Nope, not my day - I certainly didn't complete an Ironman Race! I'm lending the Ambo to my good friend Deacon John Broehl, who needed a little blog real estate (OK, a lot of blog real estate) to publish his post-race report. I'm very proud of Deacon John, not only for completing the race and living to tell about it, but especially for leveraging his training to raise money for Make-A-Wish Foundation and becoming the top fundraiser at Ironman Chattanooga. Congratulations, brother! I'll put your funeral homily away for another day.
For those of you who are visiting the Ambo for the first time, I hope you'll take a little time to check out some of the other postings. You may particularly like Never Entirely Satisfied - my theological explanation for why we set goals for ourselves, even crazy goals like competing in Ironman races!
Much peace,
Deacon Mike
Today is my day – Ironman Chattanooga
by Deacon John Broehl
The Weekend that Almost Wasn't:
Normally, a report like this starts with the actual weekend. However, this is too scary not to share. The Wednesday we were to leave for
Chattanooga, I had decided to go into the office for just a bit to wrap up some
loose ends before my week’s vacation.
Needing to ask an employee some last minute questions, I had gone out
into the yard. Now, if you can imagine,
our shop for a 30 minute stretch looks like ants on a piece of food. There are over thirty men moving in all
directions readying their trucks for the day.
While the need to back up a truck during this time is rare, because of
the “craziness” of this time period, I have a rule: no one is to back-up a truck or trailer without
their work partner standing on the back corner of that vehicle for the safety
of the employees and the safety of our equipment.
On this
particular morning, I exited the garage to see immediately in front of me an
idling rack truck parked in a very bad spot.
I looked for the driver and did not see him. As I walked along the truck to the rear to
see if he was done loading, he was actually walking along the other side. The two of us could not see each other as the
back of the truck is solid, twelve feet long, and about eight feet high. At the back of the truck, I paused for a
moment to scan the yard and see where he was.
In what seemed like a split second, I had gotten my answer as the truck
was thrown into reverse and I was hit.
Shaken,
I headed back to my office as the feeling of adrenaline from being hit,
overcame the feeling of pain and tears.
On the way in, a dear friend and office manager was rushing out as she
had just witnessed the accident on her computer via the security camera
system. I made my way to my office and
closed the door. As the feeling of pain
in my back set in, I said a prayer knowing that this all could have been a
whole lot worse. I knew that tightness
would set in over the next day or two.
However, I also know that this would not stop me from “toeing the line”
in four days’ time. Talk about cutting
it close! The only worse feeling than
actually hitting your boss with a truck could be the actual feelings of seeing
everything disappear in a flash the morning that I was to leave.
Overview:
The weekend could not have gone any better. Although I was on edge, my family seemed to
easily understand the circumstances and just as they had done for an entire
year – they understood and they supported.
Although I had come to the feeling that our journey was already a huge
success in the back of my mind I could not help but feel as if an entire year’s
worth of training had come down to one single day. I tried to concentrate on the fact that
Maria’s trip was granted, the community had sent Maria and me an overflow of
love and support, and by the Grace of God I had been delivered safely and
healthy through a year’s worth of training and to the starting line. Journey of Hope and Dreams was indeed a huge
success, at this point an Ironman finish would be the “icing on the cake”.
It was not
just me; my entire family was overflowing with a mixture of exhaustion from the
entire year, excitement and nervousness for the big race, and fear of the
unknown. However, I believe that out of
this crazy mix of emotions surfaced a celebratory feeling. It had been a long year of work-outs, with
the last nine months consuming about eighteen hours per week for the eight
required work-outs. Over the last year I
had covered 4548 miles in 316 workouts consuming over 500 hours of my precious
time. Now, in the blink of an eye all
that was behind us and we were in Chattanooga readying ourselves for the
hardest multi-sport event around. It
truly was time to celebrate and this celebration would stretch over the entire
weekend, including the race and beyond.
Pre-Race:
The usual Ironman race weekend consists of walking through Ironman
Village, checking in, picking up one’s race bib and timing chip, purchasing
long awaited race merchandise, checking in your bike, setting up transitions,
the welcome banquet, along with a quick practice swim and bike ride to loosen
up and burn off some jitters.
