Ironman: A fight to the finish in Coeur D’Alene, Idaho

USA TODAY circulation general manager John Brooks, 42, has dreamed for years of competing in the Ironman World Championships in Hawaii. This is his story as he reached for his goal in a qualifying event in June.

By John Brooks, USA TODAY

http://www.usatoday.com/life/lifestyle/2004-07-19-ironman_x.htm

It’s almost 7 a.m. on Sunday, and I stand nervously on the shore of the lake with 1,800 other triathletes. My wetsuit insulates me from the cool morning air; my goggles fog over, making it difficult to see. My hands are shaking as I anticipate the mad dash into the water.

We are all waiting for the start of a race to qualify for the 26th Ironman Triathlon World Championships later this year.

The Ironman is the ultimate endurance challenge for those who want to test their limits physically, mentally and spiritually. It’s a 140.6-mile race on Hawaii’s Big Island, starting with a 2.4-mile swim in Kailua Bay and 112 miles of biking through lava fields, followed by 26.2 miles of running.

Ironman began in Hawaii in 1978 with Navy Cmdr. John Collins, his wife, Judy, and their friends debating which athletes are most fit: swimmers, runners or bikers. They put the three together and created this multisport event. Only 15 athletes entered the first competition, not even knowing whether completing the race was humanly possible. Twelve finished.

Today, it takes more than motivation, strength and stamina to get to the starting line in Kona. You have to qualify. Fifty thousand athletes around the world compete in 26 races for about 1,700 entry slots. Only 3% of the world’s top endurance athletes will qualify.

In addition, a lottery selects 200 "mortal" participants out of about 4,000 who toss their names into the pool. The 200 don’t have to qualify, but they do have to complete at least half an Ironman distance race before the event in October.

Here at my qualifying race in Coeur d’Alene, we are competing in age and gender groups. I estimate I need to finish in less than 10 hours, 30 minutes to qualify for the World Championships.

The average racer completed the race in 13 hours last year.

My plan is to finish the 2.4-mile swim in 65 minutes, the 112-mile bike race in less than 5.5 hours and the marathon in less than 4 hours. Those times and some luck might get me to Hawaii. My preparation has included more than 330 hours of endurance and strength training since the beginning of the year, a triathlon coach, swim training with a masters swim coach and several shorter races (my best finish was third place in my age group, 15th overall).

For me, the biggest obstacle to Ironman isn’t the physical preparation, but balancing the training with my lifestyle. Ironman training is like a part-time job. I train almost 18 hours a week, which is considered at the low end of commitment. Add a demanding career and a family with three young and wild boys — I am overwhelmed just thinking about it.

My wife, Maureen, was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis about four years ago. Shortly after, I was on a business trip in Hawaii and saw a man struggling to push his wife through the sand in a wheelchair so she could be close to the ocean. That was the moment when I realized I had better do more to stay healthy to support my family, and the obsession began.

The attraction built quickly, and I found myself in nine or 10 races in the first year. Training became my release from life’s pressures and supported my dream of competing in an Ironman.

My fellow dreamers are all shapes, sizes and ages. Everyone has a story or personal motivation. The common thread among us is that we want to be better; we want to see how good we can be.

My family generally supports my Ironman lifestyle, and the kids think it’s "normal." Maureen questions the expense. Race fees range from $100 to $400. Combined with airfare, hotel and rental car, a race can cost $2,000.

The big family discussion came when I told her I needed a $2,500 race bike to be competitive. She surprised me when she bought me the bike for my 40th birthday. She has concerns about my safety, and my doctor warned he’d be asking me to slow down at some point.

Good luck, Doc.

I arrive for the race in Coeur d’Alene after a two-week business trip and am not very rested. I warm up with a run and swim about 5 a.m., two hours before the race. Adrenaline coursing through my body causes me to shake uncontrollably. At 7 a.m. 1,800 athletes line up on a narrow beach for a mass start, all running into the water at the same time. It’s my first time starting this way and it adds to my anxiety.

We’re off! Within seconds, I’m being kicked and pounded in a frothy sea of 4,000 legs and arms. After 25 minutes, it’s still too crowded to pass, so I settle into my stroke to conserve energy.

Swimming is the easiest part of the race for me. It’s the first segment, so I’m fresh, and heat is not a factor. I leave the water in 75 minutes, just 10 minutes off plan. Hawaii is within reach! As I head to the next leg, peeling off my wetsuit in transit, I estimate I’ll need to average a little more than 20 mph on the bike to meet my goal.

Nutrition becomes a key element for the day. I’ll burn around 10,000 calories, and my body cannot sustain the effort without nourishment. This is one place where the popular low-carb diet definitely will not work. The plan is to take in as many carbohydrates as possible, about 200 to 400 an hour, without upsetting my stomach (or worse). All of my calories will come in a semi-liquid form, including gels.

At the mile-50 bike mark, I am right on pace, but I get a flat tire. So much for luck on my side. Seemingly hundreds of athletes pass as I rush to make the repair and return to the course. Finally, 112 miles are completed. I exceeded my speed goal, but the flat tire reduced my average to 18.5 mph and has me 40 minutes behind schedule. Kona is slipping from my grasp.

Seven-and-a-half hours into the race, I start the marathon. It’s going to take the run of my life to regain the lost time. My legs feel great to be off the bike, and I set a pace that will put me well under my run goal — a "must" at this stage if I am to have any chance. My legs, lungs and heart rate feel right on track at the 10-mile marker.

Then, out of nowhere, I have gut-wrenching pain from either too much food or not enough liquid. I decide it’s dehydration but quickly find out I’m wrong. The extra fluids aggravate the problem, and my run deteriorates into an alternating trot, stagger and walk. I ask why I’m doing this, and for the first time I seriously doubt my desire to race in Hawaii, even if somehow I manage to qualify. I complete the last 15 miles with nothing more than a few sips of water, which threatens severe dehydration.

The unsung heroes of the race are the families and friends of the athletes, and the people of Coeur d’Alene. Screams, cowbells and waving signs from 30,000 fans feed the athletes’ desire to push themselves to their limits and beyond.

At mile 20, I see another exhausted athlete carried to an ambulance. I pick up my pace despite the pain. I connect with a runner from Canada on mile 21, and we chat for the next 5 miles. I learn about his family and am reminded what it was that attracted me to triathlon in the first place: the people. The talking also is a great diversion and helps keep my mind off the bad luck, blisters and severe cramping.

I finish the race in 12:09 in the upper third of athletes. I’m an hour and a half past my goal, and I don’t qualify, yet I feel like a champion and lift my arms in celebration as I cross the finish line.

I know I’ll carry the experience for a lifetime.