Still floating, I turned to look behind me. The sun was full now. I had seeded myself right on the inside buoy line, but well back. Like-minded cautious swimmers surrounded me,  as we all kept drifting backwards, trying to be the last ones in the line. I didn 't care that I was 20 yards behind the line, I just didn t want to be swum over at the start.

I turned towards shore and thousands of little heads had gathered on the terrace. Behind them stood the capital, taking it all in. It would take most of us the sum of the day to get back there, and some would not make it. But at that moment in the calm lake Monona water, most people had high hopes for the day.

With the wax in my ears, I couldn’t hear much of anything. It was dreamlike. I caught the very last bar of the anthem, around the "home of the brave" crescendo, and soon the cannon went off.

It was chaos and I chuckle when I read other competitors race reports about this. I don ‘t know where they started but my area was complete white water. There was absolutely no room and people we’re colliding like bumper cars. I kept on breaching hoping to see an opening but there was nothing but arms and legs ahead. I just tried to stay calm through it, and eventually the bottleneck loosened. We were at the turnaround much quicker than I expected. I believe the far buoys had some spacing issues as it felt more like a trapezoid than a rectangle. This caused some swimmers to go too far in, and many skipped the buoy altogether. Coming back down, I was again on the inside but traffic was not as bad. There were a couple of guys who kept popping up in my line, bumping me as they zigzagged around. After several run ins, I felt like punching them, but I probably did the same thing to others. The first lap ended and I caught 38 minutes on my watch. Not bad. I was going to be close to my target time.

The second loop was a little better as far as contact was concerned. I was tiring towards the end but it wasn’t anything major. I got out at 1:24, smiled, and looked for the strippers. I wear a desoto 2-piece suit so I would have to help them. I saw many other people with my suit, so I didn t anticipate problems. But by luck, my assistant was confused and when she hesitated, I had to tell her what I needed. We were both laughing through it, and soon I was free.

I hit the onramp and tried to take it easy. It’s hard to do. Like another racer remarked, " if everyone is just trying to finish, why are they all running up the 5 story helix."

My transition was slowish but effective and I ran shoeless to my ride. It was on the far end of the transition area, but that would save me time in T2. I got to my bike rack and there were just a few bikes left. At that point, I had no way of knowing over 1500 people had led me out of the water. But that's not too surprising. That’s how every race is for me.

I mounted and clipped in. My crew was right there with the cameras, shouting wildly. I was wondering when I’d finally see them. I smiled  and it was down the helix.

Lots of people advise you to take the first 90 minutes of the bike easily. Where I was seeded, in the back quarter of the field, you are forced to do so anyway. There are so many bikes ahead of you that you can’t pass them all. People are forced to draft because of the density and it never clears out until you get to Verona. I didn t care, I was finally out the swim and faster times were ahead. Some people didn ‘t get the message. We hit the first hill on Syene and they’re cranking it up, working very hard. I can only imagine how the rest of their day went. Along the way I passed another CTC member. She had been on one of the group rides as well. Cycling was not her best discipline, but she was steady. I later saw her looking smooth and strong on the run.

Heading into Verona, you could already feel the winds from the south/south west. They were predicting 15-mph winds with gusts above 20. Add that to 92 degrees and the humidity and you’re looking at a tough day.

I had done a few rides in similar conditions. With this course, I knew that the toughest parts would be the head/crosswinds on G, 92, P, and Timber lane.

Witte and Garfoot would get the tail wind, as would the return loop to Madison. While the hills reduce the effect somewhat, these sections would be really fast.

I rode in control and tried not to do anything different than normal. There were lots of near accidents, and some real ones, particularly near the aid stations. It was such a shame to see someone’s race end while grabbing a bottle of Gatorade.

There were also lots of flats right in the beginning of the race. Had these people pumped their tires so high the day of the race, or was it just bad luck?

A bit later, the Chicago tri club run aid station appeared in Cross plains. It was decked out in Christmas gear, trees and all. Pretty original. I was well stocked so I did not stop, but I did recognize one guy I’d rode with one day in Buffalo Grove. He would later be on the run course, camera in hand. I m indebted to him as he caught a big moment in my race with his lens.

