Words seem inadequate in certain moments in time. My capacity to fully express my Quintuple Anvil experience will forever be one of those moments. I will do my best, however, to give you a glimpse of what it was like to take on one of the biggest challenges of my life
The Back Story
So let’s start at the beginning. Everyone thinks I’m crazy. I don’t see it that way. I think everyone else is. Maybe this race report will help you understand my perspective.
I believe in big challenges. For my professional life, both as a business coach, trainer and speaker, as well as a triathlon and endurance coach, I love helping business folks and athletes set ambitious goals, develop a plan, break through mental barriers and live more boldly. I’m personally committed to keeping up with the latest research and developing strategies for high performance. It gets me jazzed up and if I can help others do the same, the reward for me is amazing. It’s my crack.
So once I did my own set of mental gymnastics and wrapped my head around the concept of the Quintuple Anvil – a 12 mile swim, a 560 mile bike and a 131 mile run – I was all in! When I did my first Ironman in New Zealand in 2009, I had a quote I used to keep me inspired – “If your dream doesn’t scare you, it’s not big enough.” This one certainly fit the bill.
To put this in perspective, the process of doing a race like this is for the journey. At least it is for me. The commitment, the discipline, the inevitable highs and lows, along with the emotion of pushing yourself through unchartered waters reveal to yourself who you are and what you are possible of becoming. Pretty heady stuff if you take the time to stay present and reflective on the experience as it unfolds.
While the race is the focal point, there is so much that needs to happen before you’re actually race-ready. As a coach and a hyper-aware athlete, I feel that is one of my strengths. I know how to prepare, strategize and optimize performance. This race adds a few interesting kinks into the mix however. Since the race goes 130 hours (5 ½ days), you have to manage your energy output over the course of a week, your nutrition has to be on-point, your sleep (or rather your sleep deprivation) has to be just right and you have to expect the unexpected; or you’re likely to derail.
Race Week
I had looked at the roster of athletes for the race and quickly learned that I was the new kid on the block, despite being the oldest competitor. In other words, according to the athletic resumes of the competitors, I had the least “ultra” experience of the group. That was not unexpected. I’ve done a lot of ironman racing, but only adventured to the Double Anvil (my first ultra tri) last year. So I had to play to my strengths; as “the old guy” I knew how to prepare and execute a plan, and I knew how to summon my mental grit and toughness. No doubt I would need it.
Most people don’t skip from a Double to a Quintuple. After last year’s Double, my daughter who had crewed for me during the race had jokingly said, “If you do the Triple, I’m going to divorce you as my Dad!” Luckily for me, she didn’t realize the Quintuple even existed (since it’s only raced every other year), so I was able to use that loophole to my advantage. I’ve admonished her ever since that she needs to pay attention to the “fine print.”
As the race hour approached, I found myself more calm and centered than expected. At some point, you have to recognize that you’ve done all that you can do and that has to be enough.
I also knew I had my guardian angel with me, my Mom – Jackie Turner. I took out a black marker and wrote “For Jackie” on my swim cap. My daughter, Crandall and her boyfriend Shannon and I walked down to the shoreline of Lake Anna as the 17 other athletes, crew and volunteer staff started making their way to the start of the 2016 Virginia Quintuple Anvil.
Day One – Let’s Get Wet
It was time to embark on the longest swim of my life – 12 miles. It was a 30-loop route that hugged the lake’s shoreline. At the beginning of the loop, there were floating rafts where the athletes could stash nutrition and hydration to consume as needed. My strategy for this segment of the race was pretty simple. Swim steady. Take a short 30-second to 1-minute break at the end of every two loops to take in nutrition. Approximately half-way through the swim, I would take a 10-15 minute break to consume a larger meal consisting of a couple of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, a banana, a salt tablet and extra Perpetuem drink mix.
Your mind can go lots of places in the water, but I felt in control as the group of athletes started to spread out on the course. I prefer my open space in the water so I can just do my thing; so this was perfect. On the early loops, I could see the band of orange on the horizon, as I tilted my head with every breath. The sun was delivering its morning glory. I let myself enjoy being in the moment, appreciating the beauty of the day as it unfolded. It was a day that I had awaited for the better part of a year; I wanted to be fully present and soak it all in.
