by Rob Kerwin
November 4, 2000, Panama City Beach, Florida

It's 4:00 a.m. on Saturday morning. I am wearing sweats and a jacket over my swim trunks. In 3 hours, I will begin a 2.4 mile swim, followed by a 112 mile bike ride through the humid swampland of the Florida Panhandle and if I don't bonk or dehydrate through the day I will start in the late after noon a 26.2 mile marathon in and through the St. Andrews State Park. My goals for completing this Ironman have been pretty basic: (1) don't get divorced as a result of the many hours of training; and (2) try and know my name at the end of the event.

More than once in those three hours I find myself saying to no one in particular "Am I crazy? I keep thinking...This is one of the reasons why there should be a late night spousal block on the Internet". What possessed me to perinit my credit card to be charged $400. I am just an average guy with an endomorphic body frame and serious delusions. There are at least twenty people in the PRC who could finish this with a lot less pain. Most normal people don't pay $2,500 for bike equipment and the equal in plane fare and aocommodations, just for the privilege of torturing themselves. To say I was having a pre event crisis in confidence would be putting it mildly. I was desperate for someone in authority to pull me out of the crowd and declare me unfit to continue. What do I have in common with 1700 hard bodies? At the Carbo-Loading dinner, these people looked like they could be models for the Coppertone commercials. And they are so young. It didn't aid things to learn that the average age range is 30-35. I turh 44 next week. I am officially middle aged.

Like many of the other Ironman participants, I am packing a wetsuit, four bottles filled with Endurox, powerbars, bananas, peanut butter sandwiches and pretzels loaded with salt. My bike and two transition bags were checked in the day before at the start some four miles away.

I can't get last night's dream out of my head. I am not even thinking about the world class jelly fish which frequent the Bay. My dream focuses on big teeth and the warnings of the waitress serving my last meal. Two hammerhead sharks tearing me apart is not exactly the type of dream that I want to have a few hours before swimming 2.4 miles in open rough water. If only that waitress hadn't expressed to my wife Janice how crazy she viewed the Ironman triathletes. The words hung in my brain like a negative mantra..."Those triathletes are insane. ..why my father and I were fishing last week a half a mile from the shore and we saw a twelve foot hammerhead shark. Those sharks are unpredictable." I'm sure the waitress was unaware that the Ironman race course cxtends one mile straight from the shore. The woman's comments hardly inspired me. My tip reflected my enthusiasm for her Knute Rockne speech. Not.

As my cousin, Bill Timmihs and I bused it to the Ironman start, we were joined by several members of the Bay State Triathlon Club from Bridgewater and Easton. They were pumped. Bill and his Bay State training partner, Charlie McIntyre, had completed the Lake Placid Ironman with this group. [Both Bill's and Chuck's wives are tremendous runners Tracy and Sheila). If they are not bothered by the heat, they will do well. The mood is getting contagious and real positive. Even the bus driver, a Panama City native, got into the swing. She high-fived us as we left the bus for the body-marking process. There never seems to be any shortage to the volunteers who help mark the legs and arms of the Irontnan participants. As people were stripping down to have huge magic marker numbers plastered to their bodes, I kept thinking to myself..." what am I doing with all these hard bodies? Can I still bail from this thing before I get myself killed?"

Bill Timmins' wife Tracy has a flat and she's understandably not pleased. Tracy is a superb runner and unlike this slacker, has a chance to place in her age group. It's six a.m. --exactly one hour to race time and fixing a bike is the last thing you want to be thinking about. The folks from B&L Bike save the day and repair her bike ASAP. On the 112 mile bike course there will be fifteen bike mechanics. They can pass you a spare tube but the repair job is all yours. I have brought two C02 canisters in case I have a flat. All during my taper I have been practicing how to change a flat and not blow up my tubes with the canisters (the contents shoot out fast and flirious). I look longingly at the many Spinergy wheels and the carbon and titanium bikes. I put it out of my head. It's no time to go shopping. I have used up all my IQUS with my wife. A new bike is absolutely out of the question. Besides my Griffin is good for me. It has great stability and for a guy pushing 200 lbs. its what the doctor ordered.