However,
for my family, Friday and Saturday were about so much more than the normal check
in and set up. I had been excited for a
pair of other race related gifts. As the
top fundraiser, I had been invited to sit with the professionals on the
question and answer panel where I would have a chance to share a little about
our Make-a-Wish story. I would be a sort
of representative of the average Ironman athlete who would train while
balancing a family, job, and other responsibilities. In addition, I was blessed to have my path
cross with a Catholic priest who would also be competing. He would be celebrating Mass on Saturday
evening in a tiny church at the top of Look Out Mountain with a special
intention and blessing for those who would racing. The Pastor of the Church was funny, as he
continued to escalate in nervousness as more and more people showed up for
Mass. This small congregation’s Mass
probably consisted of about a dozen families – all of whom dressed in their
“Sunday best”. The race families more
than doubled the size of the crowd, which put the attendance to half of a
normal Saturday evening where I am assigned.
Father Vic delivered a fantastic homily that started out with him poking
fun at the athletes’ fears from training to tapering to the worries of getting
sick. Even better, he tied the Ironman
race back to Gospel reading using the race as a metaphor for us not stopping, that
we need to continue to push forward in bringing about the kingdom of God no
matter how we may feel. After Mass,
Father delivered a special and very meaningful blessing to all those who were
to be participating in the race. Going
to Mass always helps to put me in a special frame of mind. Thanks to Father Vic, this weekend was no
different, but maybe a little more meaningful considering the
circumstances. These two special events
were obvious reminders to me that this weekend was about so much more than the
race and we were all enjoying it.
The
banquet dinner was exciting as thousands of athletes and their supporters
gathered in celebration. The speakers
and videos were exciting and inspiring.
For the first time I became comfortable with Little Debbie sponsoring
the race as the CEO had delivered a great speech acknowledging how strange the
partnership was from the products they produced versus the typical athlete’s
diet and the tough Ironman image versus the cute Little Debbie girl image. As he explained, it all comes down to a
healthy life style and consuming “even Little Debbie products in moderation”.
The Bike of all Bikes; QR PR SIX:
Earlier in the day I had been mesmerized by a triathlon bike that was on
display: a 2015 Quintana Roo. As it turned out, they were raffling off this
high quality bike. Every time I walked
by the table I thought about buying tickets, but decided each time "not to
waste my money". However, at the athlete’s
banquet, Mike Reilly had plugged the bike raffle one last time as the funds
were to help support the Crohn’s and Colitis Foundation. So, during the break, Jacqueline and I made
our way out back to buy some tickets. I
spoke to the gentleman a little bit more about the bike to find that the raffle
was actually for the bike frame valued at $4,500. It was an awful hot looking bike frame and
Jacqueline had convinced me to purchase a few extra tickets; “it’s a better
deal when you buy the extra tickets” she explained.
When the
drawing came I handed a few tickets to Nora, a few to Jacqueline, and I kept a
few for myself. I leaned over to tell
Nora that I actually felt like I had a good chance of winning (why not, after
all this was “my weekend”). My words
were still hanging in the air like some type of balloon when Jacqueline started
hyper-ventilating. DADDY! DADDY! YOU WON! YOU WON! I grabbed the tick, jumped from my seat
yelling and throwing my hands in to the air.
As people cheered and congratulated me, Mike Reilly, reminded me that I
had to come up to verify the ticket. Oops! All
of a sudden it occurred to me that I had never actually checked the ticket
myself and I became scared that Jacqueline may have made a mistake. As it turned out, Jacqueline knew exactly
what she was talking about and once the ticket was verified I once again threw
both hands in the air absorbing the cheers and fun of my new QR PR Six frame.
Race Sleep?:
I had this illusion that the night before I would be in bed nice and
early, at least resting. As it turned
out the weekend was way too full with activities and the busyness of it all
would land me in bed a little after 10 pm.
“Not horrible,” I thought, as I piled up my pillows. I could push my alarm back to 4 am, and
actually score a solid six hours of sleep.
Wrong again. Tired as I was, just
four hours later I was lying wide awake.
I did not think that I was feeling overly nervous, but I guess that I
was nervous enough that my sleep for the night was done – I would go on less than
four hours. I knew that I could do the
distance; I had exceeded my training plan, I was ready physically and I thought
that I was relatively relaxed mentally. However, there was still the unknown. I have learned that finishing an Ironman is
about more than doing the distance; it is about overcoming whatever the day
would throw at you along the way.
