Ironman Lake Placid Race Report

This is a hard race report to produce. Today, I have such a wide range of emotions. I have a touch of post race blues and my body is still pretty cranked up from what I just put it through. The parts of my body that hurt are not the ones I would expect or usually feel after a long race or training session such as lower back, quads, knees or calves. My ribs, core and spleen are living a life of their own now telling me that now it’s their turn to tell me how to live my life after being neglected such as they were. My fitness level is really amazing because if not for the rib’s, I’d be swimming biking and running already.

Also, there are moments now that I cringe when I think about “that place” that I went psychologically that I knew I could go, but never really was sure until I was there. The depth is unsettling at the moment.

If you followed in the beginning, I had no exposure to this form of racing (actually any). 11 months of training with conservatively over 800 plus hours of training not including all the extra time working on technical, massages and travel. 4 half Iron, 2 half marathons, 2 5Ks, masters swim meet all concluding with Ironman Lake Placid this past weekend. From the first day I set out with this journey, I hung on my office wall each leg of the Ironman to be viewed every day. It was to become all I focused on every day. It became more than that, but today we are talking race report.

Race Week:
A couple of days prior to departing Placid, I received numerous emails and messages from friends, strangers and supporters. I really did not need any more motivation, but it was very calming and gratifying to read the inspirational messages just the same. I did spend a lot of time walking through the whole year, thanking people for their support and wrapping my brain around what was coming up next. Taper is not easy to go through after logging in 30-hour training weeks. One message in particular gave me pause, and that was the one I shared with you in my prior blog. The story Shanna shared and my Mom’s fight for her life were/are the fuel that lit this fire. It was timely and I appreciate it again Shanna. I just mailed you my finishing medal. You need to send me your Ironman medal someday. Cancer has no roots in your life or mine! I hear you about hating the swim!

With that source of inspiration, Bella my daughter helped me pack up for the race. She is five years old and is a hellfire "Tyype A". She pulled out a piece of paper and started to right down all the things I needed in order to have a good race. She looked me straight in the eye and asked me point blank, “Dad, when are you going to win one of these things?”. Even though in the past I given her every one of my medals, she looks for proof I was standing on the podium. Tough chick!

Bella and I cut out pictures of her and her brother and taped them on my bike so that they could ride with me. I told her that when the going was going to get tough, I would talk to her and Mark so that they could will me through the hills. Man, did they ever!

My childhood friend Tim was going to be my escort for this race. Tim is the perfect person for an event such as Ironman. The event is one big crazy circus with lots of tasks to complete before racing. There was also a ton of doing nothing time. I would not call it a vacation; it really is a phenomenon hard to explain.

From the get go, Tim treated me as if I was in my last Trimester of a very tough pregnancy. He carried my bags, packed-unpacked the car and just went with the flow. I do think that Tim had a lot of ownership with this race. Tim over the course of the year spent countless hours riding along through hills in freezing temps pushing me and providing nutrition. He showed up early at the track with stopwatch in hand and picked me up early in the morning after flatting. He is a good friend, and I will certainly return the favor if he truly catches the Iron bug as many do after witnessing an event like this.

The two days leading up, I was as healthy as I’ve ever been prior to a race. I nailed rest, nutrition and my head was really focused.

Every thing up to the event went according to plan expect I was late in getting my bike into transition. I got some bad info and had to beg to get my bike in. I also did do something very stupid here. I broke one of the cardinal rules; I replaced my sneakers with a new pair at the expo. I was not really concerned because I’ve run in Newton’s often. However, my long runs were in Asics. I was never really comfortable in the Asics.

On Saturday it was my bday and we had our team carbo-loading breakfast. All of the team fantasizes about these two days of gluttony. The past 47 weeks of eating pure created lots of grandiose dreams of all things salt, sugar and fried. However, after eating so well for so long, when the big carbo dance day comes, the eyes are certainly bigger than the stomach. All that anticipation and after 8 pancakes, the party was over. However, our protocol does not stop there, we eat all-day and taper into our last meal being the lightest. I nailed this day.

Saturday night, I re-checked my equipment and wrote the names of some of the people whom have inspired me during this quest. I wrote on the back, Mom, Shanna, Tim, Believe and Bella and Mark and God on my shoes. I would be able to see this when I looked down in the marathon.