As I slip on my wetsuit, I am trying to follow Bill's only advice: drink, drink and drink as often as you can. I polish off a bottle of water and look for the nearest p ort a potty As I am attending to mother nature, Ihave a little Epiphany--as Tracy often notes I remember- we're doing this for fun. I might as well relax and enjoy myself. I resolve to follow the admo- nitions of Diane Smith's book, TaoSports: 'whatever happens 'stay within yourself...do your own race and forget about everyone else'. I strap on my heart rate monitor and set the range for 60-70% of my working heart rate. I am going to stay at this level no matter what happens on the bike. Even if I don't make the 10 hour swirn/bike cutoff, I am going to stay at this level. The Panama City newspaper predicts hot and very humid. When you've been training in 8O degree weather, you've got to have a sense of your mortality when competing in 80 degree weather.

A helicopter flies overhead and as far as I can look there is a sea of green caps and black wetsuits. The national anthem is played and the 1700 athletes start runninig for the water in the largest mass swim start I have ever seen. I decide at the last moment to wait for everyone to get in the water and then I'll go. After all, when you expect to be exercising for 15 straight hours, what's five minutes to let the crowd go by. I am feeling I'll be okay In anticipation of this moment, I have done five century bike rides, a marathon, three balf marathons ,a three mile swim and two baff ironmans. Jon Connor always says preparation is the key. The hardest part is getting to the starting line. I start to think--I can do this As I step out into the water, I step right into a small crab that proceeds to lock hold of my big toe. As I shake the creature off (with some choice expressions about its parentage), I decide maybe its time to swim.

The swim is filled with swells and is about as wavy as you'd want. This is my strong suit for I swam in college and for several years with the New England Masters Swim Program. Whenever it appears that I am getting too far away from the crowd, I swim doser. I figure if one of those sharks comes, I want him to have other meal options. Before I know it, I've done the first of two loops. The chip strapped to my leg chirps off as I step through the beach checkpoint and start again for the water. Remembering the admonition to hydrate, I grab an eight ounce water fiom the table and slug it down before I dive into the water. As I make my way through the second loop, I encounter the biggest and fattest jelly fish I have ever had the misfortune to run into, but with the wetsuit on its no big deal. As we round the corner and head to shore, some guy punches me. One of the swells put me on top of him but I am in no mood for a fight so far from land. I swim away

Running up onto the beach, I check my time and at one hour and eighteen minutes, I am fifteen minutes ahead of my projected time. I use up that extra time in the mens transition tent by taking time to Vaseline and sunscreen up. As I run for the bike, I scoff my first banana and grab some more water I am feeling excellent! My shark dream didn't come true. The only soreness I have is from the butthole who punched me in the ribs. All I need to do now is finish the bike in under eight and one half hours.

The first leg ofthe 112 mile bike is on Highway 98.1 am biking right next to a guy who looks outfitted for the Tour de France. He has a really cool bike with all the latest aero/technological stuff. In defiance of the Ironman rules, he is out in the main part of the race route, blocking all who might pass by him (except me--who expects to pass no one). All of a sudden, he gets a flat fire. Now he is behind me on the side of the road, speaking a foreign language but I have an idea of what he is saying about his bike. He is not a happy guy I quickly say a prayer to God thanking him for giving the other guy a flat and not me (on reflection, I see the limitations of this type of prayer but on race day I am not thinking this through).

My goal is to drink one liter of fluid per hour and to keep my mph at no less than 15 mph. As I move into mile 80, I realize that I have indeed met this goal and in the process drank more fluid than I could ever imagine. Though I have had a powerbar, I treat myself to a peanut butter sandwich (warmed by its special pouch on the bike shirt). As gross as it sounds now it tastes fantastic at the time. As I am munching, I start to notice some people dropping out The sag wagon guy passes by me and stops on the side of the road. Like the grim reaper, he asks me if I am okay. I tell him quickly that I am fine but that he looks a little fatigued.I start again. I am praying I don't have a flat near one of the marshes with the alligators. The road is merlly flat and I only get out of the saddle to stretch. Its really hot thoug'n and I keep checking my heart rate and the odometer to make sure I stay within my race goals. As I near mile110,1 note that its 3:30 in the afternoon. I can't be ijeve I have been exercising for eight and a half hours and I'm okay. When I arrive at the bike/run transition point, it suddenly seems possible that I can finish this thing. My wife, Janice, who has been working as a v~unteer at the womens transition tent, appears out of the tent with a camera and a cold drink. She says words which I welcome hearing: 'you don't look so bad... I think you can ~inish this thing."