Equipment failure, flat tire, broken chain, cramping, vomiting from
nutrition or lack thereof, taking a shot during the swim, bike crash, ...these are some of the unknown
that many athletes would have to overcome.
Race Day:
I was out of bed at 4 am and on a shuttle on my way to the transition
sites by 4:45 am. After double checking
everything that I had previously set up, I got some air in my tires and set up
my nutrition. Now my nerves were really
working. The race was getting “real” at
this point. I stopped to take a deep breath
when I heard; “Deacon John! HEY, Deacon John!” A special volunteer who had helped check me in
had recognized me. She invited me over
to her group of friends that were volunteering.
As we all spoke, I started to feel at ease again.
This is
where I must tell you that four thousand five hundred volunteers are needed to
pull off a full size Ironman event.
Every single one of them was enthusiastic, helpful, and polite. They were there for the athlete’s every need,
and expressed their thanks to the athletes continuously throughout the day for coming
to their hometown to compete. While it
was the volunteers that the athletes needed to thank, southern hospitality was
in full force throughout the entire day.
With my
nerves eased, I found my “brother” Glen and headed off to board the bus to the
starting line. On the bus, I thought
about everyone who had supported our work for Maria and my training for this
event. I knew so many people would be
tracking me throughout the day. I closed
my eyes and started to absorb their thoughts and prayers.
Once at
the start we had over two hours of sitting in line on the cold sidewalk waiting
for the race to begin. We were soon
joined by my wife, two of my children, and some dear friends who came in to support
me. It was strange that with all this
sitting around, that I had not wasted much energy being overly nervous until the
final thirty minutes or so. Finally, it
was time. As we started to make our way
to the water I stopped and readied myself mentally. I had one last chance to wrap my mind around
what I was actually about to attempt. As
I focused, I turned my nervousness into determination. Jogging in a mass group down the path to the
water entry I spotted Nora and the girls along the fence. I slowed for a second, looked at Nora and
proclaimed: "TODAY'S MY DAY BABY,
TODAY'S MY DAY!"
Swim 2.4 Miles:
I never really got comfortable in the swim. There was an awful lot of bumping and hitting
and the crowd never really seemed to thin out.
It was not until late in the swim that I had become comfortable with my
stroke and before I knew it I was under the third bridge and on my way to the
exit. Coming out of the water, I
continued to scan the crowds for my family as I ran down the river’s edge
toward the transition area. No luck, as it turned out the race directors
suggestion of the families walking back along the river walk instead of taking
the bus was a bad idea. The paths were
winding back and forth and the swimmers actually arrived to the swim exit
faster than their families could walk there.
I
grabbed my transition bag and headed into the changing tent where it seemed
almost impossible for a barefooted swimmer to run in while cyclists were
heading out and not have your feet stepped on by someone with cycling
cleats. I took my time, did a complete
change as I wanted to be comfortable on the one-hundred-sixteen mile ride that
lie ahead. I got up to leave and
realized that I was heading out holding my wet suit and was leaving my riding
helmet and gloves behind on the chairs.
At this point I decided that I was still a little woozy from the swim
and decided to sit back down for a few more minutes. Once clear, I packed my bags properly, gathered
my belongings and headed for the bike.
Checking the time on my way out did not seem real. With a goal swim time of 80 minutes, I must
have smashed it! I did indeed, 56:27 to
be exact. As I headed out onto the bike
I felt even more at ease knowing that with the excellent swim time in the books
that I would have additional time for the bike.
Cycle 116 Miles:
Yes, normally and Ironman has a one hundred twelve mile bike. However it was announced that this would be
four miles longer due to permitting issues.
While the roads would not be closed, the cyclist would be given the
right-a-way at every intersection by the different town’s police departments.
Right
from the start I cycled differently, I needed a different mind set. The mileage all of a sudden seemed burdensome
in my mind, so I broke it up. Right from
the start I keep telling myself to concentrate on just getting to mile
ten. Once I hit mile ten, I just
concentrated on getting to mile twenty, and so on and so on. I was feeling good and anticipating passing
my family around mile fifty. As I
approached and could hear them, I thrust my fist into the air and yelled back
to them once again; “TODAY IS MY DAY, TODAY IS MY DAY!”