My biggest concern was that the winds were expected to get up to 12 m.p.h. with gusts up to 22 m.p.h. That meant that the relatively calm lake could turn into a choppy nightmare on a whim. On lap 14, I felt some of that chop pick up. So I had to make a slight adjustment in my arm pull and power output to work my stroke to an advantage. Swimming is all about technique and that technique changes based on whether you are swimming with or against the current.
I quickly noticed that when I was swimming into the current on the return portion of the loop, the time seemed to pass faster – at least in my head. So I started to look forward to that part of the swim as each new lap clicked off.
After 8 hours and 8 minutes, I was out of the water and happy to hear that I was the 4th racer to finish the swim leg.
It was off to transition where my dear friend Jennifer and her daughter showed up with a pan of pasta, perfectly timed, so that I could do some serious fueling before I got on the bike. Awesome stuff!
Day One – Ready For A Spin
It was time to start the bike leg. This portion of the race was the one I was most concerned about, truth be told. I knew I could get it done, but there were lots of opportunities for things to go wrong with 560 miles of pedaling. I just needed to be steady and strategic.
And my race plan remained simple. Priority one, don’t wreck. Last year, in the Double, I had a wreck at mile 92 which didn’t stop me but put a hurting on me for the rest of the race. I couldn’t afford that again.
That meant that I had to be hyper-alert to cracks, potholes, debris and crumbled edges on the asphalt. A moment or two of distraction could be disastrous; a lesson I had fully learned just 12 months prior.
On a 5.5 mile loop course, you quickly learn your pecking order among the other cyclists. There were only two guys passing me and so I was in a good place to be the third fastest biker. A good mental boost for the “old guy.”
Just prior to 2:00 a.m., I was ready for my first sleep break. The goal here was to sleep 2-3 hours per night. I decided after such a successful first day, I deserved three hours of rest.
Since the racers are allowed to take whatever breaks they want at their own discretion, you never know what all the other racers are doing, particularly when it comes to sleep. So you have to hope that you are taking enough time, but not too much. It’s a bit of a guessing game with some strategy thrown in for good measure. Everyone knows that sleep must be minimal and that mismanaging it can be disastrous.
I checked out at the main timing tent to let them know that I was going to take a sleep break. At 2:00 a.m. on Day 1, I was in second place. The day had gone perfectly to plan. Time for much needed shut-eye.
Day 2 – Back In The Saddle Again
This was going to be a long day, biking all day and into the night. But coming off a great Day 1, I was ready. This day was all about being in the saddle. I had found in my training that my legs could hold up longer than the other body parts that were stressed during the hours and hours of nonstop riding. Specifically, the neck/shoulders/back along with the discomfort of the saddle on the derriere were going to be the challenges of the day.
Strategy Number 1: Ride with plenty of chammie cream applied. The last thing I wanted was chafing or saddle sores that screamed with every pedal stroke. Mission accomplished.
Strategy Number 2: Get some stretching and light massage work done throughout the day to keep my neck and shoulders from getting too locked up. That one didn’t go as well, despite the efforts made.
This was the day that my bike added a few hiccups to my plan. I had a rear flat and then some mechanical issues which slowed my progress for a while. But race crew and support, Shannon, Don and Mitch, came to my rescue and worked diligently to get me up to speed again.
At the end of a long day, I came back to the cabin for a fleeting two-hour nap. My daughter and her boyfriend had left around midnight to get back to Charlotte; it was now 2:17 a.m. But she left a gift behind for me on my “luxury” bunk bed – a three-inch plastic-wrapped foam mattress sitting on a rustic wooden frame. It was a poster board sign that read:
“Dad, keep kicking ass and living your bold!! We’re proud of you…but also never doing this again (no fine print). Go get, em!! Love Always, Crandall & Shannon
P.S. Grandma is looking down on you and smiling. Just remember, when the rest of the week gets rough, you’re doing it for Jackie! She’s still your biggest cheerleader.”
