Decatriathlon

[lezan]

To dla tych, ktoryrm Ironman za malo.
GOING THE EXTRA MILE.
Monday, 15 December 2003 11:54:00 AM
I had already arranged to compete in the Olympic Distance World Championships, held in Cancun, Mexico on Saturday, 9 November.  When I discovered that the decatriathlon was being held the next day, a short flight away in Monterey, I decided to do both.  

The Cancun short course was fun as I prepared mentally for the task ahead.  The challenge began when my flight to Monterey departed while I was still in line at the airport. After an unappreciated side-trip to Mexico City, I arrived in Monterey the morning of the race.  I made it to the swim start, and after the standard medical examination, hemocrite test and explanation of race formalities, I was ready with a few minutes to spare.
 
I was sharing lane four with Swiss competitor Beat Knechtle, who was aiming to break his own Guinness Book World Record of 28 Ironmans in a year.  On his section of pool deck was a line-up of water-based drinks, salt-replacement drinks, milk products and foods ranging from fruit to full meals.  Behind this was a medical kit worthy of a paramedic.  Beat was submitting to medical and body assessments by his support crew.

Gina, my girlfriend, was my sole support for the entire event.  She laughed shakily as she placed my three bananas (purchased at the airport that morning), and powerade bottle next to Beat?s supplies.  ?Is there anything else I could get you?? she asked.  I was now officially concerned.

Bang! The gun went off and I was hammering. Swimming the first 3.8km in 62 mins, I knew I was going too fast. At 10km I was beginning to understand ultra rhythms, and swimming nicely.  By 20km I was going great, I knew I had it.  Then all hell broke loose.

The physics was simple, but I had no idea.  Eighteen people were swimming 38km in a 50-metre pool.  I wasn?t getting out to pee, and neither was anyone else.  The high levels of urine mixed with the chlorine to form a nasal burning reaction, as bad as my worst hayfever fit.  I was the first to start sneezing. My defence strategy was to stop every 500 metres for a 15-second refreshment break.   From here, an aggravating rhythm emerged. Five seconds into my break, I?d start sneezing, lose my mouthful of banana, then sneeze for 75 metres of the next 500m set.  As each sneeze is preceded by a quick inhale, you can imagine the frustration of trying to swim and sneeze at the same time.

In a time of 13 hours 22 minutes, I was second out of the water behind Frenchman Didier Woloszyn.  I was already shattered, facing the 1800km ride. I lay down for thirty minutes at the bike transition, hoping the sneezing would ease.  Beginning the bike leg-pedal, sneeze, pedal, sneeze for three laps- I pondered my situation.  I wasn?t fit enough to challenge these leaders, I just wanted to finish.  I had fourteen days-a few hours rest to ease my symptoms wouldn?t hurt. Three hours later I emerged from my tent- now in eighth spot.  On my bike, pedal, sneeze, pedal, pedal, sneeze.  I couldn?t afford to stop any more.  Then halfway around my first lap, the gases in my stomach had built up.  I looked behind, no-one on my tail - I let her rip.  Oops, I got a little more than I bargained for.

I wasn?t happy as I rode out of my saddle to the next toilet facility.  My sunnies broke as I ripped off my helmet (I?m getting angrier).  In the toilet, the eruption was like Krakatoa; surely ships were tugging at their ropes on the other side of the world.  I was semi-relieved until I realised there was no toilet paper.  I could only shake my head - what else could possibly go wrong?

?What else? went wrong for the next 7 days. The sneezing persisted for the first day.  The diarrhoea lasted five more days, a throat infection came on day two and lasted a day (at least the other competitors also suffered this, from the pool). Stomach cramps arrived as the diarrhoea left - this was the worst.  The cramps were joined by constipation that lasted to day seven.  My strongest discipline, the bike, had been cursed by a string of illnesses.  

On day eight, I felt pretty good and started moving nicely - finally.  I was down to thirteenth spot, and the main contenders were well into the run leg. After 7pm on day eight I finished the ride.  The next competitor was fourteen hours ahead, the rest 24 hours and beyond.  But I could see that all but the three leaders had been reduced to a weak walk. I could still do this, and do it well.

After a few walking laps to warm up, I began running.  I was doing two laps to their one, I was flying - well, sort off.  Two hours later, I thought it wise to ease off and walk, then prepare for multiple of run-walk intervals.  
But when I tried to run again, I couldn?t.  The ligaments in my knees felt really weak, there was some swelling and pain. I did the sums, walking.  I could still finish, it was still achievable.

