that within the first 1 minute of swimming that I have been either kicked or punched no less than 10 times. I never take it personally. Just all part of the fun. It finally starts to thin out a bit, and I start to find my rhythm and settle into my stroke. I also get into watching the rocks, coral, and fish below me. In spite of 1600+ bodies churning the water, it is still remarkably clear.

As a matter of fact, I am having the time of my life. This is the most I have ever enjoyed a swim on any triathlon I have done. I continue on and every once in a while pop my head up to check and make sure that I am still heading in a somewhat straight line toward the boat in the distance that marks the turn point. The swim course is basically a rectangle. Head south in Kailua Bay for about 1.2 miles, make a 90 degree right turn and go about a 100 yards, make another 90 degree right turn and then head north about 1.2 miles back toward the King Kam hotel for the 2.4 total miles of swimming.

In the beginning of the swim, as I pop my head up, I realize that 1.2 miles down to the turn around is a LONG WAY. No worries, I just keep on moving and stay relaxed and concentrate on my form. When I first started triathlon, I was always such an incredibly slow swimmer that I usually was alone and off the back. On this particular swim, I always seem to have plenty of company around me, so I feel pretty good about that.

I make the first turn at the boat. It’s full of spectators. I wave as I go by but no one on the boat seems to notice. Oh well. After just a brief time swimming westbound, I make the second right turn and head north back toward the swim finish at the King Kam. I pop my head up again and look. Man, that hotel sure it tiny out there in the distance….1.2 miles away.

On the return leg of my swim, I have the sensation that I am not swimming in a very straight line. Every time I check on my progress, I seem to be drifting too close to the buoys along my right. I try to compensate and make sure to keep myself moving forward.

To me, the return leg seems to take much longer. I suspect that I am now growing impatient with the water and am ready to be done and get onto my bicycle. Finally, the hotel seems near. I realize that the swim course is starting to narrow as the organizers have places buoys that “herd” us into the finishing ramp. Swimmers start to collect around me again and it’s time once again to get kicked and punched. It seems worth it to be done. Volunteers are positioned at the bottom of the ramp where it enters the water. Hands reach down to me and help me, and the other swimmers to “find our legs”. I’m always amazed how difficult it is to stand up after a long swim. It requires a totally different set of muscles and I always seem to leave my sense of balance elsewhere for about 10 seconds.

I was hoping to break 1 hour 30 minutes for the swim. As I stand up, I look at my watch….1:22. Yeah! I’m liking that! I start to trot and make my way up the green Astroturf and glance around to look for Joyce, the kids, and Dick.

1 down, 2 to go.

I round one of the corners on the way to transition and there they are, my personal cheering section. I see Joyce and Alex first. “Hey, 1:22, not bad, eh?”, I shout. I see Eric next. He is just a little farther down, where he readies the camera, and snaps off a set of photos.

So now comes the EMBARRASSING part of my race. I’m so happy with my swim time, happy to have seen my family, and happy to be out of the water, that I fail to notice the small “speed bump” bunched up in the carpeting while I’m waving to Eric. TRIP! Splat! Down I go. But fortunately I catch myself on my hands. The carpet is soaked from all of the swimmers that have already come through dripping wet. This is fortunate for me, or I’m pretty sure that I would have had a nice “rug burn” on the palms of my hands. I pop up and keep moving. I find out later that my luck holds: Eric misses the fall with the camera!

I’m finally into the transition tent, where I get my T1 (swim to bike) bag handed to me by one of the fabulous volunteers. I head into the changing tent and suit up into my cycling clothing. I make my way out to the bike, where it’s handed to me by a volunteer. These folks do everything for you except the race.

All right. Time to go for a little bike ride.

Out of the hotel parking and up the hill…

Starting out on the bike course. King Kam hotel in background.

The first part of the course does a few “zigzags” through town. This makes it somewhat good for the spectators. At least they get to see the cyclists for a portion of the course. It’s about 51 miles to Hawi (directly from Kona and another 51 back) so the bike course spends about 10 miles wondering through Kona before we leave town to head north up to Hawi and back for the 112 mile total.

