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2011 Ford Ironman Florida
2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, 26.2 mile run
Race Report by Richard Hunter
Visually Impaired Triathlete & Marathoner
On November 5, 2011, with Alan Gulledge as my guide, I participated in my first full Ironman race. This was my 3rd year of doing triathlons, but only my 10th triathlon ever. I have written my race report as a memory sake so that when I reread it in the future I’ll be able to relive the emotions of my journey, which was shared by many. The emotions are still so fresh that I can’t even talk about the volunteers who helped me without tearing up and swallowing the ever growing lump in my throat.
Alan Gulledge (guide) and Richard Hunter, post-race.
Beginning the Journey…
Three-years ago, under some quite extraordinary circumstances, I came to know Justin Waller, an Ironman athlete who was seeking out the opportunity to guide a visually impaired athlete in a triathlon. He had been inspired to volunteer by coverage he had seen of C Different Foundation (CDF) guides serving as the eyes to the blind participating in triathlon. Justin wanted to participate in the sport in a different way, to rekindle the Ironman fire within. At that time, I did not know anyone who had done an Ironman. Like many, I had seen Ironman coverage and was in awe of these amazing athletes and their stories. Watching coverage of Ironman would send shivers to my core, and a multiple finisher wanted to help me. Justin devoted a year of his training to guiding, mentoring, and training with me. He was my only resource in 2009, and he guided me to my first half ironman finish in Augusta, Georgia. His volunteer spirit lit a fire within me which I don’t think will ever burn out. He gave me so much, and all I can do to honor his gift is to pay it forward. Justin introduced me to all of the resources who continue to make triathlon possible for a guy who would not otherwise be able to participate. I am proud to call Justin Waller a friend, and he will always be my personal hero. Justin was the answer to a prayer in my life and bolstered my faith like nothing else.
Though Justin proved to me that I had what it took to finish a 70.3 mile triathlon in respectable fashion, being the anal retentive worry wart I am, there was NO WAY I would ever consider doing a full Ironman until I passed certain personal tests. Most importantly, how could I consider running a marathon after swimming 2.4 miles and riding a bicycle for 112 miles if I couldn’t even run a marathon without cramping for up to 10 miles? With the assistance of Ironman Sheila Leard, a sports nutritionist, I was able to complete endurance events cramp free for the first time which opened up the possibility of doing an Ironman.
Overcoming Adversity…
Given the wealth of volunteers who have stepped up to help me with my training this year, I can’t say that my vision loss has handicapped my ability to participate in the sport. The adversity I faced this year was not unlike any other person with the goal of Ironman in mind. Shortly after signing up for Ironman a year ago, I found myself in physical therapy for about 7 months. My pelvis was constantly becoming misaligned which only exacerbated issues related to super wound up hip flexors pulling on an arthritic lower spine. A locked-up calf muscle, IT band, and quad, and hamstring did their best to cause problems with my ankle. When I finally left PT in July armed with specific core strengthening exercises and stretches, the physical therapist made it clear that my body was not likely to stand up to the increasing demands Ironman training would entail. The smart thing to do would have been to stop what I was doing, strengthen my core, and start all over again when I was whole. I almost quit. Then, my coach Jon Klingensmith suggested I just take things day by day, and he tailored my plan so that I would be less likely to hurt myself further. I kept at it, knowing full well that the other shoe would drop at any moment. Then, I started getting rather severe nerve pain shooting down my leg from my SI Joint, through the piriformis, and across my left ankle and foot. That has continued to be an issue to the present, but it only hurts when I’m walking or standing. The nerve pain actually subsided during exercise, so I kept going. Finally, 4 weeks out from Ironman Florida, I came down with bronchitis. This happened exactly at the wrong time, just as my 2 weeks of final peak training were about to start. I went to Urgent Care, got a breathing treatment and a prescription. The doctor said exercise wouldn’t make it worse, but my oxygen saturation levels were so low that he said I’d have to take it easy. I don’t even know what that means! So, I took one day off, and did everything on my training plan. My lungs didn’t seem to deflate all of the way before I’d start the next breath, and the crackling of my lungs made me wonder if I was doing any damage after all. I was left wondering if I would recover in enough time to race. Up until race week, I had so many problems that I wasn’t convinced my body would get me to the start line. The positive thing about that was that I lived in the present and didn’t even think about the race until a couple of days prior to leaving.
