AT IM AZ 19: A Story
“Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a celebrity with us!” The gate agent was begining the boarding process. She had finished with the “pre-boarding” speech for “travelers needing assistance and families with small children”, and should have been moving on to “First Class and Active Duty Military”.
But she detoured from protocol. “We have joining us on Alaska Flight 691 to Seattle the winner of the Ironman yesterday, Al Truscott.” I was already near the head of the line having presciently signed up for 1st Class, assuming I would need the pampering after racing for 140.6 miles the day before. Flustered, I took off my headphones, looked up, and said, “Hey, if only. I’m 70 years old. I did win my age group, but ...” She was gesturing me up to the front of the line while the boarding area erupted in applause. Cool. For my last Ironman, I get a rock star send-off.
Twenty-four hours earlier, I had jumped off my bike and hobbled barefoot downhill to start the final marathon. Four minutes later, Nike Vaporfly 4%’s on my feet, I headed under the arch to start the clock on that last, long leg. I stopped, poking at my right eye, trying to dislodge the contact so I could slap on some glasses, sun sensitive so they’d work both in the lowering desert sun and after dark. Robin Sarner suddenly loomed over me (he’s 6’6”), asking if I were OK.
Confused, I tried to re-assure him I didn’t need anything. “Just trying to....” I couldn’t finish, and ended up waving my GoBag at him, showing the race belt, Clif Shot Chews, wrist band and sun screen I still had to deal with. He smile wanly, and ambled on *into* the transition area. I didn’t register the fact that he was way off course; only that evening, when we gathered to swap war stories at the Mellow Mushroom, did I learn he was just then abandoning his race after 13.1 miles, his hamstrings and gut not cooperating one bit.
Visor on, race belt secure, glasses finally cleaned and sitting on my nose, I started a slow trot thru the first mile. Suddenly, Nam Lam pops up on my right. “Al! You look great!”
I didn’t care. All I wanted from him was, “You got the tracker? What place am I in? How much am I leading by? How far is the next guy behind?” I was totally locked into the moment, and my one task here - win my age group in an Ironman one last time. The past, future, and certainly social niceties were nowhere to be found in my brain.
Nam fumbled a bit with his iPhone. Surely he had the Tracker already loaded, and he’d been doing this for many others on our team, Patrick, Satish, Robin, Tim, already! I slowed to a walk while he jogged alongside. “Uh, I don’t have it; I’ll catch you when you come back around.” Which would be 40 minutes later.
This first mile features a rolling concrete path, winding up and down along the side of the hill between the buildings blocking the sun on our right, and the Tempe Town “Lake”, where just before sunrise, we’d started our day with the 3800 meter - 2.4 mile - swim.
The start was jam-packed with 2600 wet-suited nervous Ironman wannabes. We tried to line up by our hoped-for swim time, along the path we’d be running 7 or more hours later. Most of the athletes were crammed together shoulder-to-shoulder, while those in front were herded, five at a time, down a boat ramp into the 61F dirty brown water of the Salt River. While all those bodies created a lot of warmth - the air temp was about 50F - I punched out to the concrete ledge overlooking the water.
“Hey, Al!” I was a bit surprised to see a tightly bundled Betsy H. running up from the water, smiling and waving her hand. She was a swim spotter, walking along the edge, looking for swimmers in trouble. She lives in Phoenix, and has raced here multiple times, trying to win and get to Kona, but always ending up on the wrong side of the bubble. It was a relief to catch up with her, rather than stand glumly amongst strangers, getting more morose with thoughts of the coming 13 hour day filtering through my race day screen.
Finally, I hit the water - a cold blast only partly blocked by the extra neoprene cap and running socks I wore. The swim, as usual, seemed to take much longer than it should. There’s no one to talk with, no variation in the terrain, no watch to check for heart rate or power, just one stroke after another for 86 minutes. And you can’t stop and rest; it’s a race, after all. I kept a bit to the left of the main crowd, the spotters in kayaks continually trying to herd me to the right.
