Florida IM: The Journey

It started over three years ago. I’d been toying with the idea of doing something special to celebrate turning 50. I felt that it was a big number and should be commemorated with something equally big. At the time I had done quite a few marathons and a few 50 milers and I was preparing to do my first Boston marathon with my daughter Amanda. What to do, what to do? Something big, no doubt, but what?

A few friends had started the triathlon thing and had signed up for their first. A bug in the ear and challenge from a friend and a decision was made. Even though, I had no bike, didn’t swim and hadn’t done even a Try-a-Tri, I made the bold statement that I’d do an Ironman for my 50th birthday. Some of you may even remember an article I wrote about it (How It All Begins).

Well, I got in, did time in the pool, bought a decent bike and started doing the shorter distance tri’s to get my feet wet, trying to figure out just what I had gotten myself into. The first few races were a challenge. I was a decent runner, usually finishing in the 10 to 15 percentile overall in most races. It was a bit of a shock to end up in the 60% range. After I let it sink in a bit, I realized that I didn’t just have a lot of work to do on the swim and bike but I also had a lot of opportunity to improve. My running had plateaued out with only the odd PB and only by a couple seconds, so I had new horizons to chase. Woot! I can start setting new PBs if I can get my act together.

In 2006, the Sunday after the Florida Ironman race, I camped the website at 11:00 AM to ensure that I got a spot for the race in 2007. After twenty minutes of panic and repeatedly hitting F5 on my computer keyboard to refresh the screen, I finally get a full page of text. Ten minutes later, and a $500 US charge to my credit card, I get my spot. That was the easy part. The hard part now begins, the year of training. The real count down starts here.

The training finally starts coming together in the last half of the season. I started finishing in the top fifteen in my age group, then ten, then eighth, then sixth for my best showing at a half IM distance race in Montreal (4:58:04). Both Montreal and the Panama City Beach course are flat and fast, so Montreal was a set up and a last test of my training in preparation for the goal race in Florida.

All during this year, I had help from lots of other Ironmen and triathletes. They answered my million dumb questions and calmed my worries. Training rides, swims and runs are all made easier by the company of fellow athletes. All of that wouldn’t have gotten me to the starting line with out the support of my wife Rosie. She gave me the space to train and the time to do it.

In the end, the race is but a celebration of your training. And boy did I celebrate.

I had planned to treat the first two events just like I would a training exercise, an easy paced swim (1:10-1:15) and a steady paced 6:00 bike (32kph). I planned on running steady on the first half of the run and hammering the last lap, leaving it all on the course.

I hit the swim on the nose, 1:11, grabbing a perfect pod of swimmers and just coasting through my swim. I come out of the water feeling refreshed.

The bike is my weak event, so I was worried about going out too hard. I felt great and held a steady effort level until around 70 miles where I had a bad patch. It lasts for 10 miles, and I finally gave in and took a couple ibruprophin. It was a bad move, as it will turn out, but it helps put me back on my game by mile 90. A tail wind whips off the ocean for the last three miles. I took advantage of this gift and cranked out a couple 45 kph kilometres. Finish time for the bike leg, 5:48.

The run? Well, the run didn’t turn out the way I’d planned, but that happens. Race day gives you what it gives you. Sometimes the race gods smile on you and you feel invincible. Sometimes, it will break you if you let it, it will crush your spirit. However, if you can use it, it can steel your will and make you stronger person at the end of that path of fire.

The race gods smiled on the first two events, but what they give, they also can take away. The ibruprophin that I took on the bike shut down my gut, causing nausea and cramping around the four mile mark. My plan of running a sub four hour marathon wasn’t going to happen, so I ran when I could and walked when I couldn’t. My race wasn’t over, it had just changed from a test of legs and lungs to a test of determination and character. It’s “get’er done” time, not time to quit. So, I did what had to be done, I put one foot in front of the other, one at a time.

Two laps on the course and I ran the last mile from the dark of unlit neighbourhood streets and into the blinding lights of the finish area.

In the finish chute, I slow down and let two runners ahead of me complete their Ironman dreams with a run through a banner and a perfect photo before I took my turn. I welled up with emotion when the announcer said, “First time participant, MARK COLLIS, you are NOW an IRONMAN”. I almost lose it again when a young man of about 17 puts the finishers medal over my head.

It’s all over now, but the memory and the challenge of the race still remains. The official time on the clock was 12:00:20, but in my heart I knew it was closer to 3 years, 12 hours and 20 seconds.
 

By Mark G. Collis

Revised: January 20, 2008.