When a visually impaired athlete participates in a triathlon, obviously two bodies need to make it to the start line. Knowing full well that Alan is not superhuman, months ago I asked an Ironman athlete by the name of Don Sullivan to be my back-up. He is always Ironman ready, a phenomenal athlete, lives in Florida, and has guided a totally blind friend of mine. Much to Alan’s frustration, with about a month to go before race day, he injured his knee severely enough during training that he was prohibited from running for 3 weeks prior to the race. What I didn’t know at the time was that Alan was talking with Don about the possibility of standing in for him at the Ironman. When Alan laid it all out for me a couple of weeks before the race, I asked him if he could swim and ride, and he said yes, and that he was hopeful he’d be OK for the run. Alan wanted me to know that he’d happily step aside. I told Alan quite assertively that I’d run by myself if need be and simply choose a body to follow as there would be plenty in front of me. I’ve been through much with Alan, and it was important to me to honor him, though I knew I might be running solo in the dark. I was prepared to run slowly and tentatively with a head lamp. After all, I just wanted to finish.
Race Day Approaches…
Aside from the prospect of finishing an Ironman race, I was looking forward to sharing the experience with Justin Waller, Jon Klingensmith and their families. Since Heidi and my girls couldn’t be there, what a gift of support I’d have race weekend. In addition to being friends, both have guided me in triathlons, and both bring much calm to what could be a quite anxious time for me. We all booked the same flight to Panama City Beach which helped greatly with pre-race logistics. I was also thrilled that my good friend Alan Arceneaux was flying out from Oregon to watch the race.
In contemplating which race to do, I had chosen Ironman Florida for several reasons. It’s in November so I could train all season long in good CA weather; it is a wetsuit legal course; it’s not as likely as some races to be hot and humid that time of year; and, though not the determining factor, was the flattest Ironman course in the country. Given my propensity to easily lose 10 pounds during the course of a longer workout, I wanted to choose a venue in which the weather conditions were optimal for a guy my size. The challenge is that a Gulf Coast swim would mean uncertain ocean conditions. Ocean swells can top 6 feet on race day or could be smooth as silk. As a relatively new swimmer, the prospect of swimming tethered to my guide in a mass start race of 2800 triathletes in giant swells made me wonder many times if I really had the mental strength to make it more than 10 minutes. Would I panic? Having had no experience with mass starts, I knew I had to trust my training. I had heard people describe the mass start as “terrifying,” and I knew Alan and I would have to adopt a plan to ensure success.
The two days prior to the race, the wind blew hard and the surf conditions were less than ideal in my mind. Alan would comment to me about the surf, and I was thankful I couldn’t see it every time we left our room. While standing in line, I listened to those who had done a practice swim talking about seeing a ton of jellyfish, small sharks and rays. My initial rationale to stay away from large groups of triathletes was validated! We were told to just keep swimming if stung by jellyfish. Despite this, I wasn’t concerned for sea life. My only focus was visualizing myself being calm, relaxed and focused in the water and to shut out the bad images which I would have to squelch over and over again.
I’d like to say that I have unshakable confidence, but truth be told that just isn’t in my nature. Standing in the midst of all those Ironman athletes, I found myself envious of their experience, wondering if they too had any doubts interrupting their train of thought. Knowing that Ironman is just as much mental as it is physical, I can’t help but wonder if these swirling thoughts alone are the crack that can cause things to crash down on me race day. While I don’t fret incessantly, it’s just enough to cause me to scold myself for being weak. On the flip side, the gift of uncertainty is that it has driven me to work harder, to lean on my faith, to remember that God opened the door to triathlon and kept it open by providing the necessary volunteers and strength to train in spite of adversity. I find myself repeating, “Where there is doubt, give me faith.” It sounds silly to think that I believed finishing an Ironman is what it would take to honor my family and those who helped me along the way, but I wanted them all to share in my joy of success. Failure was not an option, yet the seeds of doubt needled at me.