On the
following miles I needed to concentrate even more. I had a fantastic pace of around seventeen
miles per hour for the first half but I was fading fast and needed to work
harder and harder to maintain my pace. I
had to really focus. Anytime anything
other than pushing down, pulling up, or of getting to the next mile marker
entered my head I quickly dismissed it. There
was no room to think about anything else.
Later in the ride I would break my goals up to even smaller
amounts. Just get to mile sixty-six and
then mile seventy, mile seventy-six, then eighty, then eighty-six…. while I was
suffering, it seemed much easier to handle setting much smaller goals.
With
approximately sixty to ninety minutes to go in the ride, I realized that there
was an outside chance that I could get under seven hours. I do not know why I cared, this was never a
goal, but all of a sudden it mattered to me.
Although my MPH splits were dropping, I only cared about getting in less
than seven hours. I convinced myself
that I would not care what happened on the run, I just needed to get in less
than seven hours. I pushed with all my
heart along the way back constantly ignoring my heart rate and nutrition. I kept pushing the pace to each small block
of five or six mile increments until I once again threw my hands in the air
yelling; “NAILED IT!” to a time of 6:53:52.
Dropping
off my bike and heading back to transition and into the changing tents again,
it easily occurred to me I had the swim of my life and I just followed it up
with the bike of my life. Could I follow
it up with a similar run? In my mind I
quickly calculated that all in told I would need about a 5:30 marathon to blow
the doors off of this and come in under fourteen hours. This seemed awfully tough knowing that the
course was extremely hilly and I was having trouble walking. However, now I had a new goal.
The Run:
Heading into the tent, I spotted Kristen and Jacqueline on the far
fence. As they jumped up and down
cheering I stopped and called out to them:
“TODAY IS MY DAY, I’M TELLING YOU, I AM MAKING TODAY MY DAY!” I would see them again on the way out where I
could give them a hug and a kiss, but now it was done. I had my new goal, I was onto a new mind set,
and I suddenly realized that I had a new mantra as well: Today is my day.
In the
changing tent, I would once again give up time on the clock for comfort as I
did a complete change. In the midst of
the change, while completely naked, I heard someone calling “Deacon John, Hey
Deacon John!” Sweaty, smelly, and
completely naked was not the ideal time for someone to recognize me. Embarrassed as I could be, I looked up to see
Father Vic heading out of the tent. He
yelled back some good luck sentiments and was on his way.
As I
headed out onto the course, the mileage once again seemed daunting. I decided to use my new found thought process
and just kept telling myself to get to the first aid station. These stations would be just about every
mile, so I could use them as small individual goals. I just kept telling myself, “just get to the
aid station, don’t stop, keep moving forward…just get to the next
station.” I refused to think of it as “miles”;
I would only look at it as getting to an aid station. Over and over I used the same thought
process. When my aching mind refused to
let me concentrate on my running, I tried praying. I prayed decades of the rosary counting off
the Hail Marys on my fingers. I prayed
for Father Vic, I prayed for Glen, I prayed in thanksgiving for the community
over the year, and I prayed in thanksgiving for the love and support of my
beautiful family.
When
things got extremely tough, I was selfish.
Often in other smaller races I would use others as motivation. For example, not wanting my daughters to see
me quit (quitting is not always dropping from the race, often it is not putting
forth the effort to avoid discomfort or pain) or wanting to set an example for
them, etc. However, not today. I kept telling myself that today was about
only me. That I, and I alone, had the
choice to try to crush this Ironman or let this Ironman crush me. Everyone, including myself would be happy
with just getting to the finish line.
However, now that I had a new goal, I myself would live with the results
and the effort level for the rest of my life.
Right now finishing was not good enough.
I needed to knock this race out of the park or explode trying. It was up to me and me alone.
I continued
with my goal from aid station to aid station.
At each I stopped and made myself consume something “solid”. The bike leg was all liquid nutrition – this
meant that I was almost twenty-four hours with eating just a pair of bananas
pre-race and putting my body through hell in the process. Although I was not hungry in the least, at
every station I grabbed a hand full of pretzels, a few oranges, or banana
chunks. I forced them down trying to
suppress the feeling that I would vomit them up. In addition, to a handful of food on the go,
I also left each station with ice water in one hand and chicken broth in the
other. It was a strange feeling; my body
was chilly for what I was putting it through but I was also easily
dehydrated. I drank the cup of soup and
carried with me the ice folding over the top of the paper cup so that I could
continually suck on ice along the way.