Early portion of the bike in downtown Kona. Coming down Palani Rd. to head south through town.

Riding through town is a major thrill. There are thousand of spectators and they are very generous with their applause. It’s quite wonderful. The course through town heads south for a bit and then turns around to head back to the north. Pretty soon I am at the sharp right turn (Palani Rd.) that will take me up the hill to the Queen K highway and north to Hawi. As I approach the right turn, I see my fabulous cheering section again (my family) cheering and clapping for me. I give a wave. I know that I won’t be seeing them again for about 6 hours.

Joyce holds her sign and cheers me on as I go by with a little wave.

I make the left turn onto the Queen K highway and now there’s only a little over a 100 miles to ride. I settle down and settle in. There is a volunteer station every 5 miles. They all cheer every time you go by. I have my Sustained Energy that I’m drinking but every time I go by an aid station, I make it a point to grab a water bottle as well. It’s supposed to be in the upper 80’s today (and it was) and I want to make sure that I stay “ahead” on the hydration game. Plus it feels good to squirt a little water down my back once in a while also.

The miles click by. The lava fields roll past. I pass some cyclists. Some cyclists pass me. Along the way I pass one of the physically challenged athletes on his hand cycle. Yes, he was ahead of me until then. That means that without the use of his legs, he was able to beat me on the swim. Amazing! I notice that he is NOT wearing gloves. I comment on this as I ride past. He laughs and says that his hands are as tough as the bottom of a dogs paws.

This is what a hand cycle looks like.

The ride up the Queen K highway is devoid of all auto traffic today except official race vehicles. Even residents are not allowed on the road at the portion of the race. It’s quite nice having the road all to ourselves. The time seems to pass at a reasonable pace and before I know it, I am making the climb up into Hawi. This is the first time that I have experienced any wind at all on the bike course and thankfully it is only a small headwind. I’m about out of nutrition but I know that in Hawi is my “special needs” bike bag with 3 more bottles of Sustained Energy in it. I get into town, make the turn around, hear the chirp of the timing chip machine as I roll across the mat and now there is only slightly more than 50 miles of cycling left. I make a quick stop to pick up my nutrition and also to visit the “facilities” along the course. I remount the bike and make my way back to the south toward Kona.

Hangin' loose on the Queen K highway.

10 miles later, I am passing another of the aid stations and am greeted with a sight that no one wants to see. A cyclist is down on the road in a pool of his own blood. I never heard what caused the accident, but I did hear later that he was okay. I’ve noticed that the most dangerous part of the bike course is when you are passing the aid stations. Athletes are concentrating on picking something up for the volunteers and their attention is focused away from what’s ahead of them and what’s around them. I’ve had to veer slightly at several of the aid stations to avoid other athletes and volunteers alike. I suspect I’m equally guilty as well and have probably caused other cyclists a bit of consternation as I was concentrating on the hand-off of a volunteer and not on the racers and course.

I get into the last 20 miles of the bike and am greeted with the first substantial wind of the day. A nice stiff dead-on headwind. I’m getting tired and my speed is definitely beginning to drop. I find that I’m “walking” a fine line between wanting to push hard enough that I’ll finish up the bike, but not pushing so hard that I will not have anything left for my FIRST marathon.

So on I grind. 15 miles to go, 10 to go, 5 to go. I’m now starting to pass some of the runners. They are over on the left side of the road. Once again I marvel at these athletes abilities. I’m just finishing the bike and they are almost finished with the race. Unbelievable. I pass Peter Reid (the eventual winner). He’s out front following the camera truck and he looks strong.

1 more mile to go. I make a right turn and leave the bike/run portion of the course and head into the final few turns that will take me into transition. There’s Joyce and the kids again cheering me on. That always feels magnificent. I roll to a stop at the bike dismount line. A volunteer racks my bike for me and I trot toward the transition tent.