Day 3 – Legs Don’t Fail Me Now
Clamoring to my feet as the alarm jolted me from my slumber, I was hoping the “reset” would prepare me for a solid day of riding on Day 3.
Overall, the day was good. Having been #3 in the order of cycling speed on Day 1 and 2, I expected to be able to hold onto that position in Day 3. I was pleasantly surprised throughout the day. Instead of holding the #3 position, I was #1 while I was riding. In fact, from 6 a.m. to 2 a.m. the following morning, I was not passed a single time by any of the other racers while I was actually in the saddle.
Unfortunately, as the day went on, I was requiring more and more time off the bike to get my shoulders, neck and back attended to. By the end of the day, I was feeling such extreme tension and aching that it was starting to wear me down. It was frustrating because the legs were holding up and feeling strong.
I stopped every few laps to tame the gnarly grip on my neck and shoulders. Sometimes it was a crew member and other times I got some expert assistance from Travis, the race masseuse who was a savior and cheerleader throughout my race.
By the time Kelly, my crew member extraordinaire and a massage therapy student, arrived at midnight, things were pretty bad. As she checked out my neck and shoulders, she exclaimed, “It feels like small animals are burrowed under your skin.” Unfortunately for me, they were hefty knots in my muscles the size of well-fed rodents.
The result was that I couldn’t stay down in my aero position. And if I went down, I couldn’t tilt my head up even an inch to see ahead of me on the road. It was pure agony.
My goal had been to finish riding by the wee hours of the night. But I ended up 10 loops short because I couldn’t take the pain and discomfort any more. I desperately needed my nightly reset before knocking out the final leg of the bike.
Day 4 – Run Forrest Run
I got back in the saddle and wrapped up the final 10 loops of the bike. Allelujah! I was still dealing with residual neck/back/shoulder issues from the previous two days, and I was still incapable of riding in my aero bars. But that was ok; I was at the end of my longest ride ever.
Onto the run…only 131 miles to go!
Of the three disciplines, running is my strength. This is usually where I can make up ground on my competitors. It all started just as it should. Or at least as I expected.
I ran some quick easy laps. Soon, it was 10 laps down, 65 to go. I once again felt in control.
In any ultra race like this, you know that it’s a combination of walking and running that will get you to the finish line. It’s the quintessential Galloway method of marathon running extended to cover five back-to-back marathons. I knew the course well enough that I could use the terrain to my advantage with my walk/run strategy.
I was out there having fun. Friends, Janice and Jeff, showed up. Jeff fully costumed as Fu Manchu and then Julius Caesar to run with me for a few laps and add some comic relief to the event. (They only allow the Quintuple athletes to have support crew on the run leg).
Before long, marathon #1 was in the books. And #2 was in progress. Life was good.
At some point around 4 – 5 p.m., that all changed. There was a disturbing development that was creeping in. My lower back was giving me increasing pain and I was feeling some tightening and slight muscle spasms. Back at my tent, Jennifer applied some kinesio tape to ease the discomfort. I popped a few Aleve and kept pushing forward.
Despite my discomfort, I wasn’t worried. My long-term massage therapist, Randy, was due around 8:30 p.m. to give me a full massage. During last year’s Double, his magic hands helped me unlock my muscles prior to the run, resulting in the third fastest run time in a field of 21 participants.
After the massage, I was ready to hit it again. It wasn’t long before I had to confront the grim reality that my condition was a bit more serious than what was going to be solved by a 45-minute rub-down.
Apparently the strain from the previous three days had taken a huge toll on my back and core. By 2 a.m., I desperately needed a sleep break. But more than that, I needed a mental break and a chance for my body to relax and return to some sense of normalcy. I wanted two hours to reset but my crew admonished me and we went into negotiation mode; a nightly occurrence.
Me: I need 2 hours.
Crew: You don’t have time, you can take an hour.
Me: Ok, how about an hour and a half.