Nine minutes later I emerge from the men's transition tent in running gear with a running pouch and five GU. I will beat the ten hour deadline by a couple of hours. I am one half an hour ahead of my projected time. I am feeling hydrated. I scoff a powerbar in celebration. However, I am distracted as I hear the pros racing into the finish. I am a little bothered that they are finishing the 2 miles just as I am starting. But I am okay. I push ahead and start to visualize the ultramarathoner tips (I'am doing one mile--twenty six times and that's all'). The crowd, whidh was virtually non-existent on the bike, is growing on the run. The race organizers really were smart to put the marathon portion through the neighborhoods of Panama City Beach. Because it was Saturday night, there were more than a few folks with the hands gripping a cold beer. I stop at mile 6 for a chicken broth. It ain't beer but it ain't that bad either. As I swing through the first loop at the State Park, I am handed a fluorescent green running stick. It will be my companion through the rest of the race. I keep expecting to feel bad but in truth I don't feel so bad. I start thinking of the finish line. The volunteers are out in full force. At every mile. you are offered water, GU, Gatorade and bananas. I am now staying strictly with Gatorade. When I arrive at 13.1 miles, Janice greets me and helps locate my run special needs bag. As I am changing my socks, I start to lose energy. I pop a GU and feel better. I start to feel that I can do this thing. For reasons which still make no sense to me, I manage to run the last 13.1 miles with stops only for the 1 mile reststops. Its dark and cool and I am wearing the Parkway jersey and I need it I pass loads of people in extremus--vomiting, stopping, staring back at you with blsnk eyes I try just to focus at the task at hand and to make conversation whenever possible. It is a touching and painful moment when I come upon Chuck McIntyre at mile 24. I urge Chuck to run in with me but terrible blisters on his feet make this impossible. Chuck graciously urges me to pass him and run in. It is very dark out and it feels like it is midnight My mind is playing tricks. it is only 9:00 p.m.

As I round the corner to the finish line, it is an incredible feeling.The crowd is shouting. The announcer is shouting. The announcer shouts your name out and says you are an ironmari". It is a surreal moment. Frankl~ I can4t believe that I am finishing. The clock shows 14 hours and 18 minutes. I run throtigh feeling strong and thinking I have something left. My wife hugs me and miraculously I have no need to go to the medical tent. Besides a blister and some tightness, I am (to my great surprise). fine!

I want to acknowledge the incredible assistance of many people including: Brandeis Swim Coach Jim Zotz for his 530 am swim practices and stroke assistance; the Charles River Wheelman for their many Century and Weekend Rides, all my friends at the Parkwy Running Club for their unparalled support and many long runs (especially Messrs. Connor, Govoni, Sweeney and Sargent (Yes Brian S. You did do my first long run with me). The Craftsbury Running Camp friends especially Irish Olympic hopeful Bobbie Behan and Dr Byron Walthall who started me on the road to believing I could do an Ironman.Their book suggestions including The Triathletes Bible, and Serious Training for endurance athletes were very useflil. I am grateful to the A.M. Running crew of Bill Joyce, my cousin Jim Howley, Paul McNulty, and Frank Galvin. The great triathiete and long time YMCA stalwart, Mike Murroy put together many a long Sunday morning bike ride and offered several race tips prior.. My dear friends, Cindy Gillan, Francine Hughes and Diane Smith offered respectively great stretching and massage tips, much moral support and several substantive sports psychology materials including Taosports I am grateftil to pros Tray Jacobson and Julie Nievergelt for their recommendations on training and nutrition programs. The folks at Fat Dog Pro Bicyle Shop particularly Lou Shames were always honest, humorous and on the money concerning their rycling suggestions. My cousin Bill Timmins, his wife Tracy Timmins and their budds Cliarlie and Sheila Mcintyre, were generous and wonderful training partners (and never minded waiting so that I would catch up). Most of all I am grateful to my wife of sixteen years and cycle partner, Janice, for her unmatched support (including pushing me out the door or to do calesthentics). I know that the training time of upwards of seventeen hours a week was no small sacrifice to my wife and to my children James and Lyndsay.