Relief! It’s great to be off that bike. 2 down, 1 to go. Inside the transition tent, I grab my T2 bag and head into the changing tent once again. I’m offered a cool wet towel and a cup of ice water. Nice. Did I mention how great the volunteers are? I tell one of them that maybe I’ll just stay here. He laughs and says, “that’s why we’re known as the pleasure palace.” I peel off the cycling clothes and pull on my run clothes and shoes. After another drink, I exit the changing tent. Joyce, Eric, and Alex are out there waiting for me behind the barrier. I’m walking and talking to them. I can’t run yet, because my legs have forgotten how. Walking will have to suffice for the moment. Alex pipes up, “Dad, when are you going to start running?” “I don’t know honey. As soon as I can get my legs working,” I reply. I tell Joyce that I will see her at the “hot corner” in around an hour or so.

I get out on the run course and I finally manage to get my legs working at a slow trot. As least my rate of travel has increased slightly. I head south through town on Kuakini Highway, make the right turn on Hualalai, followed by the left turn on Alii (later…much later, I will make the right turn on Alii and run the ½ mile to the finish line). This is the “hot corner.” I head south on Alii and avail myself to the food and drink of the aid stations located every one mile. Down to Keauhou and the turn around point. I allow myself to walk the turn around. It’s my reward to myself for having run this far.

After the turn around, I pick up the pace and find that I am making something in the neighborhood of 9-minute miles. I think, great, if I can keep this up, I will come in under 13 hours total. I was hoping for something under 14 hours so this is very motivating to me. Of course my REAL goal is just to finish my first IronMan and still be vertical at the end. At this point my brain feels the motivation, but I’m fairly certain that my legs don’t.

All right, north on Alii. I make it back to the hot corner (right turn on Hualalai). Joyce and the kids are there cheering me on again. Alex is first and he is using his walkie-talkie to tell his brother that I’m coming, so that Eric can take a few more pictures of the now very tired Dad. Both Eric and Alex run alongside briefly (very cool). I find out later that Dick is there also. I just don’t see him, since he is busy taking photos.

Alex (left side of photo) paces his tired Dad near the hot corner.

Left at Kuakini, down a little ways, right on Palani Rd., and back up the hill. I walk the length of Palani Rd., about a ¼ mile, it’s just too steep for me at this point of the race to find the energy to even run slow. I make the all too familiar left turn onto the Queen K highway. I travel north again along the Queen K toward the turn around point at the Natural Energy Lab. By this point in the run, I’ve covered roughly 10 miles. It’s about 6½ miles until the left turn into the Energy Lab, and then a 3 mile round trip down and back inside the Energy Lab. Then once you exit the Energy Lab and make the right turn back onto the Queen K highway, it’s about 6½ miles to the finish line.

So at this point in the run I’m feeling pretty worn out, but I’ve made a deal with myself. I’m going to play “connect the dots.” The dots, of course, are the aid stations. I’m going to run (slowly) to each aid station, and then allow myself to walk past each aid station while I get a drink or something to eat. So that’s my reward. Run to an aid station (1 mile) and walk through and eat and drink. I also get a cup of ice that I put inside my hat and replace on my head. I also splash a little cold water down my back. So my run has become 26 1-mile repeats.

Somewhere around mile 11 or 12, I realize that it feels like there is a small rock inside my right shoe. I silently hope that it IS a rock, because if it is not a rock, I know that it is going to be a nasty blister. At the next aid station I check my right shoe. Darn! No rock. I don’t bother taking off my sock to check. I know that I am developing a major blister on the bottom of my right foot. Seeing it will only annoy me, so I figure why bother, I can’t do anything about it anyway. I pull my shoe back on and press on. Jog a mile, walk the aid station. Jog a mile, walk the aid station. I join another pair of runners (a gal from Germany and a guy from New Mexico) who are using the “connect the dots” program as well. We strike up a conversation. This seems to help the miles go by slightly faster. Auto traffic is once again allowed on the Queen K highway so occasionally we get shouts of encouragement from passing motorists. We have the entire brake down lane to run in (which is coned off). It is almost one full car width so there is plenty of room for the runners now heading in both directions.