On Friday, race-day eve, Alan and I woke up to an alarm and headed to the beach for a short swim. Though the swells were noteworthy, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been, yet it still felt as though I was on a roller coaster ride. I relaxed through the movement, and reminded myself that it was fun, but I didn’t like the idea of facing that for my first mass start. At least I knew I could swim in those conditions with not too much difficulty, and I told myself that I’d be OK.
Race Day!
A beautiful sunset and changing winds were a promise of a good tomorrow. A southerly wind would mean calmer seas. Yeah! When Alan and I went to sleep, all our gear was already staged in transition and a broken spoke on my bike had been repaired. Well… Alan slept. I never do! Luckily, I didn’t spend the night worrying about failing. I was amped up to get started. I’ve learned that sleep is not necessary the night before a race, just rest. Sleep can come later.
3:45 AM came quickly. Though the race didn’t start until 7AM, the morning moves quickly on race day; you have to get ready, eat, pump up your tires, place nutrition on the bike, drop off special needs bags, and ready yourself for the swim. Since we were staying at the host hotel, we were able to get everything ready and put on our wetsuits in our room. Alan said a prayer for us, and we were out the door.
Race morning was perfect; it was cool and the ocean was smooth! After a quick dip in the ocean to take a few strokes, we found the perfect spot for me to start. Alan and I positioned ourselves to the far outside right of the 2800 triathletes lining the narrow beach. Though it meant swimming a tad further, the chaos would be more manageable by starting on the outer edge. When the cannon fired at 7AM, the sun was just coming up in the distance. This is where one needs to pause and visualize almost 3,000 people running at the ocean at the same time, all shooting for the same first turn buoy, and you are just one, or in our case, two with a rope tied between so Alan could guide me safely through the masses. As we left the beach into the ocean, I thought of two people who were my inspiration for the swim: Tom Leard, a retired Marine who swam with me weekly in open water, and Noah Bentley who took swim lessons in spite of a fear of the water and was doing triathlons within 6 months!
I knew my day was going to be determined within the first 10 minutes. My entire focus was a calm, smooth, relaxed start. It became apparent very quickly that my training with Tom paid dividends. I didn’t get breathless and the contact with others didn’t’ phase me. I can’t tell you how many times people swam across my tether, stopping me in my tracks, calling out to Alan to find out which head was his. Yet, I was calm. I was going to nail this no problem! Yet, no sooner than when my confidence soared, I would get a reminder to stay focused as I would get hit or be swam on top of from both sides at the same time. I was keenly aware that it would have to be a freak accident to end my day in the water. I found my mind drifting past the bike to the marathon, only to pull it back and remain focused.
The 2.4 mile swim was a double loop course in which we had to exit the water, run along the beach, and then re-enter the ocean for a second loop. The most tiring aspect of the whole swim was running through the sand and pushing ourselves through the water so we could start swimming again. The second loop was less crowded, but the contact continued throughout, just less frequently. At one point, Alan stopped me in my tracks to help me avoid swimming into a big jellyfish. He had just punctured the top of one with his hand, missing the tentacles. Fortunately, neither one of us were stung during the swim. As we neared the beach on the last loop, Alan stopped and said he was feeling nauseous from accidentally swallowing saltwater a couple of times. He began vomiting into the ocean, and I was beginning to wonder what this would mean as we jumped on the tandem.
As Alan and I began running up the beach, I was boasting with pride as I heard screams of encouragement and thanked God repeatedly for making the swim an enjoyable experience. I had just finished an Ironman swim and my confidence soared. The race director wrapped his arm around my shoulder, ran with me and shouted encouragement as we made our way up to the wetsuit strippers. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was just as thankful as I that the blind guy got out of the water safely, but I later learned that he is just one of those positive and encouraging guys that can fuel your spirit.
Finishing the swim immediately put me in Ironman distance mode. As a first timer, I knew I’d have to be conservative and patient. I could not worry about time. I reminded myself that success at this point hinged on having enough energy for the marathon at the end of the day. After a painfully slow and long transition process, we got on my tandem to start the 112 mile trek.
