milestones

To most, last Saturday was just another weekend day. Many probably caught up on sleep and spent a much needed day resting and relaxing. Others may have even been productive on this day, running errands or completing chores around the house. A select few may have even tackled a task that's been looming over them for some time, painting the shed or cleaning out that overlooked closet. For an elite few, last Saturday wasn't just an ordinary weekend day. For these men and women, September 20th signifies a day of major accomplishment. This is the day they completed his or her first half-Ironman. This was such a day for me.

The day began much earlier than usual. My alarm went of at 4:30, but I was already wide awake. I had spent most of the night lying in bed, running through the day ahead of me, meticulously breaking down each part of the race and mentally preparing myself. I made my final race preparations, grabbed my transition bag and made my way to the hotel parking lot. My training partner and I, being the outgoing kids we are, greeted each other energetically and cranked up the music as we made the recently familiar route through the dark to the site of our showdown. There were six of us that had made the trek from Kansas City down to Oklahoma City to prove that we were worthy of the title "half-Ironman". Only two of the athletes in the group had officially completed a half, so this was to be a day of reckoning. The rest of the group gawked at my ambitious goal of completing the race in 5 hours, 30 minutes. I had practiced and prepared, I was ready. I was confident. I was determined to prove everyone wrong. However, the butterflies and nerves refused to subside. I was still nervous.

I slipped into the dark transition area, past the other athletes that were quietly preparing themselves. I stopped at my bike, which I had checked in the night before. I was surprised to see that little droplets of dew had formed on the bike seat and handle bars, blissfully unaware that the impending sunrise would burn these transformations away. I still polished the bike again anyways and laid out my gear. As the sun began to rise, I wrestled my wetsuit on and slowly walked the route to the swim chute, absorbing as much as I could through wide eyes. As the first heat, the full Ironman competitors, listened to the countdown, I was secretly thankful that my race was going to be "only" half as long as theirs. The starting gun, a SHOTGUN, sent an incredible boom and reverberation through the beach and the first heat began their looming 2.4 mile swim.

It was my turn now. I had purposely avoided looking at the swim course to this point because I didn't want to become overwhelmed at how long and impossible it seemed. I recalled looking at the swim course just three months prior at the Kansas half-Ironman and telling myself that there was no way I could accomplish such a feat. However this day was different. I looked down the course ahead of me for the first time and smiled. A devious grin is probably a more appropriate description of the look that had overtaken my face. I've done this swim several times before. I know I can finish it in 40 minutes. I slowly waded into the water from the beach and was again bewildered at how well a wetsuit protected my skin from the balmy water. I continued towards the starting "line" and could feel cold trickles of water making their way into the small rip on the inside of my left thigh. The shotgun blast snapped me from my trance and I began my way down the long shore ahead of me.

The water was incredibly choppy from the mass of athletes that kicked their way through the water ahead and all around me. I quickly learned to recognize the noise made by the kicking feet of a swimmer I was about to overtake and was able to avoid the normal bumps and collisions of an open water swim more than what I had predicted. As I glided through the water, I could feel a cool sensation on my back as water slowly seeped through the zipper in my wetsuit. I concentrated on the sensation as it slowly inched its way down the small of my back and down my legs. About half way down the shore I finally entered the absent-minded zone I always look for during any endurance event. I didn't think or react. I just swam. As I neared the first turn I looked up and found, much to my dismay, that I had swam off course by about 75 meters. Frustrated w/ myself, I quickly changed course and picked up the pace, determined to still make my 40 minute goal. I snuck a quick peak at my watch as I made the second turn and started the return course back and was ecstatic to see that I was right on pace. I put my head back down and quickly noticed that my wetsuit was restricting my breathing. The suit was so tight around my chest that I was struggling to take a full breath. I turned onto my back for a couple quick breaths and was soon back on pace. I navigated my way back down the shore towards the turn into the beach and found myself still struggling to swim straight. A seemingly simple task was proving to be difficult and a slight distraction. I eventually made the final turn and picked up the pace over the last few hundred meters to the beach.

