Ironman USA
Lake Placid, NY, July 20th, 2008
A phrase I had been waiting to hear for over a year was finally uttered at 9:14 PM on Sunday night, July 20th, 2008, “Matthew McCue from Natick, Massachusetts, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!”
In 2005, I went to Lake Placid, NY to watch Mike Roberts and Rob Laprel participate in the Ironman that year, not really understanding the enormity of the event until the morning of the race. When the cannon fired signaling all swimmers to start the race, I think that I was more scared watching than they were participating. I clearly remember saying to myself, “I am never getting in that water to race with a mass of 2,000 people.” However, by day’s end, when I saw Mike, then Rob, finish the race, I was hooked by the excitement, the emotion and the sheer effort that was put into that one day. I knew then that I would eventually do the Ironman
Early in 2007, Mike started talking about participating in the 2008 Lake Placid Ironman. We solidified plans in the spring that year to take the leap. In addition, Matt Howley, who participated in Ironman Lake Placid in 2006, also wanted another shot. In July, 2007, we made the trek up to Lake Placid, watched hundreds of people become Ironmen until midnight, got inspired all over again and signed up for the 2008 race the next morning.
Race Day, Sunday, July 20th, 2008:
We went to bed at around 10:00 PM the night prior to the event, but I don’t think that I fell asleep until about midnight. My alarm was set for 4:30 AM but I awoke at 4:15 AM. After a shot of coffee and about 4 bites of a bagel, I was ready to get out the door and walk to the Olympic oval area on Main Street where we were to be body-marked (our race number written in permanent marker on our arms, legs and our age written on our calf) as well as check our bikes (add our food, drink, check air pressure, etc.). Why do they write all over your body in permanent marker, you may ask? Well, I’ll be blatantly honest. If you go belly up during the swim, they can identify your body. Mike, Matt, Rob and I had all but completed the pre-race bike check. Matt was filling up his front tire tube and it burst. It sounded like a gunshot. As if we weren’t anxious enough already, we now had about 1,000 people staring in our direction wondering if it was their tire that had just burst. Mechanics were on hand and fixed his tire in minutes. Of course, after the swim, he noticed that it had gone flat again and had to get the tube replaced again.
We had a huge fan base, which was important on a day like we had on Sunday. It rained non-stop from 7:30 AM until 8:30 PM. I am not exaggerating. Three inches of rain fell that day according to the local paper. It’s probably difficult to picture, but let me try to paint one for you. If Noah were around, his arc would have had smooth sailing. I fully blame Mike Roberts for jinxing us. The day that we signed up, he said, “It has never rained here for long periods of time, so it could rain in 2008 on the 10th anniversary of the race!”
The support cavalry included my father, my Aunt Karen and Uncle Jim, Sarah, Jess, Matt’s wife Diane and their two kids Keira and Brenna, Mike’s wife Lauren and their daughter Michaela, Mike’s parents and sister Dawn, Mike’s nephew Josh, Matt Myette, Mark Miller, Rob’s brother Brendan, Deb Pinto, Jackie Shakar, Dan Unsworth and his gal Lauren Coughlin. There were many more of my Cyclonauts teammates out there cheering me on as athletes themselves and as spectators.
The Swim (2.4 miles):
We made the walk up to the swim area to drop off special needs bags (these bags could be picked up at the halfway point of the bike and run to replenish food, clothing, etc.). After that, we returned to our families awaiting us on Mirror Lake Drive. The emotions started running high. Every time an inspirational song played over the loudspeaker, I felt my stomach flutter. We said our goodbyes at about 6:45 AM. I was in the clear as far as crying until Lauren ran over to hug Mike. As I turned around to watch them embrace, I saw Lauren’s eyes welling up. My tear alarms starting ringing. Then, Mike turned around and his eyes were welling up. That was enough to get mine to well up too. It was a chain reaction car crash of tears.