I was relieved to see that the saltwater hadn’t had a lasting effect on Alan. We had to negotiate a start chute with many other riders and did so without incident. We quickly started passing one after another and were clipping along when we flatted at mile 20. Crud! Changing a tube on a tandem is more time consuming than a single road bike. But, we took our time to ensure that something wasn’t embedded in the front tire. We couldn’t afford to blow through any more tubes. Unfortunately, the CO2 cartridge never fills up my tires, so I had to pump my tire up with a frame pump. With our combined weight, it makes it necessary to get close to 120 lbs of pressure in the tire or we’d run the risk of a pinch flat. After 15 minutes of watching bikes fly by, we were off again, and I did a quiet prayer to get our tire through the race with no further problems. Finishing 112 miles is not difficult, but a race can end if there is an issue with the bike.
The first goal for the 112 miles was to simply “pedal along” which meant never feeling like I was working hard. Again, I had to be patient. Coach Jon reminded me the warm-up for Ironman is the 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, and the first 20 miles of the run. With this in mind, I would periodically check my heart rate, and sure enough I kept it in the 130s. After the flat, we didn’t try to play catch up. I found myself saying aloud many times that I didn’t care about our time. I just wanted to finish the Ironman. This gave us the permission we needed to stop at porta potties without worrying we were losing time. The second goal for the bike leg was to be militant about my fueling strategy. Long before the race, I was practicing exactly what I’d be eating on race day. I knew exactly how many calories and milligrams of sodium I’d need to consume. Sheila Leard and I had met and spoken several times about my strategy, and I reminded myself of something she had told me some time ago… Many of the DNFs (Did Not Finish) are the result of gut issues. That is something you definitely want to avoid when running a marathon at the end of an Ironman! Obviously, the body can become very dehydrated, and internal organs, including the digestive system, can run the risk of shutting down.
After the initial drama of the flat, the ride was fairly uneventful other than a terrible headwind for the first half. The forecast for the day called for 20 mph wind. There were times when pedaling the tandem took more effort than it should to even go 16 mph. That is saying a lot, because on a good day, we were thinking we could manage an average of 20 -21 mph. That was not in the cards! Luckily, the headwind on the way out meant a tailwind for the way home, which was much better than the reverse. Once we re-entered Panama City Beach, we were once again blasted with the worst headwinds of the day. The last 6 miles were a cruel joke to bodies that couldn’t wait to get off the tandem!
I honestly didn’t even think about the marathon at all leading up to the race, yet the Ironman comes down to the last 26.2 miles. I’ve had the most experience with running, and have finished marathons under some pretty significant revolts from my body, so my mental resolve was much stronger for this part of the Ironman. I had a fueling plan, I had the experience, but I wasn’t sure if those lingering injuries would rear their ugly head as they had in several training runs. I was just hoping that any severe pain wouldn’t happen until late in the race. After all, common knowledge about an Ironman marathon is that sooner or later your resolve would be tested and it would be difficult to continue. Also, as I stated earlier, Alan’s ability to run the marathon was a big question mark. We implemented our marathon strategy immediately. Our plan was to stop at each aid station for at least a few seconds to ensure we hydrated properly and to leave the aid stations running.
The cool thing about the run was that it was a double out-and-back course. We were thrilled to see Jon, Justin, and Dan Streetman (also a friend) pass us going the opposite way several times. They were on fire and having great marathons! Within a few miles, Alan felt the stabbing knee pain, but he kept going. Alan would say that it felt like someone was “hammering a nail into his knee.” Therefore, we ensured our brief stops in aid stations periodically included some stretching. After completing the first 13 mile loop, I realized how bold I was to state that I could run by myself if needed. The course went over speed bumps, a few curbs, across plywood, along cones, more turns than I realized, etc... Not only that, the prospect of choosing someone to follow didn’t seem like a good fall back plan. There wasn’t anyone else running our pace in front of us. There were many walking, and it was commonplace for people to be stopped in the middle of the road or running closely the opposite direction along the orange cones. If Alan had to stop, I’d have to be extremely cautious as the conditions were beyond my ability to run solo. I think Alan sensed this too, because I was feeling his pain as he pushed on, hoping not to slow me too much. As he would start to apologize, I would quickly retort that I too needed to manage my pace and that it is about finishing, and nothing else.