Race morning. I like to get up a little early to shower and loosen up the muscles. My pre-race routing is to rollout, and get the joints freed up. From there, its 3.75 cups of applesauce, powerbar, drinks and wait for the bathroom. By the time this is complete, its 3:30AM and happens without issue. I was rested and felt amazing. The only real concern was the mass swim start.

The roads were to close at 5AM, so Tim drove me up to T-1 and would have to walk back to the race. I got body marked in the middle of the street and preceded into check on my bike. My back tire had lost a little air (early sign). I contemplated switching it out, but decided to get it inflated instead and to watch it. Bike mechanics pumped it up and it seemed ready to go. Final checks on the bike and re-reviewed my transition bags. I stood in transition to get bearings on where my stuff was. The number of racers was staggering. I wanted to make sure I was not running around not knowing where my stuff was. Good to go and hit the porta potty one more time.

I linked up with Pat Wheeler soon after. Pat is an amazing athlete and I wanted to follow along his routine of when to get into the water as to avoid some of the craziness. We march up the hill and head into Mirror Lake. At that point I saw my coach Jesse and his wife Chrissie. There were no smiles, this was a battle now and all of us knew what was in front of us. We could see that hundreds of people were already in the water staking out there territory. I tried to stall getting into the water for as long as possible because I did not want to tread water for ten minutes prior to swimming 2.4 miles with 2500 of my closets friend. No way to stay, the engine called Ironman was warming up. The music was blaring, crowds were chanting and were making our way in into our spot. Chrissie the coach’s wife was also doing her first IM. Both of us were given spots to start the swim. It was about 2/3 off the buoy and 5 rows back. Both of us were scared even though we have raced a ton this past year. There were people in front of us and tons of people in back of us on shore. We had a big pocket, but as the countdown approached, the back pocket closed on us. Chrissie and I last minute moved to another pocket, but the contact started even before the gun went off. The national anthem concluded and the announcer yells, “10 seconds” boom cannon goes and its instant madness. All white water washing over our heads and feet and arms everywhere. People on your back, you on theirs and we are barley moving. Tap a foot move, brick wall of legs and feet. Finally a gap and I sprint through. I get into a good grove and started to surge. My race plan called for a fast 800 yards and then to move towards the buoy. As I did that towards the end, I ran into another pack of swimmers. I was moving fast. I have a bad habit of not following feet and looking at a 45-degree angle like I do when I’m following the blue line in a swimming pool. That creates the problem of not sighting well. I watch for it, but when you become hypoxic, you tend to bring back your bad habits. As I surged and was calling for air, I swam up over the legs of this huge guy. He kicked up as I was taking in air to my right and my core was completely relaxed. He kicked right into my lower side and I felt my rib exploded and pop. Instantly, I yelled out under water and my knee as a reaction came up. I rolled out onto my back and could not catch a breath. I knew my rib was broken, just did not know how badly. I’m getting pummeled and swam over and dunked. I’m panicked. The brain is processing every bit of what is going on as fast as it can go. Do I quit, will I die here, and there is not way for even the kayaker rescue to see me? Then quickly, my brain tells me, you’re losing time. Settle down, those people in front of you are leaving you, just get through the first lap and see if in fact the whirlpool really exists.

I start back fast with my stroke and I can’t turn my head to the right or roll to both sides because my core is shot. Every time I tried it, it was like getting electrocuted, I could not fill my lung up, so I went with what I had. Because of swimming on the one side, this is the one side that forces me to the left. It forced my over to the center of the buoys and the cable were most of the contact is. I was getting the shit kicked out of me and I could not even breathe. The sense of survival and the programming I’ve done was forcing me forward somehow. It seemed at every stroke I was either getting kicked in the eye, chin or punched in the head. I would attempt a swim stroke and someone would be sitting on my arm and could feel having to lift them out of the water to free my arm. I was also getting body shots to the rib and was trying to protect it. This was all before the first turn and not even a half-mile into the swim. As I made the red buoy, I was still on the cable not by choice. Everyone merged around that turn and I can’t tell you how many people swam over me. I became calmer the harder it got and I knew if I lost it there, I was dead.

I settled down a bit and put together a good set of strokes and forced myself far to the right. Every stroke was torture, but all I kept telling myself was that all I had to do is get through the first 1.2 mile loop and let the whirlpool pull you through the second. Get through this swim and you will be on your bike in the mountains.