Matt, Mike, Rob and I hugged each other and made the march into the swimming area, through the arches to set off our electronic chips and into the water. Rob and I waded into the water together and made our way over to the back of the pack near the shore so we could stand up prior to the cannon firing. A few moments later, a helicopter flew
overhead and the cannon blast sounded. I recall hitting the start button on my watch. Moments later I was bumping and grinding with hundreds of other swimmers, all fighting to get into a rhythm and managing to stay afloat at the same time. It was chaos. I tried to find openings. Every few minutes, I would hit a stretch and not have body traffic. Then, I would be tickling someone’s foot. Occasionally, someone would cut directly across my path perpendicular to me as if they were swimming with their eyes closed. This battle did not let up for the entire first half of the swim. In addition, I had other swimmers grabbing my feet, tugging at the electronic chip tied around my ankle, punching and kicking me. Towards the end of the first loop of the swim, I enjoyed a diet of urine-tainted water and motorboat exhaust from the support boats nearby. I recall hearing the announcer and was relieved to be almost done with the first 1.2-mile leg of the swim. At this point, I think that I finally started relaxing. I guess my bladder relaxed as well because my wetsuit suddenly increased in temperature as I relieved myself. It reminded me of a squid when they release ink to stave of their enemies. I saw the ground appear below me, but also a bunch of large rocks. Apparently, I thought that it would be a good idea to stand up as I saw these rocks. I managed to jam the left toe (next to the smallest toe) into a boulder. I ran through the archway, jumped back into the water and flipped over to examine my toe. It was already pink but the nail looked intact.
The second lap went by very smoothly. I managed to swim along the buoy line the entire way and actually bumped my head into one of the triangular buoys. I noticed small bubbles coming from below me. This was not gas being passed. I realized that scuba divers were camped out below us in the water, monitoring our every move for safety. About mid-way through the second lap, I sensed a lot of splashing and thought to myself, “Who the hell is kicking and slapping the water so much that it’s pelting me with all of this water?” I then realized that the heavens had opened up and it started to pour rain. That’s putting it lightly. The heavens started vomiting rain into Mirror Lake. I heard the announcer again off in the distance and started smiling to myself, realizing that I was about to complete phase one of three for the day; 1/3 of my goal was almost complete. In addition, I had just swum the longest distance in my life, 2.4 miles. During training, I had never swum more than 1.7 miles. I exited the water and I think that I raised my hands a bit in triumph. I had completed the swim in 1:28, within my goal of 1:30. I got my bearings and saw a few volunteers motioning to me to come towards them. Within seconds, two guys were grabbing my wetsuit and yanking it off me. I remember starting to sit down on the ground before they even had it off of my shoulders. They yanked me back up and told me to stand until they got it pulled down past my waist. If my tri-shorts had come off with the wetsuit at that moment, I probably wouldn’t have realized it and would have run 400 yards to the bike transition area buck naked carrying my wetsuit, smiling and waving with major shrinkage.
I caught a glimpse of my Aunt Karen and Uncle Jim on the way to the changing tent. They yelled to me and cheered me on as I went by. As I got into transition, I was about to grab my bag filled with my biking clothes when I was bumped from behind. The person said, “Sorry, buddy.” I turned to acknowledge the person and it was Matt Howley! We chatted about the swim as we jogged into the tent. Moments later, I was immersed in a sweaty, soggy, smelly tent with hundreds of other men. I got changed into my clean, dry biking gear. As I stood up and walked out of the tent, the deluge of rain immediately soaked me. Simultaneously, mud squished up through the air holes on the bottom of my bike shoes and into the bottom of my feet. A volunteer yelled out my bib number, “472!” I ran a bit further and another volunteer had my bike waiting for me, pulled from the rack it was placed on and at the end of the row. All I had to do to was grab it and go. It was cool to be treated like a rock star for a day.
The Bike (112 miles):
I got on my bike and immediately grabbed my brakes because we had about ¼ mile of steep descents right out of transition. I spotted my Dad, Sarah, Jess and Rob’s Uncle Jim as I cruised down the hill, right behind Matt. There were hay bales at the bottom. I was hoping not to frolic in those hay bales so I strongly applied the brakes all the way down the hill. Matt and I chatted a bit and I just tried to relax for the first 10-15 minutes, taking in water. Before I knew it, I had the urge to urinate. Since it was pouring rain, there really was no need for me to pull off and go since the rain would just wash it away. I think that the sound of rain made it easier to go because, well, I must have urinated approximately 20 times over the course of my 7 hour bike ride. I think that my throat was connected to my urethra during race day. No sooner did I take a drink did I have to urinate within minutes. One thing is for sure, if I had athlete’s foot on my left foot, it’s cured for good.