After 80km I checked my feet and ? ?psssstt!? Jets of pus shot through the air and over my shoulder.  I stared at the two smaller toes on each foot.  Blisters had blown up to the point where each toe was entirely encased.  Floating on top of each blister was the toenail, base and all.  I swivelled it around on its belly of pus. Would a toenail grow back if it were completely ripped off, including the base from which it grew? Go on, I thought, take a stand, rip of the nail base and all, cast it into extinction... But the medic pricked the blisters and wrapped my toes in cotton wool. I was ready to run?.sorry, walk again.

After 48 hours I was hurting but still on track. I didn?t have nine pairs of shoes like the other competitors but adapted by cutting away the entire top portion of my only runners.  This helped for a while.  Then my foot padding ceased to function.  I felt I was walking on pure bone.  The periods of walking grew shorter: three laps required ten minutes rest.  I did the stats, calculating that I needed to walk about 22 hours per 24, to finish within the timeframe.

Reality hit like morphine after 72 hours.  It was night, I was sleep-deprived, my feet were unbearable. I took an hour to sleep.  I didn?t realise it as it was happening, but the event was crushing me, the cut-off time was approaching faster than the finish line.  The decision to have another couple of hours? sleep was a breaking point in disguise - I reasoned that the extra sleep would help me recover.  When Gina woke me, I sat up, defeat seeping through my system. Gina cried a little, she could see what was happening. The event had beaten me.

It wasn?t until that moment that I realised I would get an official DNF (did not finish).  I put my mind to fighting this and still I was beaten. Gina was upset.  But I knew I had given it all that I could. I didn?t withdraw but limped on to the fourteen-day mark, with just 240km of the run completed.  Eleven starters made the official cut-off.  

The race was won by French-Canadian Emanuelle Conraux, who was seven hours behind me out of the water, but finished the bike leg five days later in second place, and went on to win by thirteen hours.  He was already finished when a group of us were photographed walking down the straight, hundreds of kilometres to go.  A spectator commented that we looked like the walking dead.  All eighteen competitors, including my DNF associates, go into my memory as examples of strength.  I am honoured to be associated with these athletes.  

Perhaps I was crazy to bite off more than I could chew - but going the extra mile can be a very rewarding experience. Another deca will be held at Virginia Beach, USA in 2004.  If I enter, I will conquer it.  I?ll have a dozen pairs of shoes, and limit myself to twelve hours? sleep.  I won?t be one of the walking dead. I will be confident, I will be experienced, and I will chew like hell.  And when my toenails start to float, I will rip them off and cast them into extinction.  Will I see you there?

John Reidy.

[PAwel]

lezan, przeczxytałem relację uważnie i uważam, że to już graniczy z wartiactwem, albo z adventure race

[Adam Klein]

To graniczy z takim samym waiarctwem jak zwyczajny Ironman - dlaczego niby "Twój " Ironman nie graniczy z wariactwem?

[PAwel]

bo w Ironmanie "normalnym" jestem tak dobry jak moja wytrzymałość "fizjologiczna" i przygotowanie "sportowe". Utrzymujesz tętno na poziomie lekko poniżej zakwaszenia i walczysz o każdą sekundę.

W zawodach typu 10x Ironman masz inne, wg. mnie mniej "sportowe" ograniczenia - odłażąca skóra z nóg, niewyspanie, otarcia uniemożliwiające ruch, a wysiłek jest już na poziomie "niewyczynowym" - walka z innymi niż czysto wytrzymałościowe ograniczeniami. Ja wolę sport w "czystym wydaniu", tj. takim, w którym liczy się twój LT, siła mięśni itp, a nie odporność na ból od odcisków.

[KIWI]

a więc wracamy do tematu czy adventure racing to jest sport czy nie , moim zdaniem oczywiście że nie.........

[krzycho]

bo napiszę Wam coś niemiłego, sprinterzy jedni...

[PAwel]

Krzycho, bo to taki "sport inaczej". Nie powinieneś się obrażać, w końcu wszyscy poprawni politycznie mamy tolerancję dla "kochających inaczej", "trenujących inaczej", "rywalizujących inaczej" itp.

A swoją drogą to jak buduje się "wytrzymałość na odciski", bo o budowie "wytrzymałości ogólnej" i "podnoszeniu progu mleczanowego" gdzieś już czytałem, a o odciskach literatura milczy.

No, ale miłośnicy sportów outdoorowych, nie bieżcie tego, co piszę zbyt poważnie. W końcu piszę tak czasem krytycznie, bo żanych sukcesów w Salomonach nie odnosiłem.

[krzycho]