At last we are greeted by the left turn that will take us down into the Natural Energy Lab. It’s starting to get dark. I notice that the road down in here is not very well lit at all. There is no traffic, so that’s not an issue. I’m just worried about stepping into a rut in the pavement and twisting an ankle. My 2 running mates have now left me and gone on ahead. I’m just not able to keep up with them anymore. I press on at my own pace.

Down at the bottom of the Energy Lab is the turn around point. I allow myself to walk this as well. The official race photographers are there and take my picture. I only realize it after the flash goes off. I tell them a little lie. “Hey, if I’d known you were going to take my picture, I would have run.” (NOT!)

Once you make the left turn into the Energy Lab, the course is a fairly steady descent down to the turn around point. So at this point, as you can imagine, I’m looking forward to the steady uphill all the way back to the Queen K highway. After I make the turn around, I run a few yards and then stop at the table that had the special needs run bag. I’ve stashed another flask of Hammer Gel in there. I’ve been using Hammer Gel to get me through the run and my first flask has run dry so I’m ready for the next one. I’ve also stashed some aspirin in there. I take two. And off I go wandering in the darkness at a slow jog.

I make my way to the top of the Natural Energy Lab and the right turn at the Queen K highway. Just a 10K to go (slightly over 6 miles). Just before making the turn, a volunteer hands me a “glow stick”. This is required equipment now that it’s dark, since there’s auto traffic on the Queen K highway. I wrapped it around my right wrist and head for the finish 6+ miles away.

I’m still playing connect the dots as I move along. Another aid station past…5 miles to go. I’m pretty much by myself at this point, no one to talk to on this part of the run. There are runners passing me in the opposite direction (still outbound to the turn around at the Energy Lab).

3 miles to go. I’m noticing a trend now each time that I walk an aid station. It’s getting harder and harder to run after I walk. I’ve had this happen before. My body is starting to shut down. My legs are screaming, “ENOUGH!” So with 3 miles to go, I tell myself, no more stopping or you just might not get there at all. I’m running now, slowly, but I am running. The glow of downtown Kona is a shining beacon drawing me near. I’m starting to feel the excitement of finishing this thing.

I make the right turn at Palani Rd. There are still thousands of spectators lining the street. Every once in a while I hear my name called out. “Way to go, Jeffrey!” These are the spectators with the official race program. They see you coming, hurry up and look you up in the program, and then shout out your name as your pass. It’s very encouraging.

Down Palani, less than a mile to go now. I get that wonderful lump in my throat that I have come to truly take pleasure in, at the finish of an endurance event. It was the greatest at the end of 508, but this is a pretty close second. Left at Kuakini, right on Hualalai, and this time, I get to make the right turn on Alii Drive. Alii Drive: the most famous finish in the all of triathlon. It’s after 8 p.m., 13+ hours since the start of IronMan Hawaii 2003. The streets are still packed. I’m “high fiving” people left and right; almost everyone I run past now. I begin to look for Joyce and the kids one last time. Eric and Alex absolutely live for the finish. Their favorite thing is to hang out about 50-100 yards from the finish and join up with me and run across that finish line arm in arm with their Dad. Joyce and I have pre-arranged a meeting place. I’ve known ahead of time where to look for them, just in case the crowds made it difficult. I see them, right where they are supposed to be. They join up with me. I tell them that it’s hard for me to talk because I am too emotional. Dick is also at the finish and gets a fabulous photo of the kids and I.

Eric is on my left and Alex is on my right. I look at Eric and then I notice that Joyce is also there running with us. She, too, is caught up in the excitement of the finish.

I hear my name being called over the P.A. by the voice of IronMan: Mike Reilly. It is just SO AWESOME! Right before we cross the line together, we stop. I’ve told the kids, ahead of time, that we are going to stop and give our gratitude and pay our respects to the triathlon gods by kissing the finish line. We kneel down and plant a big smooch right on the “white line.” We stand and walk across. 13:18:42. Yeah Baby! It’s over!

