Part 2. Athlete completes Great Floridian Iron-distance Triathlon
Written by Greyson Daughtry
My next race was the Great Floridian Ironman in Clermont, FL, less than two weeks after the triple-Iron. My account of that race follows.
Thursday-Friday, October 18-19, 2007: After dinner at Vanderbilt I drove to work in Gallatin. I spent 4.5 hours swinging a heavy hammer almost non-stop. I got back to campus close to 1 AM. I did not have time to sleep. I cleaned myself up, loaded the car, and drove 700 miles to Florida.
I checked into my hotel room, registered for the race, ate dinner, got the lay of the land, and met my brother. We ate another dinner and went to see a movie. Once again, I polished off a 1-pound bag of Skittles.
Saturday, October 20, 2007:
I had ordered a wake-up call, but I did not get it. Fortunately, I had guessed that the hotel staff were not the most competent in the world, and I had set an alarm clock. It went off at 4:30 AM. I had slept for 3 hours.
The morning was cold, windy, and rainy. The lake was warmer, and I was happy to get started. I had plenty of energy throughout the swim. As I prepared for the second lap (i.e., the second half) of the swim, my brother called, “How ya feelin’?” “Rock and roll.”
Then came the bike ride. Though my knee had not hurt me in several days, it started aching on mile 1. Still, I was full of piss and vinegar for a few more hours. Fortunately, these were the hardest hours for the muscles; though I cursed loudly when I first saw the biggest hill on the course (deceptively named Sugarloaf), I pushed up it and did not dismount.
Later in the bike ride, the pain of the seat started to wear on me. The course was flatter than before, but I was slower. I watched the hundredths of a mile tick by, one at a time.
After I got off the bike, my knee was swollen. It hurt very much to walk. The pain made me angry. I walked into the run, but I was ready to break anything that got in my way.
I ran for a number of short stretches, but most of the time I kept a fast walk. Once again, around the 12-hour mark my stomach went berserk. For a couple of hours I wondered if I was going to drop. My more determined side said, “Maybe, but not yet. Keep going.” I was the third-to-last person to finish the race, with a time of 16 hours and 28 minutes. I smiled.
Written by Greyson Daughtry
My next race was the Great Floridian Ironman in Clermont, FL, less than two weeks after the triple-Iron. My account of that race follows.
Thursday-Friday, October 18-19, 2007: After dinner at Vanderbilt I drove to work in Gallatin. I spent 4.5 hours swinging a heavy hammer almost non-stop. I got back to campus close to 1 AM. I did not have time to sleep. I cleaned myself up, loaded the car, and drove 700 miles to Florida.
I checked into my hotel room, registered for the race, ate dinner, got the lay of the land, and met my brother. We ate another dinner and went to see a movie. Once again, I polished off a 1-pound bag of Skittles.
Saturday, October 20, 2007:
I had ordered a wake-up call, but I did not get it. Fortunately, I had guessed that the hotel staff were not the most competent in the world, and I had set an alarm clock. It went off at 4:30 AM. I had slept for 3 hours.
The morning was cold, windy, and rainy. The lake was warmer, and I was happy to get started. I had plenty of energy throughout the swim. As I prepared for the second lap (i.e., the second half) of the swim, my brother called, “How ya feelin’?” “Rock and roll.”
Then came the bike ride. Though my knee had not hurt me in several days, it started aching on mile 1. Still, I was full of piss and vinegar for a few more hours. Fortunately, these were the hardest hours for the muscles; though I cursed loudly when I first saw the biggest hill on the course (deceptively named Sugarloaf), I pushed up it and did not dismount.
Later in the bike ride, the pain of the seat started to wear on me. The course was flatter than before, but I was slower. I watched the hundredths of a mile tick by, one at a time.
After I got off the bike, my knee was swollen. It hurt very much to walk. The pain made me angry. I walked into the run, but I was ready to break anything that got in my way.
I ran for a number of short stretches, but most of the time I kept a fast walk. Once again, around the 12-hour mark my stomach went berserk. For a couple of hours I wondered if I was going to drop. My more determined side said, “Maybe, but not yet. Keep going.” I was the third-to-last person to finish the race, with a time of 16 hours and 28 minutes. I smiled.
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