As I came through the first loop, I got onto the beach and saw the clock. For some insane reason, I had just completed my fastest 1.2-mile swim and pr’d. As my feet hit the sand and I ran slowly to get back into the water, by rib jostled and hurt. I got into the water and thought for a quick second how I would possible be able to run a marathon feeling like this.

The second loop was less dramatic. However, I felt like crap and suffered through every stroke. I felt like I was going faster and convinced myself that the whirlpool was indeed making me go faster. Never was there any length of time when someone did not punch you in the back of the head, pull your legs down or even frog kick you. The whole swim was hand-hand combat and one of the most brutal and disturbing things I’ve ever gone through. The will to survive and primal instincts had taken over.

As I came out of the water, I saw on the clock that I had come in ahead of my pacing plan numbers and two minutes below my aggressive goal of 1:05: 1:07 and change was the official.

As I came into the transition shoot, I ran by a couple of teammates who always beat me in the water. Keith Manning for example yelled out” holly shit Mark” what a fast swim. I told him that broke my rib because at that point when I shuffled my feet, I could feel searing pain on side with every step. I could not talk and breathe.
I came into transition and could not inflate my lung, I immediately did the seven tap drill Neil showed me and stopped to breath in transition. The volunteer that had my bag asked me to sit, but I could not bend over. I told him my rib was broken and he asked me what I wanted to do. I did not answer back, and tried to calm myself down and work through what I had. It was a longer transition than it should have been (almost 7 minutes)

To digress, there were always two valuable pieces of wisdom given to me by my teammates, and others. 1) It’s all about crisis management doing long course 140.6. Things do and will go wrong; its how you deal with them that will determine your day (isn’t that life too?). 2) The people who can master suffering the best, will overcome . I will overcome and persist without exception.

So at this point, I really think I became insane. I could not think of anything other than what was right in from of my face. I transported myself into another place. The bike attendant handed me my bike, and I saw my daughter and Son on my tri bars. I looked at that them and said “Daddy is going to be an Ironman today Bella”. Also, the beauty of the Qt2 protocol, it does not afford you the chance to lose focus. Nutrition and pacing is very exact throughout the day. Our mantra, “Trust the Plan” and I was still dead-on it.

As I got onto my bike, I peddled and dropped into my aero position. I could not get comfortable, but forced myself to stay in it. I proceed with nutrition and fluids. The rib was flaring and tried several different positions without success. I did not deter me. One of my teammates Paul rode up next to me to say nice swim and asked me how I was doing around the 5th mile. I told him my rib was broken and offered that we still had 5 hours to go on the bike and that it would settle down. That made sense to me and calmed me a bit.

I increased my pace and was in a crazy zone. I pushed, and pushed through the mountains and stayed completely inside my wattage and plan. I had posted my nutrition on my bar and followed it in sync with my watch timer. It was like being on autopilot and clearly the bike portion is my strength in this sport. I was going by some of my teammates. Joel at one point pulled up to me with concern and asked if I had abandoned my race pacing. I was in plan, just riding as efficient as possible to a cadence of greater than 90. Several times I tried to get out of my seat to climb, but every time I arched up straight, my rib would say no, no, no. So I knew today was going to be like.

The bike course is tough by any standards. I’m not sure if this data is correct, but I was told that the entre 112 miles has over 8,000 feet of climb and it the equivalent of riding your bike up and down the Empire State Building seven times. There are stretches of decent that last 5 miles in which you pick up speeds of over 50 miles per hour. Lose focus; your skin is spread out all over the pavement instantly.

I had really an uneventful bike from mile 50-100. I nailed my nutrition and my average speed was greater than 20 mph. My legs felt powerful despite that fact that my core and psaos region was not working and that could not inflate my left lung. All my breaths were short and shallow. I don’t know where I went. I could not tell you one thing of scenery that I saw out there. I only looked straight ahead and at my power meter. However, a couple of times I did see people sleeping on the side of the road still attached to their bikes. I saw some amazing crashes and people majorly bonked and or convulsing out there. Ambulances were rushing back and forth. It’s against human nature to drive by someone in distress, but we do.