A big smooch for that white line!

YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I’m greeted by yet another volunteer who places a towel around me and a lei. Hey, I got lei’d! (Couldn’t resist). We pass through the finishing area and stop to take a few more photos.

We are guided toward the medals and trophies where I receive both.

I've got my medal around my neck while Alex holds my trophy.

You’d think after an IronMan you’d get to sit down, right? Wrong. After the lines for medals and trophies, then we went and stood in line for finishing photos. Well, Joyce and the kids stood, I sat down on the grass. The official photographers call these “podium pictures”. I could never figure out why. There is no podium! Great photos nonetheless.

Finally I plant my hindquarters down on the cool lawn. Ahhhhhhhhhh! Dick joins us and we get something to eat from the post race feed. Pizza and ice cream!

We sat there for a good hour just enjoying the moment. The kids decided that they were tired so they went back up to the hotel room and went to sleep. I was starting to feel human again. Amazing what a little nourishment and hydration will do. Joyce, Dick, and I decided to go back to the finish line and sit in the grandstands and cheer the remaining finishers. We did this from about 9:45 p.m. all the way until the official close of the race at midnight. What a fantastic party! The later it got, the louder it got every time another finisher crossed the line. What a sensational experience.

"Island Breeze" entertains the crowd between finishers.

The party (race) concluded at midnight. With the HUGE help of Joyce and Dick we headed upstairs. I took a quick shower, and it was lights out. That bed felt great! I was thoroughly and completely trashed!

19 October 2003, Sunday

Hey, I can move! Barely. I always say that it’s great to be fit so that later you can walk around, moving about like you are in your 90’s. Stairs are absolutely the worst. Not so bad going up, but going down even one step is an adventure in agony!

Today is relax day. After a little breakfast, we take Dick to the airport and say “ALOHA!” I’m still blown away that he came to watch and cheer me on. I’m not sure that I can finish ANY major athletic event without Dick in attendance. He has certainly been a good luck charm.

After lounging about most of the day, we head to the awards banquet at 6:00 p.m. Mike Reilly is the M.C. once again. Trophies are awarded to the top 5 age groupers in each class and to the top 10 male and female pros. The pro winners speak. We eat some more food. Not quite as good as Carbo, but still pretty decent. We watch some more videos. The ceremony is wrapped up and we call it another night in paradise.

20 October 2003, Monday

Today the hotel is alive with people trying to get out of town. We’ve planned to stay until Tuesday so that we can avoid the airport rush. So today we are going to pack all of our suitcases (time to break the bike down again). After that we pile into the rental car and head down and see the Kilauea Volcanic National Park. We have a great time! I don’t do quite as much walking as Joyce and the kids, but I enjoy myself very much.

We arrive back at the hotel in the evening and wrap up our last day on the big Island. I think we are all ready to go on home.

21 October 2003, Tuesday

After some breakfast we head downstairs for one more “unofficial” finishers photo. I pose by the marker for the start/finish line.

The sign reads: "Official Swim Start and Run Finish Ironman Triathlon World Championship

Then it’s back to the room for some last minute packing, and then it’s time to head to the airport. Waiting an extra day turned out to be a GREAT move! The airport is deserted today. Every airport employee that we talk to mentions what at complete zoo it was on Monday. So to make this long story shorter: we got home!

Joyce and the kids headed back to school after their long absence. I did some unpacking on Wednesday and spent some time looking at the photos we shot and even more time admiring my medal and trophy.

What an incredible event. What an amazing experience. I was unbelievably fortunate to get into the lottery. Luck was still smiling on me as I was able to change my MD-11 class date so that I would be able to attend the event. I wasn’t able to train quite as much as I would have liked to this summer but ultimately it just didn’t matter. In fact, it just gives me something new to shoot for when I go to do IronMan Canada in August of 2004.

Sometimes I just can’t believe the incredible opportunities I’ve had. I feel truly fortunate. I don’t know what else to say, except this:

“I’m an IronMan!”

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