I wound up leaving Matt and within minutes I saw a yellow jersey and helmet ahead. Hoping it was Rob, I cranked on the pedals. Sure enough, it was Rob. I set my crosshairs, made the pass on the left and smacked Rob’s ass as I went by him up the first climb on the bike. We took turns going past each other and chatting (you can’t ride together side by
side or draft). As we hit the 9 km descent, Rob passed me smirking and said, “I’m heavier than you.” Later on in the first loop at around mile 45, Matt caught back up to me, passed me and proceeded to moon me. I held back vomit. That was a nice break from the action and it allowed me to realize that I was out here to enjoy this day. We climbed the hill known as “Papa Bear” at about mile 54. It was like the Tour de France. The spectators gathered around the riders as we fought to look good climbing the hill. My support crew was there in full effect, screaming and ringing cowbells. I wish I felt that way on the second time around the bike loop at mile 110. My friend Tony Dagnello had emailed me last week and said that the bike didn’t start until mile 90. He couldn’t have been more accurate. You start an uphill climb at that point on the course over the next 10-15 miles. I bonked at mile 105. I ate another nutrition bar, which re-energized me for the last set of climbs. I kept looking for an easier gear on my bike but, much to my chagrin, I was in the easiest gear. At last, the bike portion was complete. I had completed my longest swim and now my longest bike ride ever…in one day. I had completed the first loop in 3:24 and the second in 3:39 for a total bike time of 7:03. Almost exactly on my goal time of 7:00. I’ll blame the 3 minute loss on slowing down on the steep descents.
The Run (26.2 miles):
My specialty. Finally. This was phase three of three. This was the discipline that I had been doing for the last 18 years and felt that it was always my best sport. I just needed to put one foot in front of the other. I changed once again into dry clothing in the transition area and had a spring in my step as the crowd pushed me along. The rain had subsided to a sprinkle. Everything was coming together. At about mile 3, the crowd thinned, the road got long and the downpour of rain started up again. Sure, kick me when I’m down. A few days earlier, Mike had said, “You know when you are running a marathon (and not swimming and biking beforehand) and you hit mile 22 and you are exhausted physically and mentally, your legs start cramping and you don’t want to go any further? In the Ironman, that feeling hits you at mile 8.” Once again, that prediction was almost perfectly accurate for my marathon. I was making good time and thought that I might be able to pull it off in 4:30, up from my 4:00 goal. I did start feeling a bit tired at about mile 10. Matt was just ahead of me and we saw each other at the turnaround. He said, “I’ll see you in a few minutes.” I’m thinking to myself, “What is he talking about? I’m about to crash and burn.” It turns out that he also hit the wall and gave back some of his food to the forest. At the ½ marathon, I was at 2:10. Still right around my goal.
Within a mile, I hit the wall. I started walking at mile 14 and my stomach started cramping. I feared that I would have diarrhea so I started shuffling to reduce the bouncing. I also wanted no part of the porta-potties out on that course. Jess and Sarah saw me at about that time and I think Jess was urging me on and asking how I was doing. I pretty much just nodded her off like a pitcher does to his catcher when he suggests the wrong pitch. About 30 seconds later, Matt Myette appeared in his green parka and walked alongside me for a minute. He asked how I was doing and I almost started balling like a 2 year old at that moment. I eked out something to the effect of, “This is so much more difficult than I ever imagined.” It was tough to even talk. I know he gave me a few positive words that I can’t recall and it gave me enough to refocus for a few minutes. The thought of having to do another ½ marathon going past the same terrain a second time made me want to cry.
I looked up before I started my long journey on the out and back loop one last time. I noticed the Olympic ski jumps off in the distance. I then remembered what Dan Unsworth had said the day before, “Where do they land after they hit that jump, Kansas?” I started laughing to myself and stopped thinking about the pain for a few minutes. On the out and back, I tried to acknowledge and encourage any Cyclonauts, but I think that we were all just too spent to do much cheering at that point.