Finally, the end of the lake. Literally. We got out almost at the bladder which has been dropped across the dry river bed, creating this puddle, and then had to run a half mile along hastily laid carpet strips just to reach the transition to our bikes. Normally, T1 takes me 5-8 minutes. This took 14+ minutes, as I ran, dried off, put cycling gloves on, and stuffed a sheet of bubble wrap down the front of my race suit, all things I normally eschewed, but desparately needed this morning, with the clouds covering the rapidly rising Arizona sun, and the air temperature not reaching 60F until the middle of the second of our three loops on the 37.3 mile bike course.
The previous year, I had ridden each of those three loops in just under 2 hours, on my way to a 5:58 bike split, and third place in my age group. I was racing then. This year, moving up into the 70-74 AG, I no longer had any fear of faster competitors. When I’d woken up race morning, and stared in the mirror at 4:30 AM, I was looking at the only person who could beat me. So while I did the first loop in 1:59 again, I backed off on the second, going 4:31 for the final laps, at about 10-12% lower power.
The cooler day, and the cold water, as well as the assiduous pre-race hydration I’d been doing, all conspired to fill my bladder to capacity over and over throughout the ride. I probably pee’d ten times while rolling, and another four times when I stopped at porta-potties, about 10 minutes total. That would continue on the run, where I visited the can another three times, comparted to zero on a typical day.
The first turn around on the two loop run course comes at mile 2. Heading back up to speed there out of the aid station, I saw Tim Cronk motoring up the other way. Obviously he was on his second time around. He grinned, called out my name as we bumped fists. Good for him - he’s also doing his “last” Ironman, after winning a few, going to Kona several times, and generally playing havoc with other racers in the 50 and 55 y/o categories. This game is not long enough for him; he’s graduating to 100 mile runs and the three-day Ultraman.
Fifteen minutes later, Nam pulls up on my right as I trot along the sandy flat path at lake’s edge. He’s got the facts this time: “You’re at least 30 minutes ahead; the other guy isn’t even out of transition yet.” I look at my watch; I’ve been running for 44 minutes, so that’s a hell of a cushion. My race to lose, so I might as well run as much as I can, without letting my knee get the best of me.
My right knee. Since the previous year’s Ironman Arizona, I’ve raced an additional 3 long course triathlons in May, June, and October. In none of them could I run any further than about 13 miles, or 2.5 hours. My knee would swell up, and start to become not just sore, but actually full of rasping pain. I’ve carved away enough of the cartilage between kneecap and thigh bone to the point that, unless I’m very careful with how much I flex that leg, the joint will start swelling up as it tries desparately to cushion each of the 30,000 times I slam down on it during the race. And without that extra fluid, the bone rubbing on bone would bring me to tears.
So I run slower than I have in the recent past. And I walk more, in an attempt to give the joint a rest, a chance to drain off some of the swelling, and a break from the twinges of pain. Ten years ago, I ran here for four hours; six years ago, 4:11. Then, last year 5:03. I’d add another half hour to that in 2019. My running speed hasn’t actually dropped that much; it’s just all the extra walking that slows me down. First, just 1 minute every mile. Then, adding about 5 more seconds each mile through the first half. On the second lap, I got up to about a 1/4th of every mile walking. My one big fear was to not finish at all, to come up lame like I had the month before in Hawaii.
Spending that much extra time put me deep into the evening. The sun had set at 5:20, before I got to mile 11. And it wasn’t all that warm during the day. So a new experience for me, spending that much time going slower, and thus not generating as much heat, and out on the course for much longer, as it got colder and colder, and I needed more and more fluid and fuel. Coach Patrick had finally gotten me to see how important adding some solid calories and a long sleeve shirt to my plan would be. For the first time, I ate three banana halves in an Ironman; previously it had all been liquid calories. I overloaded on Clif Bars during the bike, and even tried some pickle juice at mile 21, along with a whole lot of Gatorade Endurance and water the first 15 miles, switching over to Coke alternated with warm chicken broth after that.
