Ironman Chattanooga

Background

So we’ll start this race report with a strong statement: 

Behind my wedding day, the second most impactful day of my life? Ironman Chattanooga.

This journey started way back at the end of September 2019. That’s when I signed up for the race. A full Ironman triathlon is a 2.4-mile swim, a 112-mile bike ride, and a 26.2-mile marathon run. For extra fun, Ironman Chattanooga is slightly longer. The bike ride is 116 miles putting the total distance at 144.6 miles.

I’d planned to race on September 27, 2020. Those first few months of training were pretty uneventful. But then 2020 arrived.

On March 3, an EF3 tornado moved through Nashville killing 24 people and causing millions of dollars in damage. My pool near work closed because it became a shelter for tornado victims. The COVID lockdowns arrived a week later. On Christmas Day, a lunatic set off a bomb outside of AT&T in downtown. We had no 911, land, cell, and internet service for three days. I called my Mom to tell her we were okay and to wish her a Merry Christmas from a gas station. It was a terrible year for the world, but it was an especially tough year in Music City.

The footnote of all footnotes: My entire 2020 race calendar ended up canceled including Ironman Chattanooga.

It wasn’t lost on me that this pandemic wrecked many people’s mental health. But I felt like I’d been mostly unscathed because I had triathlon.

It’s hard to keep up the motivation for daily training in a pandemic. I didn’t even have a pool for the first two months during the “Shelter in Place” days of spring. I had no idea when or where I’d race again. But I found that I enjoyed the sport even when there were no events to train for.

I had a daily dose of sweat, endorphins, and a reminder of what I’d get to do when the pandemic ended. Sticking to a training schedule also gave each day a unique structure. Without it, each day of quarantine would have felt exactly the same.

My goal of becoming an Ironman had just been delayed, not lost. But more importantly, I stayed healthy. And triathlon kept me happy and upbeat during a truly dark time.

When September 2021 arrived, it was finally race month. But the Delta variant of COVID was spiking across the south. Mentally, I was really wearing down. I'd just gone through a hot Tennessee summer with century rides and endless runs. Was this all going to be a waste? Surely Ironman wouldn't cancel this race a second year in a row? Right? RIGHT???

I can't describe the goosebumps and sense of relief as I walked into the expo and registration. The weather was good, I was healthy, and I had finally made it to a full Ironman event!

Race Morning

I woke up at 3:45 am before my alarm. I felt nervous, well-rested, and excited AF. As I rode the bus to the swim start, I realized that whatever happened today, I’d remember it for the rest of my life. That’s a scary realization but also a very cool moment to be in the midst of.

I’d been waiting two years for this. Since I signed up for the race, I had swum, biked, or ran a collective 7,096 miles. It took me 35 days, 13 hours, 6 minutes, and 52 seconds. I’d put so much work into this one particular day. With that kind of time invested in this, it shocked me how calm I felt waiting in a sea of humanity to hop in the river.

Swim

I loved the moment when I jumped off the dock into the Tennessee River. I could finally stop thinking about an Ironman because now I was doing one!

About 500 yards into the swim, I felt great. But I briefly stopped swimming at a floating platform, took a moment to tread water, look all around, and take in the moment. I was in the Tennessee River with 2000 athletes from across the world. I was healthy both physically and mentally. The weather was terrific. This day was perfect.

I know it's a race and that was technically about ~15 seconds wasted. But it was for a mental picture from this day that I'll never forget.

Four years ago, the only swimming I knew how to do was floating in the ocean, holding a beer. Now I’m in a freaking Ironman. And not only that, (thanks in large part to the current) I was having the swim of my life. When I reached the halfway point at 1.2 miles, I realized I was on pace to finish the swim in under an hour! As much as it pained me to throttle it back slightly, I knew I had 143 miles ahead of me. This wasn’t the day to go crazy so early.

When you finish the swim, you exit the water by running up a set of stairs onto a large sidewalk. I didn't realize until it was too late that my balance was off and I tripped. I fell forward, landing on the next step up, squarely on my right thumb. OUCH!

I legit thought I broke it. But rather than worry about it, I just tried to reassure myself that I don't need my thumb to bike or to run. I hadn't come this far to pull out because of something like this. If I needed a splint, I'd get it in a little over 142 miles.

In my race photos, I’m actually somehow *smiling* moments after this happened.

Transition 1

I ran up to transition, grabbed my bike gear bag, and got ready one-handed. Broken thumb or not, it was time to bike.

Bike

I zoomed out of Chattanooga a lot faster than I should have been. Throttling it back at the beginning of each discipline became a theme today. I knew it was slow, but my plan for the bike ride was to do the course in 7 hours. I'm sure I could have done the ride faster, but my first ever marathon was looming once I finished the ride.

The bike ride was generally uneventful. My time? 7:02. I paced myself just about perfectly.