The first hill comes near Mt. Horeb and it felt fine. I didn t even use as small a gear as I could have. I zipped through the fun mid-section and closed in on the 3 sisters. By this time, my nutrition plan was well rehearsed. I took a gel 5 minutes before the hill at Mt. Horeb, another one or two shortly before Old Sauk, and one just before the climb on Midtown. It took me some experimentation to get this formula right but it made sense. Sure you can use time to set your feeding schedule, but I tried to factor in the course variables as well. As far as salt, I took Succeed caps every hour without fail. A tic tac container worked best for me.

Going up Old Sauk pass that day was so different than the first dismal time back in October. It was a huge party with people parked on the sides, grilling brats and swilling old mil. I heard about the running devil but I was not prepared for the thong and Speedo posse. I was smiling the whole time. I never concentrated on the grade which was by now so familiar. I was whooping it up with the crowd and counting the cyclists as I passed them. About 25 each on the 3 back hills. Going up the middle one, the crowds were really close. Only one or two bikes could pass through at a time. I was nearing the big yellow mailbox, my old terrain feature that usually marked the top of the heart rate spectrum, and I breezed right by. I stuck my left hand out and I was high-fiveing people to the top. What a hot dog. I probably deserved to crash or to blow up somewhere but I was really feeling good.

Verona soon came in to view and you could see the mass of spectators coming down the hill. Somewhere in there were my Mom and Jen. I never saw them, but I did hear them as they swear I turned when they yelled my name. I was relieved that they managed to figure out the shuttle system, and they were experiencing the atmosphere outside of Madison. The best place to watch is of course back on the hills, in the countryside, but it was too much to ask of them to find those spots.

The course had changed a bit in the last couple of weeks and there was a short stretch that I had not ridden before. It was mostly highway, but it was on that stretch you began to feel the wind pick up. I stopped to get my special needs bag and I was assisted by a very, very young boy. He was so pumped up to be doing his part in this big production. All race long, it was the same thing. The volunteers and spectators at Moo are fantastic, and I tried to show my gratitude often during that long day.

The second loop begins and the pace slowed considerably. G and 92 were practically bumper to bumper. The heat was taking its toll. The wind was right in your face and then blowing you sideways. And those who went out too hard where really suffering. I was effected too but I was not struggling. I was moving up in the field and I was only going 16 mph. It was just before the last roller, near the mount horeb hill, that something finally went wrong.

I was just preparing to gear down up the ascent when a bike suddenly passes me on the right. This illegal and dangerous move startled me and I guess I did something wrong in the process. The chain dropped off immediately. I was pissed and hardly in control of my emotions. I cursed the guy out loud (I remember his name but what’s the sense in outing him?) before attempting the repair. The chain was really gnarled in between the derailleur pretty good. This had happened to me in the past but I struggled to get it back on. Bikers passed me by the dozen. All that work spent passing other cyclists, gone in seconds. I finally concentrated and got it back on. I had to go back down the hill to clip in and I was on my way again. Whatever fix I did make was not perfect however, as I would find out later (Since repaired, the guys at the shop said it was a bent chain ring.)

The rest of the second loop was not as eventful. My permanent smile was not there anymore. Those back miles seemed so much quieter than the first time around. No more slapping hands climbing the 3 sisters. But it was the last time I was going to see them, possibly ever. It was a bit sad in a way. They were no longer these tormenting demons, they had grown into old friends.

Through Verona again, and it was time to head home. Almost 100 miles done and the marathon awaited. The most recent issue of Triathlete magazine happened to have an article on IM nutrition. It argued, contrary to common doctrine, to cease food intake 30 minutes before the end of the bike. That way, the chance of stomach disruption would be decreased early in the run. I tried it, and I took my last gel right before the last big hill on Whalen---the one with the cruel reminder scratched mid-way up the tough grade, " Now run."

Soon after that, my chain fell off again. This time, I was only switching from the small to the big ring. I fixed it much quicker this time but it was disappointing.

Then it happened again the next time I switched. Holy crap. I m under 5 miles from Madison and my transmission is falling apart.

I lost well over 10 minutes on chain repair that afternoon. But it’s silly to worry about those things you can’t control. For all I know, I missed an accident that took out another rider. And perhaps that little bit of rest helped me hours later. I spent zero seconds in a port a potty during the race, so the slate is pretty even as far as I’m concerned.

After the third time, I was not going to take any more chances. I was in the big ring for good, and just so I didn’t forget how bad it was, the chain was clicking loudly through the derailleur. I was still passing people and hearing the commotion, they’d look at me with these confused expressions.