Each time I went up a hill or through an aid station, I switched over to walking. Starting back up again so many times became brutal. I did not want to run any more. But I was reminded of a little vingette from the 2006 Boston Marathon. Coming around the final corner, I met up with a medical colleague also doing the race. He looked crippled, hobbling to the finish. I asked him how he was doing, and he said, “The only reason I’m running is so I can get done sooner.” Exactly how I felt on this day. I knew I had the fitness to run. On the other hand, I also knew I had more than an hour to “play” with. On the third hand, I have walked in a couple of Ironman marathons, and that is, in the end, less fun, and in some ways harder than just to start up running again.
Somewhere during mile 24, Stephanie came up behind me. We were in an aid station, so we both walked a bit and talked. Steph did her first IM with me in Coeur d’Alene, and we’ve raced together a number of times since. Living in Colorado, we’ve biked and skied together over the years as well; she’s become a good friend. She looked as if she were truly enjoying herself in this race. I told how good she seemed, and she agreed, as she “sped” of ahead of me onto our final crossing over the Priest Avenue bridge.
By mile 26, I was beginning to plan my finish. I would take off my extra shirt, and trot proudly down the carpet into the lights and my 30th Ironman finish. But first, there’s a little uphill in the dark before the final left turn toward the crowd. Just there, Nam and Tim burst out into the course, giving me grief and high fives for walking, and ending my IM career. That brought a smile which I wore all the way to the end.
Past the line, I see a wild blond mane flying over Kori’s beaming visage. She’s waving, calling my name, slapping a mylar blanket over my shoulders. She’s a finish line catcher here, another friend from EN since 2013. A HUGE hug, and off we go to grab medal, hat and shirt, and meet up with Steph and Dana, who both finished just ahead of me (caught also by Kori), and Patrick, who's waiting there for me with Rich, already showered and dressed, but ready to celebrate as well. Patrick has won his age group, so we share a brotherly smile over our twin victories.
More Endurance Nation love that night as Rich helps me gather my bike and gear, and we walk to the post race meet up, with Sid, Brian, Simon, Heather, Tim, Nam, Jeff, Robin, David, and all their crew. Next morning, it’s awards, Kona slot, and a round of goodbyes. I couldn’t have had a better team to share these past four days with. I am so lucky to have a triathlon family to rely on.
After the embarassment of getting ushered to applause, I flop down in seat 3C, and settle in, listening to my iPhone set on “Shuffle”. The second song in is a live version of Bruce Springsteen doing an acoustic “Born to Run”. Bruce has been the soundtrack to my life ever since 1975, when I heard this song for the first time. We were both born in 1949, so he’s 70 now, too. He has continually found ways to keep vibrant as a songwriter and performer over 5 decades. Always seraching, always challenging himself, seeing his life as an unfolding story, to be shared with others.
I start to tear up, and realise all the other passengers will be passing by as they head down the aisle. I take off my glasses and pull my finisher’s hat down over my eyes as he sings, “Tramps like us, baby, we were born to run”, and then fades off into the seven-note wordless hum which has been his signature line all these years. I think not only of all the fun I’ve had the past four days, the camraderie I shared with my triathlon family, but also everything and everybody the sport has brought to me over the past two decades. And I know that Bruce has an answer for that as well.
I quickly search for “Wrecking Ball”. A song he initially wrote for and performed at the final concert in Meadowlands Stadium. It starts out simple, seemingly an elegy for that concrete arena, soon to be demolished. But somewhere near the end, we realise he’s veering into different territory:
“Now when all this steel and these stories, they drift away to rust
And all our youth and beauty, it’s been given to the dust
And your game has been decided, and we’re burning down the clock
And all our little victories and glories, they turned into parking lots
When your best hopes and desires are scattered to the winds....