I was able to continue eating and drinking. I started with water, then moved on to cookies, bananas, cola, Gatorade and chicken broth. All I needed was a six-pack of beer. At about mile 20, Rob caught up to me. It was nice to chat with him for a minute. I desperately wanted him to stay with me, but he looked good and I sent him off. I now only had a 10K run to complete the race. At mile 22, I heard the unmistakable voice of Jackie Shakar, screaming at me to get my rear in gear. As I approached her, I told her that I was having stomach cramps and running was causing GI issues. It didn’t matter. She kept right on yelling at me. I had to give her something in return for coming out to support me. I started shuffling again and got a good stride going. I didn’t realize that Rob had told Jackie that I needed a “pick-me-up.” He threw out the life raft and Jackie blew it up. She kept at it, yelling, “COME ON!” She would then run up ahead about 200 yards and start yelling encouragement to me again. As she kept yelling, other spectators started calling out my name, telling me that I was almost there. I spotted Jim Sullivan tucked under an umbrella, grinning at me.
The Finish:
I saw my Dad at mile 24 and yelled at him to get to the finish. Those last two miles were the longest I have ever walked/run. The last mile took me by Mirror Lake, where I reflected (no pun intended) on the day. 13 hours ago, I was swimming in that lake. 5 hours ago, I was riding my bike past this spot. I was now about to enter the Promised Land. There was a fork that presented itself to me for the second time on the run. To my left, another loop of the run. And now, the other option was available to me on the right, “To Finish.” The crowd became louder. I looked behind me before I entered the oval and saw a woman gaining on me. I let her pass by so I could soak it all in. I think that I heard Jess screaming as I was entering the oval, but the crowd was insane. I pulled up my sleeve and flexed. I slapped some people’s hands. The crowd got more excited. I then started rounding the final turn and heard Lauren Coughlin yell, “You’re going to be an Ironman!” I saw my Dad next. Camera up. Smile. Flash. Picture taken.
I then hit the straightaway and there were hundreds of people on either side of me cheering. I waved my arms towards the sky to get the crowd involved and they instantly responded with a wave of cheers. I then kicked it in to high gear, raised my arms above my head and crossed the finish line under the coveted arch in 14:14:12. Why didn’t I slow down for 2 more seconds? That would have been cool. I think that I heard “McCue” and “Natick” over the raucous crowd. A woman collapsed in front of me and about 6 volunteers surrounded her. I looked up at the sky and couldn’t believe I finished this race. I’m an Ironman. I patiently waited until they escorted the woman away. A volunteer graciously apologized for making me wait all of 7 seconds to give me what I had been waiting for, the medal. She placed my finisher’s medal around my neck. I wanted to hug her. Another volunteer took me by the arm and walked with me. Another volunteer took off my electronic chip from my ankle. The volunteer holding me asked me what size shirt I wanted. I told him “medium” although I contemplated asking for a large knowing that I would be pigging out for the next month on McDonald’s quarter-pound cheeseburgers and Dunkin Donuts old-fashioned donuts. I now had my finisher T-shirt and hat. I had proof that I finished the race. Another volunteer asked if I had any vomiting, diarrhea, etc. I knew that, by answering yes, I could get an IV. It was tempting, but I wanted to see my family. The volunteers, all day long, were tremendous. I must have said “thank you” one hundred times.
Through the crowd, Rob appeared wrapped in foil. He had finished about 10 minutes before me. We hugged and walked over to the fence to find all of our support crew waiting for us. The camera flashes started. I felt like I was at a press conference. I hugged my Dad, my Aunt, Jackie, and my wife. I shook hands with several other people. No tears. I couldn’t believe it. I think that I was too dehydrated and exhausted to cry.
Thank You:
To all of my spectators, thank you for toughing it out in the rain. It’s an understatement to say that it’s not easy being a spectator in an event that lasts for 14-15 hours, requiring long periods of waiting, walking several miles during the day to catch me suffering for all of 5 seconds at a time, but to do it in pouring rain without adequate rain gear makes you Iron-spectators.
I never doubted that day that I would finish the race. There were too many people counting on me, watching me, worrying about me, etc. to consider quitting. Failure was not an option. I would have crawled to that finish line if necessary. I don’t know if I ever could have prepared myself enough for this race. It is truly a test of will more than a physical challenge. Your body wants to quit and you have to convince yourself that the pain isn’t all that bad. I can’t thank you all enough for your support and congratulations. The day following the race, a few people asked me if I’d ever do this race again. I said, “Probably not.” Today, I’m already reconsidering. 😉
“You can quit and no one will really care, but you will always know.” – John Colins