But like most of the day, I was fortunate. We had a nice tail wind behind us and no more serious hills ahead. The big ring would be fine. The only time I would have ever needed it was going up the helix that last time.

Into the warzone that was T2. Getting off that bike, I had no legs. It did not feel like those training rides. Free of the wind, one’s body heat skyrocketed. I sat down with my bag and tried to remember my routine. I wrapped my towel around me and changed into running shorts. I guess I m one of those people who would rather be comfortable (by that I mean I would not feel comfortable wearing it) than save a few minutes wearing a tri-suit. I used 2 different shirts, shorts, and socks in my race and I have no regrets. If I ever get more serious about my swim and bike and a Kona shot is within reach, then I ‘d probably reconsider.

There was a guy who came in right behind me. We both took positions next to a wall. On the interior, there were lots of guys just sitting there. They had their sneakers on and were staring blankly.The exteme heat and wind on the bike had totally sucked the life out of them and they were struggling to get up. That was totally unexpected. Over 200 people missed the bike cutoff that day, an apparent record in IM history.

 This guy also planned to change into shorts, but he forgot to pack a towel. I looked up and he was completely naked with this "whatever" look about him, like he was at home in his bedroom. It was pretty funny. I threw him my towel, wished him luck, and took off.

My legs felt a lot better than that post ride paralysis period. I immediately started focusing on my cues: short quick stride, slight forward lean, lift with the ankles, fore foot strike, loose legs and shoulders, head straight and calm, elbows starting the motion that the "wheels" of my legs would finish. It was ingrained by that time.

I ‘d seen Dave Harju, Heather Gollnick, and Chris Lieto come down that capital path towards State Street many times on Tivo. Now it was my turn, finally. I saw my mom and jen right at the top. Another friend from work, amber, had come up to Madison with a friend. Thumbs up all around. I was feeling pretty solid but I knew not take these first miles too quick. Another recent course change brought a nice surprise. We rounded Bedford and my old sublet was now just down the street. My even older undergrad house was just yards the other way. I had been on that corner hundreds of times in my life.

We made the turn from Regent Street towards the Hospital overpass, and that’s when I saw my first walkers. The onramp for this thing was well, your basic pedestrian onramp. All athletes in the race would not have thought twice about it on training run. But playtime was over, and less than 2 miles into the marathon, people were succumbing. And I was right there with them. It is the strangest impulse to describe.

You don ‘t plan on it, you just all of a sudden feel like stopping. Like your body is shutting down.  But I resisted the impulse, and went to my sideways stride for the first time. Like a crutch, it got me over the hump and soon I was on to the stadium.

The Camp Randall sections were really, really cool. I had watched countless games over the years and the stadium had been recently renovated. Plus, the architect of the resurgent football program, Barry Alvarez, had just announced he was stepping down as head coach. The place was filled with memories, most of them good, and there was this sense that an era was coming to an end.

But my journey was just beginning. I was running steadily, certainly slow enough to talk, but it wasn’t particularly strong. I was taking full advantage of those aid stations. The weather was cooler in town than it was on the bike, but it still felt like a blast furnace.

I had decided to wear a pretty unconventional lid for the race. It was a sort of long browed fisherman’s hat with a NY Yankees symbol on it. This was pre-meditated and I tried it many times on training runs. I wanted maximum protection from the sunlight, a large vessel in which to dump ice and water, a way for my crew to spot me in the sea of white visors, and of course, to represent the city I love. The fact that it was 9/11 had nothing to do with it. Those wounds had healed long ago. What I did not expect was the incredible response from the crowd. IM races are good because you’ve got your name on your number. I’d never put any signage on in any marathon I had done. But for every "go mark" there were 5 " yeah Yankees", " nice job New York", "looking good except for that Yankees hat", or "way to run NY." Some guy even ran beside me and updated me on the game—the big unit was edging Wakefield through 7.

The big hills on observatory drive came and I was ready. I’d sidestepped them plenty of times, often scheduling the runs in the heat of the afternoon. I had suffered through them in these exact same conditions all summer. It was definitely harder this time, but I was up and over a lot quicker than most. Library mall was next and the first State Street turnaround at mile 6. But those hills had more of an effect than I anticipated. As I approached my crew, I was not feeling too hot. Mom’s handle held work captured the encounter. They were all excited to see me, but I was obviously a little out of it. A cramp was building ,there was clearly doubt in my mind, and my expression showed it.

