Erstellt am: 22. 11. 2013 - 18:57 Uhr

Man of Iron

On 12th October 2013 FM4's Steve Chaid competed in the toughest race in the world. Here is his own account of an extraordinary personal achievement.

by Steve Chaid

Ironman World Championship:

Swim: 3.8 Km
Bike: 180 Km
Run: 42.2 Km

Goal:

Finish the toughest race in the world in under 10 hours

My alarm clock goes off 03:30 but I’m already awake. After months of targeted training for this race, logging over 30 hours of swimming, biking, and running per week, the big day is finally here. Sleep is valuable the night before an Ironman but often elusive.

The race begins with the Hawaiian sunrise at precisely 07:00, but athlete check-in begins at 04:00 and the race venue is a hive of activity long before the real mayhem breaks loose with the canon shot from Kailua Pier.

Breakfast for champions

I’m hungry, which is a good sign. Pre-race nerves can lead to mistakes like avoiding meals. I eat a breakfast of banana and avocado and wash it down with some strong coffee and water. It is key to eat a couple of hours before the swim begins. You never want to start an ultra-distance race on an empty stomach, but it’s even worse to get in the water with a full stomach. A mass start in an open-water swim means flying elbows, knees, and heels. I’ve been kicked in the face and abdomen while trying to swim at top speed. I’ve seen other people lose their breakfast in the water or cramp up. Don’t eat too early. Don’t eat too late.

Steve Chaid

First stop at the race venue: All two thousand of us who qualified for this race need to get through body marking. A water, sun, and sweat-proof #819 sticker is applied to my upper arm in the form of temporary tattoo.
Then I have a last chance to prepare my bike and transition bags. At the bike check-in the day before the race, I let nearly all the air out of my tires to prevent them from exploding in the heat. Once the bikes are parked in the transition zone on Kailua Pier, they are fully exposed to the sun and it is not uncommon for them to blow up as the air pressure increases during the peak heat of the afternoon. While draining the air the day before, I looked at my watch and envisioned myself at exactly that time on race day. If all went well, I would have finished the bike leg by now. I would be into the marathon and battling the heat on the legendary Ali’i Drive along Kona Coast.

Now, in the pre-race darkness, I carefully refill my tires, making sure they’re pumped up to a maximum pressure that will assure me speed on the course without risking a blowout. Mental checklist: Helmet, glasses, race number are all where they should be. Drink bottles are full. Gels, nutrition bars, salt tablets are all in place.

The importance of planning

Once the clock starts running you don’t want to waste time troubleshooting. An overlooked bike defect, forgetting to put fresh socks in your run bag, or poorly planned race nutrition can bring a swift and merciless end to your race.

A transition zone full of bikes and racers is a bit of a labyrinth. Before leaving, I visualize both the Swim-Bike transition and the Bike-Run transition, memorizing physical cues and markers so I can get through the transitions later as quickly as possible. You can spend years training to get a few minutes faster in swimming, biking, or running. It is really easy to throw away 2-3 minutes with a poorly planned transition.

And then, I’m finally descending the staircase from the Kailua Pier and wading into the warm water of the Pacific Ocean. A helicopter is buzzing overhead, cheers from the crowd and the warrior rhythms of Hawaiian drumbeats are washing over me. Swim out to the starting line.

Kaboom! The starting canon is fired...

Steve Chaid

My race has begun.

There’s a quick sprint at the beginning, but things quickly come to a standstill in the water. Trouble. It’s an out and back swim course in the shape of an elongated rectangle. The course takes us far out into the ocean along a string of brightly colored buoys. I’ve chosen the inner line parallel to the pier. But so have many others, and I end up trapped behind a group of swimmers who are even slower than me. Unfortunately, the swim is my weakest discipline. Trying to accelerate out of the group and find enough space to swim at a reasonable speed and rhythm costs valuable time and energy. I finish the swim in 1:13:20 more than 6 minutes behind my target time. I’m into the first transition with a big deficit and hoping I can make up the time on the bike leg!

Steve Chaid

The bike leg starts out well, but as I’m pulling out of Kona on to the Queen K highway and heading toward the notorious lava fields and the winds of Hawi I hear that my favorite among the pros, Craig “Crowie” Alexander, has had to stop and repair a flat tire. Alexander is a three-time winner at Kona. At 39, this is seen as his last chance to win it. I hear of his troubles and think to myself, “Stay in the race, Crowie, and please, please let me get through the bike leg without any breakdowns.” (Craig Alexander ended up finishing 23rd. After the race, he told me he would only come back to Kona as a spectator and never contest the championship race again.)

I get lucky

I enjoy a tailwind on the first forty or so kilometers of the ride. In Ironman races drafting in the wind (riding behind and in the slipstream of another cyclist) is prohibited, so this push from Mother Nature is very welcome early in the ride. It occurs to me that this means dealing with a headwind at the end of the bike leg, but at least I know it’s coming. Eighty kilometers into the race, the feared crosswinds on the approach to Hawi bump me around a bit, but they’re not as nasty as they could be.

These unpredictable winds blow out of the lava fields and have knocked riders right off their bikes. I escape unscathed and turn my focus to maintaining an even pace and drinking, drinking, drinking. I try to grab at least one bottle of water at every aid station. In between taking sips, I frequently squirt water over my head and the back of my neck to prevent overheating. The headwinds take their toll at the end, but I finish the bike leg in 05:03:54.

Steve Chaid

The transition into the run after a long bike ride is one of the things I’ve practiced most. And the practice pays off. I quickly find my pace. The legs feel good. The run is usually my strongest discipline and I go out strong in the first 21 kilometers. But, sure enough, the wicked combination of heat and humidity start to take their toll. Other athletes are running into trouble. Cramps. Some who’ve looked really strong up until this point start hobbling. The much-feared Natural Energy Lab, a section of the course that involves a descent into a wind-still cauldron of black asphalt and a slow climb back out, is still to come. I slow down and begin to see my goal of finishing in under 10 hours slipping away.

The final straight

But, crucially, while this is happening I stick to my game plan. Water and ice over the head and neck. A salt tablet and an energy gel every 30 minutes. By the time I get to the Energy Lab things are looking up. I’m able to pick up the pace again and my goal comes back into focus.

After Energy Lab there is one more gradual climb. Then, Kona, the crowds, and the finish line are on the horizon. As I make it into Kona, my wife jumps out into the road cheering wildly. She’s been following my split times closely and had the same worries I did. Now she sees that I’m going to make it and she’s going crazy. I fly to the finish line.
09:52:03 !

Steve Chaid

Done - and the celebrations begin!

In this week’s Saturday Reality Check Special (12-13) Steve tells Hal Rock about the road that led him to personal triumph in Hawaii.