At about mile 15, my ankle started to hurt. I had learned during training that this did not mean an ankle injury, but rather tense muscles in my calf and foot. Since Alan was already stretching in aid stations, I stretched my calf. It provided some temporary relief, so I knew I was on the right track. I just hoped it wouldn’t get severe enough to cause me to walk in severe pain like it had on one of my training runs. Then again, I was already far enough into the marathon that the prospect of walking wouldn’t necessarily stop me from finishing. There were several times before mile 20 that I thought, “I’m going to be an Ironman today,” but I intentionally pushed that thought out of my mind because the hardest part was still ahead of me. There are no guarantees until you’ve actually crossed the finish line.
With 4 miles to go, I said to Alan, “With the exception of the aid stations, we’ve ran the entire marathon so far.” Within seconds, his hamstring locked up. I should have kept my mouth shut! We stopped so he could stretch and hydrate. Once we started jogging again, we decided we should just keep running, not stopping in aid stations, so we wouldn’t run the risk of the speed change ups causing more cramps. At this point, it was already dark, and Alan was now holding a hand-held tether so he could keep me on track, avoiding all obstacles. Dear God I was thankful he was still on the course. I could barely make out a shape directly in front of me and I couldn’t see any of the obstacles. I was further blinded by lights along the streets. Alan was clearly straining, but running all the same. Two miles from the finish he was grunting in pain with every step. I just kept encouraging him, telling him how proud I was, how strong he was… I needed him, and he knew it! I think Alan needed me too. Maybe it was the distraction of Alan’s obvious pain, but I felt great. My ankle wasn’t getting any worse and I never ran out of energy. I felt as though I could keep running beyond the finish.
As we approached the last ¼ mile of the marathon, Jon’s wife, Emily Klingensmith, ran alongside us shouting words of encouragement. Emily peeled away as we entered the finish chute. The lights were blinding, Alan was still guiding me with the tether, the crowd was deafening, and I heard the announcer call out, “Richard Hunter, you are an Ironman!” We had done it, and I crossed the finish line with my dear friend Alan, who suffered greatly to my benefit. What a heroic effort on his part!
1.2 mile swim: 1:26:07
T1: 14:09
112 mile bike: 5:51:42
T2: 11:48
26.2 mile run: 4:11:37
Overall: 11:55:22
Justin Waller, Alan Gulledge, Jon Klingensmith, Richard Hunter
What’s next…?
Even though I finished Ironman Florida in the top 1/3 of those who lined up at the starting line, and though I’m the 2nd visually impaired triathlete to break the 12 hour Ironman benchmark, this success doesn’t change how my mind works. I’ll still be a “head case.” I’ve learned a lot about myself during this journey, including being keenly aware of my weaknesses. I will strive to confront those weaknesses with new challenges which cause me to step outside of my comfort zone. For now, I’m going to enjoy a little down time and let some time pass before I even worry about my next goal. I’m also looking forward to having fun with the family without having to fit in the long workouts.
Special Thanks…
Thank you Heidi for your support of my efforts, by allowing me to pursue this craziness, and for picking up the slack I left in my wake. As a visually impaired athlete, participation in the sport of triathlon would be impossible without caring volunteers to assist me. Those listed below share in my success and I’m overwhelmed by their generosity. A special thanks to my 2011 training partners:
Triathlon Guides: Alan Gulledge (IMFL, Big Kahuna Half Ironman); Coach Jon Klingensmith (Folsom Olympic Distance Triathlon); Stuart Evans (Denver Triathlon).
Tandem Pilots: Lance Maguire, Bill Kelly, Bill Dutter, Noah Bentley, Louis Du Brey, Justin Waller, Jon Klingensmith
Open Water Swim Guide: Tom Leard
Running Guides: Emily Klingensmith, Austin Weaver (Parkway Half Marathon)
What you can do:
Please feel free to pass along this race report. You’d be paying me the ultimate compliment. My prayer is always that something I do might resonate with a single person, so much so that they might be inspired enough to step outside of their own comfort zone regardless of the adversity they face.
If you feel so called, you could always make a monetary contribution to the C Different Foundation (CDF). They truly change lives and many of their athletes paved a trail for me.
Anything is Possible!
Richard Hunter
Visually Impaired Ironman