Crew: You can have an hour and 15 minutes.
After my hour plus snooze, I once again began ticking off the endless number of loops looming ahead. The “reset” helped. At first I was encouraged, but as the night wore on, I started to realize that I needed more. The problem was time was now of the essence. And I felt that my options were limited for exploring ways to get relief for my nagging back pain. It was becoming a game of “keep moving at all costs.”
My crew members started taking shifts; walking loops with me. Eventually, I defaulted to putting my left hand on their back or shoulder so that I would use less energy keeping my back and core erect as I slogged through mile after mile. It helped. And the conversations and support that continued loop after loop was a true gift and blessing.
The night sky descended and we were rewarded with a brilliant moon and a sky full of stars, unpolluted by city lights. Despite the increasing pain I was now steeped in, it was a glorious time to share with people who I treasure in my life.
Day 5 – Send In The Calvalry
I had scheduled crew members for support until 8:00 p.m. Friday night. I thought that I had more than ample time to finish the course by then. And had that been the case, I would have won the race. Well, that was not going to be my experience. Not by a long shot. In fact, Robert Burns words echoed in my head, “The best laid plans of mice and men…” often go awry.
By Friday morning, it was clear that I had a long haul in front of me. When the morning started it was clear that if I was going to finish this, I would be pushing all the way through to the end, to the race cut-off on Saturday at 7 p.m.
Crew members, Katherine and Patty, got cracking and started getting the word out – “Will needs folks starting Friday night at 8:00 p.m. until Saturday night at 7:00 p.m.” By this time, it was a full-fledged race against the clock.
The rest of the day was steady. Down to a walk that was quickly deteriorating, I started laboring. Often breathing like I was a participant in a Lamaze Class, I was reminded of what I always tell the athletes that I coach. It’s actually a running joke. “Suck it up Buttercup!” Oh, how your words come back to haunt you.
As I started wrapping my head around my fate – i.e. the race could go either way; I could finish on time or I could miss it – the emotion of it washed over me. Simultaneously, I had been experiencing moments of pure gratitude as one crew member after another was walking stride for stride with me to support me during what could have been very dark hours.
The encouragement, the love and the support were so palpable, tears trickled down my face and escaped below my sunglass frames. At one point as I was walking with Clair, I shared how incredible the support was and how blessed I was. As she saw me hold back my tears, she gave me permission to just release them. We hugged, I balled like a baby for a minute in full gratitude. And for every recurring lap, we had a name for “our” spot – “Crybaby Hill.”
That night, Jim, Patty, Andy, Stephen, J.D., Mark, Patrick, Mike, Wink, Jean and Blair showed up ready to do whatever was needed to keep me moving.
Day 6 – Welcome To The Pain Cave. We’ve Been Awaiting Your Arrival.
By Saturday morning, I no longer knew who was going to show up for my support crew. The word and the urgency of my plight was pinging at warp speed through Facebook, texts and emails. And miraculously, the right people – actually the perfect people – seemed to show up just when I needed them most, just as they had the evening before. At 6 a.m., I was cheerfully greeted by one of my athletes, Tracy and her husband Keith. They were going to be with me until noon…or longer if needed. And Tracy became my drill sergeant; ready to whip this recruit into shape.
For six hours, I marched and marched as fast as I could. By that time, I needed two people, one on each side, to use as my own human walking sticks. Without the support, my back lurched forward to the left and I appropriately nicknamed myself, Quasimodo. By putting my hands or arms on the backs and shoulders of my crew, I struggled to stay upright and moving, but it made it possible. By now, my back was in full-blown distress and I was in unrelenting agony. In addition, my feet and lower legs shot bolts of pain with each step and I could feel a huge blister erupting on the bottom of my left foot.
I did my best not to complain or talk about my state of misery but my hunched back, heavy breathing and constant grunts were telltale signs that I was going downhill fast.
As the morning shifted into day and new crew members arrived, I started going deep into the proverbial Pain Cave. Each new arrival was instructed, “Don’t let him stop. He needs to keep moving.” And with all the support, I didn’t want to stop. Chuck took over from Tracy and Keith and made sure that my other helpers were staying on task.