At mile 100, I felt my bike tire wobble. A rider pulled up and told me that I just flatted. I did not say a word to this person, I pulled over and flipped my bike over with one arm (at this point I was losing strength in my left arm) and pulled the tire off and changed it. Joel my fast teammate finally passed me. He offered to stop which was amazing because I knew our pace was close to Kona. I told Joel I’m all-set. I remembered seeing Chrissie Wellington go through this in Kona. I told myself, crisis management, stay glued and attack it when you get back on. The change took about 7 minutes and I was off. I abandoned the pacing now to make up for lost time since I only had 12 miles to go. I never caught up to Joel and knew I had no chance for the rest of the day because he is a great runner.

As the end of the bike came, I rode into town to the amazing cheers of spectators. I dismounted and proceed to run off the bike in my cycling shoes. My ribs were killing me. I told myself it would be better with cushion underneath me and transitioned as fast as I could. I had hit my bike-pacing goal even with the flat and busted side. 5:38

Onto the run, I was in major pain, but even more inspired having completed now two legs of the Ironman. I knew nothing was going to keep me from the finish line. I had no clue about Kona, but that did not matter now. I ran out of transition and the goal was to run 7:55 pace. Coming down the hill my legs felt great, but I still could not breath. I was going faster than I needed to at a 6:55 pace. I slowed it after coming off the hill to 7:45. I knew that I would have good legs to at least the first 9 miles and tried to be as smart as possible. I was hurting so badly and could not do the left arm swing and push back. I went with what I had and focused on the next aid stations. I strung together a good first 13.1 miles at my goal pace. I knew at this point nothing was going to keep me from that line.

As I started into the second part of the marathon, my left Achilles started to cramp up and bind. It was not firing and felt like it was separating from the gastro (calf) my foot became numb while going downhill. I yelled at it in contempt as if it were not attached to my body. I said, (excuse the language) go fuck yourself calf, don’t need you, and just tear off, I’ll run on my stumps. I then did the seven-tap drill and it went away. About ten minutes later on the next decent, my right Achilles does the exact same thing. Same routine, different set of belligerent diatribe, and that too settled back down. This is where the stupid sneaker switch said hello to me!!

The next 13 miles were just sheer torture. Ironman is a playground for any and all demons to show their hand. The thoughts that go through your head are scary and not a place I could even pen to paper. It’s haunting to say the least. You are reduced to nothing more than a fragile child. Several friends and two people in particular jumped out in front of me to propel me. The first was Marty from Fitwerx. Marty yelled out, “Mark, come take what you came here to get” and Tim on the toughest hill yelled, “you have heart, go deep and leave nothing on the course”

Miles 20 to 26 were a blur. The effort to keep the pace was so intense. I just willed myself through the next 50 or so minutes knowing that I would indeed be an Ironman. As I approached the last hill, and came upon people walking it, I said to myself, there is no way you are going to walk that hill, you are an Ironman! I heard a couple people in the crowd say out loud, oh my god, look at that dude!

As I near the downhill at Mirror Lake, emotions snuck up on me and tears streamed uncontrollably for a nano-second. I let out a huge burp and the people in back of me started laughing. It did not even register that it was funny. As I crossed the final timing mat and towards the oval, and into the finishing shoot, I sprinted around the bend. I’m all alone and flying. Mike Riley over the pa, “Mark Scribner, doing is first Ironman and Breaking 11 hours from Melrose MA, Mark Scribner, you’re an Ironman”. I crossed the line and fell into the hands of the medical people. There was nothing left. Could not cry, could not function. I did indeed go deep. I missed Kona by only a short margin and came in exactly were my coach had paced me even with fractured ribs, flat tire and not knowing what I was doing inside of this event.

Inside the medical tent, when the doctor pressed on my side, I jumped through the tent ceiling. They were concerned that I ruptured my spleen and told me to go to the ER if anything got worse, etc.

I went to bed that night peacefully and proud of what I overcame. I think I was in shock too. I don’t think I will ever be able to fully explain what went on that day. So many people helped me get to where I am and I’m forever grateful. There will be time to cover that.

On Monday I had a CT scan and X-ray, When the doctor came in to talk to me, she provided consolation that I had to withdraw from the event because she had a friend who was an Ironman and she knew the preparation that went into the event. She told me that I had two fractured ribs. A swollen spleen and that I was lucky to be alive. I looked at her with a puzzled look. She said, wait, you finished with that? I guess you’re going refuse pain meds too? I said you got that right, what is pain anyway, just a learning tool to get it right on the second go round. Here we come Utah!!!