Today is my day – Ironman Chattanooga

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.