This is a good time to acknowledge the crew and support I had on the course. In total, 39 people showed up planned, or unplanned, for my week at Lake Anna. They included Crandall, Shannon, Kim, Jennifer, Sophia, Cheryl, Bruce, Katherine, J.D., Kelly, Tracy, Keith, Don, Betsy, Heather Jean, Terri, Mike, Janice, Jeff, Chris, Amanda, Stephen, Mel, Bill, Clair, Patty, Jim, Andy, Chuck, Wink, Mark, Blair, Patrick, Randy, Susan Ann, Gray, Andrej, and Rob. I was told over and over throughout the week that I had the most amazing support crew; there was no question about it! I also got more help from other athletes, their crews, volunteers and race support staff. Special thanks to Jen, Joanna, Debbie, Roger, Travis, Marie and Jade. And for everyone who was there in person, there were hundreds more who were sending prayers, support and positive energy my way from afar. Special thanks to my angels – Lucy (a.k.a. Beth) and Jackie! You each have my undying gratitude and love for your unselfish giving and generous spirits. I am truly blessed. (And I fully realize that paybacks are hell.)
With the support all around me, I was resolved to fight through this as best I could with whatever I had. I would keep going until I literally could not take one more step. As the hours passed, the pain grew more and more intense. I did my best to mask its severity. If my crew knew the true extent of my struggle, they probably would give me permission to call it a day. But that’s not why they were there. And it wasn’t why I was there either.
Among endurance athletes, we often talk about being in the Pain Cave and suffering through moments of pain for the glory of finishing. You hear phrases like, “Dig deep.” Well, I was redefining for me, what digging deep was all about. I had been going almost nonstop since 10:30 p.m. Friday night and it was now Saturday afternoon on my sixth and final day of averaging two hours of sleep per night.
As we reached lap 70 of 75, Debbie was coming into the finish area on her final lap. Debbie is a dear friend who was my chief crew person last year. She, along with her husband Roger, came from Colorado to support me last year and I had talked her into doing the Double this year. It was awesome to share the race experience with her. Knowing that I was now coming up short on my own race, it was time to shift to embracing the bigger moment. I instructed my walking crew to stop and we watched and applauded Debbie through her ceremonial finish. After she had done her final “flag run” and hammered the anvil, I went up for the biggest and best hug of the week. Tears flowed as we whispered our appreciation and pride for each other during our long and emotional bear hug.
It was a detour off my mission with my crew that I don’t think they fully understood at the time, but it was the perfect way to start bringing closure to my race. I continued and was able to make one more lap with my crew before the final cut-off. At that point, Chris, Amanda, Sarah, Jean, Stephen, Blair, and I marched off to wrap up lap 71.
I crossed the timing tent and hit 696.01 miles with only seconds left before the official race cut-off time; just under seven miles to get to the elusive 703 that I had been pursuing in my mind for all these many months. I was 99% there and on this day, in this race, that would be my journey.
My ego wanted to drag myself through those final miles, after the course had been cleared and closed, but I knew my support crew would feel obligated to stay by my side as they had all along. I didn’t feel right asking them to invest another two to two and half hours (my current pace) for something that, in the end, didn’t really matter.
I had come to push my limits. I had come to learn and grow and live fully. I had come to receive the gifts of the journey. Mission accomplished.
Day 7 – The Morning After
I woke up during the wee hours of the night drenched in my own sweat. So profuse that it had soaked fully through a shirt and a comforter. My sinister nocturnal companion had visited once again. What I know about night sweats, as a non-menopausal woman, is that if you have lots of internal inflammation, your body temps get highest in the middle of the night. So your body does its job to cool down the radiating heat by sending out the fire trucks to hose it down. At least my systems were fully functioning and on full alert.