Come on and take your best shot, let me see what you’ve got
Bring on your wrecking ball”
Then he jumps into “One, two, a-one, two, three, four” and starts humming, just three notes at first, the violin fill from this song. But quickly, in the background, those seven notes from Born to Run harmonize along.
I get lost in thoughts of all I’ve done, all the people I’ve met, during the last twenty years of my triathlon career. Even if I can’t run long anymore, I’m never going to give them up.
Another chapter in my life is ending, but the story continues...
Comments
What an awesome story Al!! I watched the tracker all day long on Sunday and was absolutely impressed with your performance. When asked what I was doing, my response was watching one of the team members at IM AZ who is 70 years old and he is having a great race. I told your times to my daughter who is 14 and all she could say is WOW! Honestly, I would be happy to finish in the time that you did and I am only 54. You are an inspiration Al and you truly show us how anything is possible.
@Al Truscott great report. I'm glad your "final" IM allowed you to go out on your terms. Enjoy Kona.
@Al Truscott yiu are a better writer than competitor which is a pretty big statement. Even though you had a big cushion I kept refreshing my tracker all night long, shouting out with excitement when I’d see that you kept or even increased pace on some splits on the back of the run. We all know anything can happen before you cross the finish and I was nervous that some bad juju would come your way. As always you inspire and now you’ve given me the opportunity to heal up so I can try to get to do kona with you.
congrats on an epic well executed race and heal up those legs, it’s ski season!!!
@Al Truscott Your mental game is so strong. Your introspection when racing is something we can all learn from. There is a chapter in a book I am reading titled 'Rewire, Don't Retire'. That's you! The book is Wisdom @ Work - the Making of a Modern Elder. 👍️
I am so thrilled I get to be on course with you next October. I'm also grateful that you will continue to share your sage experience. Congratulations Al. 🏆️
wouaw... just...wouaw...love the way u write your reports...plus the story is worth reading.
I enjoyed reading your race report thoroughly, Al. Your passion and determination are so inspirational. Here’s to retirement that will never happen 😂
@Al Truscott I don't know why your struggling so hard to retire, when its obvious your a writer , who does Ironman races and wins :-)
great to be with you.
happy to be part of your successful race .
yes I specifically didn't say what was going on with me in T2. you didn't need the negative mojo.
love the airplane boarding scene.
i'll try to make a point of seeing you more locally.
Have a great Hawaii in 2021.
@Al Truscott Great race and report. You controlled the day easing up on the bike on lap 2 and 3. Then got to the finish line for the win. Definitely a nice send off on the plane.
@Al Truscott - A great race and a great read! Leading from the front with consistent training and expert race execution!! Very inspiring performance...Congratulations!
@Al Truscott congratulations on your race and amazing Ironman career! Meeting you out on the course last year was one of the highlights of my race. The advice and support I received from you undoubtedly helped me finally reach the finish line.
@Al Truscott - what a season! I really enjoyed racing with you (and love reading your RRs) and hope to be at all your upcoming retirement races!
Let me pass on my congratulations @Al Truscott. Well done with a commanding AG win!
It was great to share the course with you and as I mentioned in my RR, when I saw you on the Beeline descent you were locked in your aero bars working to build an insurmountable lead.
I'm glad I was able to see you cross the finish line and meet you in the finisher area immediately post race. You looked great and it speaks volumes that you were immediately more interested in hearing about how other ENrs performed on the day rather than talking about your experiences.
Your leadership and knowledge is inspiring to team members and a great example to follow -- you know what has to be done and you just... go... do... it.
On a personal note, it was fantastic getting to meet you in AZ and share stories and conversations over the course of the week. I appreciate the feedback and guidance you've provided over my first year with EN.
Congrats on a career-capping win; but so much for retirement now! 30 finishes, redemption from Kona, and once more into the breach. Wishing you great success for another year of triathlon.
@Al Truscott - probably the smartest most experience IM I know and the stats are there to back it up.
You always have my support.
We, as a team, always feel/benefit from your support!
Congratulations on a well earned win and season finale Ironman!