Given that this took 7 hours, there’s plenty of stuff I could talk about here. But honestly, it was a generally uneventful ride. There were no mechanical issues with my bike, no nutrition issues, and I churned out the ride without any drama.

It was a gorgeous ride on a perfect day in Tennessee and Georgia, my two favorite states. What could have been better?

Transition 2

While I changed into my running gear, meanwhile down in Atlanta, the Falcons had just kicked a game winning field goal. It's silly, but I really appreciated the happy distraction. I wasn't worrying about running my first ever marathon in that moment.

Not only that, I felt like if something were to go wrong today, it would happen on the bike. There were no mechanical bike issues to worry about anymore. It’s just my two feet! Nothing is going to go wrong now!

(Spoiler alert: that wasn’t the case.)

Run

My plan for the run was to pace around a 10:30 mile. Like with the bike, that felt annoyingly slow. But the goal today was just to finish. The first ten miles went to plan. I was feeling great! I was going to be an Ironman! Only 16 miles to go! This is happening!

Shortly after my first time ascending the hills on Barton Avenue, I started feeling very dizzy. I slowed to a walk and tried to assess the situation. I’d never felt anything like this. While I felt great neck down, I was legitimately having trouble keeping my balance.

This was such an unpleasant moment. While I was able to keep walking and moving forward, the dizziness wasn't going away. I kept looking at my watch hating everything it was showing to me.

I made it halfway where my special needs bag was waiting for me. The night before, I'd written down each of the cut off times. If something was going wrong, I wanted to make sure I wasn't guessing as to what the cut offs were. I'm glad that card was in there. I was reassured that I'd done enough in the race already that even if I just kept this walking pace, I would finish within the cutoff time.

That wasn't much solace, though. The sun had set at this point, and I was walking down Amnicola Highway. There aren't many streetlights out there, and I just remember thinking how dark, sad, and lonely it felt.

Katy couldn't have had better timing. It was at that moment she happened to be driving down the highway after finishing volunteering at one of the aid stations. She saw me, started honking her horn, and yelling that she’d see me at the finish line. It really gave me a boost as I was confronting the idea of walking 13 more dizzy miles.

It's a bit embarrassing, but all this dizziness turned out to be nutritional. Among the other things in my special needs bag was a can of Pringles. As I walked, I had been scarfing down chips. The more I ate, the better I felt. Chalk this up to inexperience at this distance. It’s regrettable, but next time, I will do better.

To my pleasant surprise, I actually felt good enough to run. After walking miles 12-16, I mostly jogged the rest of the way.

It was a gorgeous evening. The weather was perfect. Finishing at a conservative jog pace ended up being a bit of a blessing. It enabled me to soak in the final miles. This was the end of a two year journey that even a global pandemic didn’t stop.

As I crossed Walnut Street Bridge for a final time, any remaining doubts were finally gone. I had less than a mile to go. I could see the lights of the finish line in the distance against the backdrop of the city and Lookout Mountain. I remember glancing up and looking at all the stars.

It really was a perfect evening.

There are so many lights focused on the finish line that it blacks out everything else around you. I could hear cheering, I could hear music, but outside of those finish line lights, everything else around me appeared pitch dark by comparison. 

Everyone who finishes is literally running out of darkness into those bright, warm lights.

I made it!

Post-Race

Susie put this note on my training schedule two weeks before race day. I’ve already alluded to the answer in this race report.

One of the reasons I have embraced triathlon is it gives me tangible evidence I’m not the Colin of the 2000s. While admittedly dealt a shit hand back then, I didn’t respond well to my situation either. During that time, the smallest thing could ruin my whole week. Resilience was a skill I lacked. Back then, I was constantly sad, angry, and overwhelmed by the world. It’s a terrible place to be mentally.

Since then, I’ve put a lot of work into becoming a different, happier, and better person. But one of my biggest fears is that somehow I’ll backslide. I’ll become *that* person again. Mental health can be a slippery slope. Once things get rolling in a bad direction, by the time you realize it, you’re often already in a terrible place.

The younger version of Colin could have never done this. He’d have panicked before jumping in the river. Or almost certainly quit the race after busting his thumb. He definitely lacked the resilience to get through being lightheaded during the run. I have proof that I’m not him anymore.

Training for an Ironman has presented me with daunting challenges. It has taken me to some dark places of serious self-doubt, sometimes on the side of the road many miles from home. But it’s also taught me resilience. I’ve seen that resilience in many different parts of my life. This race has literally made me a better person. And that resilience makes it far less likely I’ll ever be *that* person again when things get tough. That’s my why.

Outside of getting married to Katy, nothing has had a more positive impact on my life than this sport. I’m proud of the miles, but I’m just as proud of the happy, resilient person it’s helped me become.

I just hope that next time I finish when the sun is still up!