My
thought process of “I am going to blow the doors off this race” came to a
crashing halt. Heavy rain moved in and
out, I was shivering, my shoes were heavy, I was spent and I knew that I was
slowly losing another toenail. I did not
get running again out of an aid station and decided to walk up a small but very
steep hill. I was not disappointed that
I had exploded. I knew that I just
wanted to give absolutely everything I had – and I did, I had given it my
all. As I got to the top of the hill and
looked around the corner there was a sign.
Now the course is jammed with signs of encouragement everywhere, but
this one was meant just for me. It read
very simply: “Today is Your Day!” I had a feeling of calm and warm come over
me. I literally fought back the tears as
I felt a resurgence of energy. This sign
was nothing less than a gift, a gift meant for me alone. I had fallen apart some over the last few
miles and I would have some making up to do, but I was ready again. I would need to concentrate, be faster, and
get tougher…I am ready - here I come!
Miles
eight to thirteen were extremely hilly, and we would repeat these hills again
later in the race, but I was unfazed.
Most people were walking these monsters but I was on a mission and would
take joy and energy from passing so many people on the hills. I used this as encouragement; it gave me
strength, as I looked forward to seeing my sign again on the second loop –
today was indeed to be my day. Marathon
5:23:19. Along the way I learned
something about myself. I had learned
another side of me. I had not just
spoken about mind set and determination – I had lived it, I had lived it to the
max.
The Finish:
There came a time around mile twenty-three that it hit me, the end was
insight. Not that the finish line was
ever in doubt, but now the finish was in reach.
I began to cry in relief. I ran
on while crying thinking about seeing my family at the finish, I ran on crying
about the feeling of relief and the accomplishments over the last year. At mile twenty-four or so I could begin to
hear the crowds and could hear Mike Reilly calling off people’s names. Around mile twenty-five something even more
extraordinary happened I was in the midst of the cheering crowds that I could
hear crossing the bridge.
The
streets were lined with people, I mean absolutely packed with cheering
fans. They stepped out into the street
just to touch you. They yelled words of
encouragement and screamed desperately for a simple high-five. With about a half mile to go, I thrust my
hands into the air and the crowd exploded.
I ran with my hand in the air as the crowds became louder and
louder. They became so loud that I could
no longer run with my feet on the ground - I was leaping into the air over and
over again. As I entered the chutes with
about a quarter mile to go, I leapt over and over again in joy throwing my
hands into the air, high-fiving the fans and absorbing every shout of
encouragement and every cheer.
I made
my way down the entire shoot in this fashion.
There was no pain, there was no discomfort, there was just pure
exhilarating joy. As I approached the
finish line I heard Mike Reilly clear as day; “Deacon John Broehl, alright
Deacon John Broehl…from New Jersey…YOU ARE AN IRONMAN.”
Post Race:
In the finisher shoot I received my medal and saw Jacqueline and Kristen
screaming from the side. In their
embrace I had broken down into tears. I
was not hungry, I was not thirsty; I only wanted to get to Nora. Nora had been saving seats for our family at the
finish line since the early morning. My
total time 13:36:15 was about two and half hours faster than I had ever
imagined. Suddenly, my time didn’t
matter at this point, I was with Nora again and all seemed right.
Extra Finish:
My family and I spent the next two and half hours hanging over the
barriers, banging on the wooden signs to the beat of the music. It was a giant party like one you could only
experience if you or a loved one had just accomplished such a feat. We yelled and screamed and cheered for each
additional finisher as they earned the elusive title of “Ironman”. We knew exactly what they had gone through,
we knew exactly what it took, we knew that each time someone crossed that line
that a piece of us was crossing along with them.
In the End:
In the end, the weekend was so much more than I could have ever
imagined. It was a non-stop celebration
of our many blessings. I was recently
asked if I was really sore trying to move around over the past week. My response was simple: “In order for me to feel the pain and
soreness, I would have to actually stop walking on air.”
Thank
you for your love and support over the last year. Together we have one more stop; a check
presentation to the Make-A-Wish foundation!
The best may still be yet to come.