Amazing. All those hours of training, and those reminders of strong runs, and the inspirational words and music, and the thought of the people pulling for me, it meant nothing right then. I had 20 miles to go and I was just not up to it. Perhaps sensing that, they pushed me from the conversation we’ d started, and told me to stay strong. They demanded I get going and I simply obeyed.

I ‘ve always enjoyed a good race report, and I ‘m particularly interested how the pros reflect on their performances. Lisa Bentley’s accounts always struck a chord with me for their candidness and grace. She would always talk about how she raced better when she was happy. That’s probably true for most people, but she actually worked at it, and was very conscious about training her mind to think positively. That advice had an impact on me, and as everyone is aware who goes through these things can attest, it’s mind over matter sooner or later. Interestingly, Lisa’s races were typically won on the run, as she would often be chasing the faster swimmers for most of the day.

The way out towards picnic point is shaded and the ground is soft clay for most of it. It was a nice respite. I continued to hit the aid stations hard. I can remember watching pros Desiree Ficker and Andrea Fisher completely melt down in the marathon. They were grabbing sponges, ice, pretzels, bananas, Gatorade, coke, and whatever else the volunteers were offering. When things get tough, you are just looking for anything to get you through. And I did the same thing. I was still on the salt pills but I decided to take in some chicken broth. It was as good as others claimed it to be. How, when it’s 90 degrees, is boiling chicken soup, dispensed out of a beach pail by a 10 year old no less, a good thing for me? I guess it ‘s that salty taste after thousands of sweet calories that hits the spot. Or maybe chicken soup is just good for the soul.

I hit the turnaround and it felt good to reverse the flow. I was still not feeling myself but without any warning, my breakthrough came! It happened just after the hospital on Park Street. Just like my ½ IM races, my legs appeared around mile 10. It was an exhilarating development but it wasn’t like I could just start clocking 7-minute miles all of a sudden. That’s one of the things I learned that day. Most people are not out of breath. Your velocity is not inhibited by aerobics, but things like muscle cramps which you can feel if you push too hard, or side stitches, or knee pain, or a numb toe. Every time you try to push it, your body does something to protect itself from further harm. 

 In any case, my pace felt a lot better than before. The crowd was thick near the capital and it was thrilling to hear them. I checked my watch at the mid way point and I was just over 2 hours. Other than the finish line, that was the only time check I took on the run. That split was more than acceptable to me and I knew it was going to get better. I saw my people again just after and I was in much better shape than the last meeting. I was now fighting for my position instead of reacting defensively to the day’s obstacles.

My pitstop was much quicker this time, maybe a few seconds. I felt a little bad for not staying longer. These people had made sacrifices, Jen most of all, to support my race. My co-worker Amber, who shot some of the pictures on this site, was days removed from her 6^th chemo treatment. A strong willed 30 year old who had suddenly found herself battling Cancer had driven 140 miles to watch me compete. I was not going to let anyone down.

The stadium came again and I thought how easy it would be to skip it. Virtually no one was there, except some young girl pointing to the right. She wouldn’t have said anything. It’s strange how the basic instinct of survival just takes over. I kept on and went from feeling great to ok then to great again.

The observatory hills were just ahead. Due to construction, the course was diverted to an approach from the lakeshore path. There was a long incline even before you hit the 2 big hills. There was an aid station at the entrance, it was about mile 18, and I was feeling the grind. I was fixing to walk all 3 hills. After stopping for more Gatorade, I could see a lot of other people thinking the same thing. But as I had after every stop, I started again once through the aid station. This time, my Chi running style probably looked more like a guy stumbling home from a keg party. Someone on the hill saw me, and shouted," Go Chi running!" Another guy ran up to me and said something like, "way to use the positive gravity of the hill to your advantage." Probably a physics major. I got over the third hill and I felt like Rocky. I was battling hard now. At the mile 19 turnaround, I saw my crew for the last time on the course. I was now in stride and feeling good. I did not stop at all but I told them to get the beer ready, daddy was bringing it home.

Heading back out of town for the last time, you could see the sun setting over Bascom hill. I had dropped my hat and sunglasses on the ground near my Mom. It was after 6 PM and only 10K lay between me and the finish line. When I was deciding on equipment, I eliminated my trusty fuel belt. It had helped me get through the winter, but I discovered it gave me stomach trouble on bricks. The added pressure of the belt around my waist thrice led to sudden attacks, and un-anticipated trips to the bathroom. The high school kids bagging groceries at Miller and sons in Verona were well aware of my duck walks to the bathroom.