I exited the water at 41 minutes, just a hair off my pace. I slipped out of the sleeves of my wetsuit and ran up the ramp towards the transition area, pausing only momentarily to have the race volunteers strip the rest of my wetsuit off. I quickly found my corral and grabbed my bike and gear. I was soon on the bike course and quickly got up to my 20 mph average. I was surprised at how many athletes I passed as I rounded the lake and made my way onto the long, bumpy ride ahead of me. As the tires on my bike rumbled over the chip 'n seal, my forearms absorbed the vibrations that pulsed through the handlebars. A hollow knocking echoed from the aero bottle situated in between the bars just in front of my face and the uneven terrain sent splashes of Gatorade onto my face and arms. Around mile 20, the red FUJI responded to a significant bump on the road and catapulted one of my water bottles into the air from the holster behind my seat. I heard a scuffing behind me and watched as the bottle skidded off the road. A slight panic swept through me as I realized my liquid rations had just been cut by a quarter. This panic soon subsided when I saw the turnaround just ahead. I was five minutes early and still felt strong. A calm wave of confidence swept through me as I could feel that 5:30 goal w/in reach. As I gripped the breaks to slow and complete the turn, a rider just in front of me carried too much momentum into the turn and toppled over just feet from me. I swerved to avoid him, grabbed a bottle of Gatorade from the SAC, and accelerated back up to 20 mph. As the minutes passed and miles dwindled, I could feel my legs begin to grow heavy. The sharp pain on the top of my left knee throbbed when I pushed too hard through the final miles leading back to the lake. I rounded the lake and came up to the transition quicker than I had anticipated. I only had one foot out my cleats, so I was forced to pause for a shaky moment as I unleashed my last extremity. My bike computer showed glorious news: exactly 2:45 had passed and I was on pace to the minute.

I had exactly 2:00 to run 13.1 miles. I knew I could do it, but this was going to be the true testament. I knew my knee could make it through this distance, but that was w/ fresh legs. I started onto the hot run route and settled into my pace. The minutes passed painfully slow as I slugged through the first couple miles. My legs refused to respond as I wished they would. I was only able to make it to mile two before that dreaded twinge began to rise in the side of my left knee. By mile three, the pain was intolerable and I was forced to slow. I desperately hung onto as quick a pace as my body would allow and ran through the calculations in my head. The pain and exhaustion overwhelmed my entire being and a fear of not being able to finish crept into my mind for the first time. This was the true test, but it was presented much sooner than I had anticipated. I longed for the runners high and was determined to push through this. By the fourth mile, I finally started to settle back into as comfortable of a pace as I could. The turn-around was an incredibly welcomed sight, even though my watch showed 1:07. I ran through the calculations again and was reinvigorated by the thought that I could still finish in the 5:30's. The countdown began and I pushed harder and harder as I could feel the finish just ahead.

After six more grueling miles, my destination was finally visible. The beautiful sight of a red arch marked the finish line and a sense of relief washed through my body and numbed the pain that had been pulsing through every muscle and tendon. As I made my way down the finishing chute, marked w/ a red carpet, I heard my name over the speakers. The announcer spoke an incredible truth, that Josh Mohr of Lenexa, KS was finishing his FIRST half-Ironman. A young boy ran up to the carpet and extended his hand to offer a celebratory clap. I reached out in a meager attempt to share in this boy's excitement, but I was so weak that I missed!

That last step, marked w/ complete exhaustion, is a moment that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. I finished my first half-IM in 5:38.12. I was just off my goal, but I couldn't be more proud. I'm half way to a full Ironman, but still have an incredible amount of training left. I have 58 weeks to finish this preparation. This is the conclusion of the beginning. I will be ready. Next up, half-IM in south Cali in April. It's going to be a fun winter.