As I crawled out of bed shedding my dripping night clothes, it was clear that my body was toast. Had I been hit by a dump truck and left for dead? How could the body that had just kept going and going for six days not move easily for just one more day? It was pure agony as I moved with the labored cadence of a crippled centenarian. When I finally hobbled in front of the mirror to brush my teeth, I was startled to find an 80 year-old man staring back. Luckily, he started retreating as the morning hours ticked away. But the toll was clear.
The phone rang disrupting my contemplation. Mike, my amazing crew member and one of the athletes I recently coached for Ironman Maryland, called to check in on me. The conversation went something like this:
Mike: It probably feels like the day after Christmas for you this morning. Is it a let down after all the anticipation of the race?
Me: Actually, I think today is Christmas day. I’ve started to reflect on this week and I feel like I have received so many gifts. There is so much I’m thankful for.
Mike: Are you disappointed that you ended up falling just short of your goal?
Me: I think it ended just as it should. I’m really humbled. But humility is a good thing. It means I can sit back and be appreciative and have gratitude for all that I experienced. I’m not sure that had I crossed the finish line in time that I would be reflecting on these gifts as intently as I am today. And that’s what’s important.
Mike: You have some amazing friends and support. I was so honored to be a part of it. The experience of helping you was emotional for me, though it didn’t hit me until I was in the car heading home. Thank you for allowing the space for me to be part of your race experience. You so impress me with your resolution to see this race to the end. I never doubted your will to finish. Wow, your will was so powerful. What a rich experience for those of us lucky enough to escort you on a few laps; truly a gift. I know your back spasms didn’t feel like a gift to you, but they were to us in a way that I can only define now.
We talked further and I understood clearly that as I let go of my ego and my anticipated outcome and embraced the gifts that were given me, that everything happened just as it should. I was very satisfied with being a Quadruple ++ finisher and not a Quintuple Anvil athlete.
Before I had hung up with Mike, I started to put things into perspective. Was I the crazy one here? Or was everyone else? I got to push my limits and discover what I had in me. I had reminded myself dozens of times throughout the last few days that I was in what I call the “sweet spot.” To me, the “sweet spot” is when you’re on the edge and every cell in your body is screaming for you to stop and end the excruciating pain and torture. It’s in those moments that you have a choice. Stop and end the sufferfest or walk into it brazenly with as much badassery as you can muster and defiantly respond, “Bring it!”
While the actual moment isn’t at all sweet, it becomes a powerful elixir later when you have gotten through to the other side. You realize that you are so much stronger than you believed you ever could be. And you get a glimpse at your true power and light. It’s a magical tonic and it starts to change who you are and what you’re capable of becoming, not just in sport but in life.
It’s not often that you get to have these pivotal moments and experiences that fundamentally shake you to your core and reshape the person that you are. That is why I do this “crazy” stuff.
But who’s really crazy? Am I? Despite my battered body, I feel fully alive. I feel humbled. I feel my heart filled with gratitude for all the amazing and supportive people in my life. I feel enveloped by love. I feel vulnerable…and emotional. I feel strong. I feel in touch with my own light and purpose.
I am even more ready and committed to live in the moment, to embrace opportunities and to live a more challenged and fulfilling life. I am on the right path. I am where I need to be to “live my bold.”
So who’s the crazy one?
I said goodbye to Mike and ended the call with the press of my screen. And then, it happened.
I looked down at my phone monitor as I was getting ready to set it down on the table, and there was an incoming call display, without the ringtone audio, flashing on my screen. It was from “Mom.” Seriously, you can’t make this stuff up. My deceased mom was sending me a message that she was with me all along. Something I never doubted.
I hesitated for a second with a dozen thoughts swirling through my head. Then, lifting the phone to my ear, I had a one-sided conversation with Mom. Tears streamed down my face as I shared my appreciation for my biggest cheerleader.
*****
It’s not too late to donate (any amount) to the Jackie B. Turner Memorial Scholarship Fund. You can donate online with this link:
https://www.gofundme.com/2sgza2s
Or you can send a tax-deductible check to: Hanover Education Foundation, 200 Berkley Street, Ashland, VA 23005. Just put “For Jackie Turner” in the memo line. My heart is full; thanks so much!