Now I had nothing to hold me back or to protect me. I felt free and natural. The lakefront path was filled with walkers, many of them happily chatting. Some were not nearly as cheerful. It could so easily have been me in their shoes, suffering through a tough day. I had been there in training, in NY in 2001, and on several occasions that past summer.

But not today. I was actually picking up speed. Following the turnaround on State, I was really hitting my stride and I was passing people every few yards. I don’t know what my pace was but it felt quick and it was not too fast to blow up. Relying on perceived exertion rather than a heart rate monitor, I would say it was definitely conversation pace. And what was that little voice saying?—... in Madison, me, I am in Madison, in the Ironman, in the back half of the marathon. Really? Yes. And?

....And I ‘m smashing it.

Obviously,  even though my breathing was steady, I was clearly starting to lose it a little bit upstairs. It had been a long day, and the heat and exhaustion was finally taking its toll.

I rounded a corner on the lakefront path and I could see the final turnaround in the distance. From there, it was just over 4 miles to the capital. Nearby was the Nielson tennis center. I had taken tennis and squash there as elective credits as a freshman. It took me half a semester to realize the credits didn't count towards my degree! Over a decade later, the memory made me laugh... quite hard actually.

As funny as it was, it was indicative of my gradual drift from the here and now. This was probably the only thing I'd never experienced in training, nor was it covered much in the books I 'd read. How does one train for the loss of mental acuity? How does one simulate the feelings of delirium?  Even now, it is hard to remember exactly what happened to me out there. I can recall feeling conflicted. My concentration was simultaneously focused and absent. I’d be thinking about nothing at all then an image would pop into my mind. Light would pour in and then it would disappear.

After being in control for most of the day, my emotions were really all over the place, and I struggled to make sense of what I was experiencing.  I felt compassion for those who were crying on the side of the road or being dragged away on a stretcher. A second later, inexplicably, I would be consumed by a feeling I can only describe as fury. It was real survival stuff coming out now. As I was running down the people in front of me, I felt like I was leading a wolf pack, probing for weakness in the herd. In a way, I was feeding off of their energy. I really had nothing to fear. No one was coming from behind.

But perhaps my travel from reality explains what happened next. It was as if I had gone from one world to the next. With just under 5k to go, I entered that rarest of rare states. I ‘ve been a runner for 8 years and it has only happened a handful of times. I was moving without moving, a third party to my locomotion. I was slicing through a world that was standing still and everything was in balance. Picture John Lennon’s Imagine slowly building. People had their eyes closed, bravely gutting it out, with only their will carrying them. Everyone is dripping with sweat and hope. The sun was a soft twilight and the shadows danced through the leaves as we ran by.

It was intensely beautiful. I had tears in my eyes. I had reached the zone, I was as high as a runner could be, I could see the Matrix.

I was totally unconcerned with mileage or time those last miles. I began to sense the end. My un-even emotions had given way to a feeling of peaceful finality. I had been on this journey for a year, and in some ways, much longer, and it was almost over.

I skipped the last aid station near my old sublet. It was the only one I missed all day. Looking back now, it felt faster than the 9+ min/miles I averaged, and it was. I spent at least a minute fueling up mentally and physically in those 25 aid stations that day. That strategy might not have worked on most days, but the 2005 race was run in brutal conditions. It turned into a death march for hundreds of people, and even for an IM event, the suffering was extreme. Staying on top of your hyrdation could mean the difference between finishing or ending up in the medical tent.

I rounded Dayton and was soon on State Street. I had run this leg many times that summer. It was mostly uphill for the last ½ mile before the chute on MLK. Lots of runners were starting their second leg. Somehow, I was all alone coming down the final stretch, at least a minute separated from athletes in front and in back of me.

It was getting dark at the finish line. I probably beat the sunset by 20 minutes. I rounded MLK and there was this explosion of noise. The stands were lined with people and I could now see the finish tent and time clock just ahead. I never heard the music or the announcer. I’ve gone back since to see my video finish and I cannot help laughing about how silly I looked. But there was passion and pride there too, a genuine expression that screamed, " That ‘s right, I did it, I finally did it."