After 15 minutes of sitting and sipping, I knew I needed to get moving or else I'd be parked there for good. I thank Liza for her help, and she helped me out of the congested exit.
As I walked back along Lakeshore towards the Spanish Villa, I caught up with Lynda and her parents. I was still carrying a half-finished bottle of Gatorade, not really all that thirsty even though I hadn't peed since T2. I knew I SHOULD have been drinking, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it yet. I figured my body was just winding down - I'd get going on the water soon enough.
As I walked a bit with them, Lynda took my hand and told me the news: "Eric didn't finish. He stopped at Mile 20 and got a ride in. He couldn't eat, and was really, really sick." Just then, Amy came up. "Eric's back in the room. He's feeling a little better - he's had a shower and some soup. You guys can come on by as soon as you get cleaned up and you feel like it. I'm going to head back..."
How can this be? How could he NOT finish? That's not the way this is supposed to go! How could Mike, Kim, and now Eric not finish? How could I enjoy what I'd just done, knowing that three of my dearest friends were NOT going to be with me? I barely had time to reconcile that thought when from the direction of the Villa, Kim and Mike came walking along...headed right for me.
I opened my arms, and Kim just hugged right in. The sobs came easily, and Mike just stood by with one arm on her shoulder. I looked at him and he looked back - there was nothing we could say or do. You know that there's always a chance you won't finish when you start one of these things - you just hope it won't happen to you, or your friends. The pain was as strong as the joy, just wrong.
"They lost my special needs. I was sick the entire ride from the start - I went to special needs on no food at all, and I knew if I could just get my TUMS into me at special needs we might make it, but I got there...and there was no BAG! 'How the f*ck am I supposed to go on without my food? I need my f'in TUMS!'" More sobs. How she managed to ride 112 miles in 8 hours with no food was amazing enough...it just wasn't fast enough. They'd missed the cut by 15 minutes - 5 miles.
My day didn't matter, now. Too much hurt for too many for me to handle. As I fought hamstring cramps whenever we stood still, we managed to make it back to the room in about 20 minutes, catching Mike Valleriano's finish along the way. He'd been fighting stomach woes all day long, and STILL finished in under 13 hours. Lee Crumbaugh was right there, but I was getting so very tired now - the weight of effort was coming down on my wasted body. I wanted a shower, I wanted a nap, and I needed to drink - now.
As I peeled a crumbly skinsuit away from my skin, the salt piled up on the floor like I'd had my own snowstorm. My legs were 'twitchy', and I was starting to get dizzy. "I'll just need to eat something, get a little water, I'll be fine." I thought. After showering and changing into dry, soft, non-lycra clothes, Lynda and I went down to Eric and Amy's room to try and eat. Eric was there, but he was his usual stoic self. I didn't need to say much - what could I say?
"How you doing?" I asked, obviously.
"I don't feel too bad now, I just couldn't get anything down." He mused.
Amy put a bowl of soup down in front of me and I tried to get some of the broth into my stomach...but I couldn't. The thought of soup, of water, of Gatorade, of anything was just too much. It made me nauseous to even consider it, so I looked at Lynda and asked, "Can we go back to the room? I need to lay down."
I figured I was just recovering from working so hard, but it was worse then that. I was seriously dehydrated and salt-depleted, and borderline hyponatremic (a state of low sodium in the blood). I just wanted to lay down and sleep - I was so cold! Back in the room I just laid down on the bed in my clothes, and pulled my Mylar blanket over my body. Curled up in a fetal position I thought, "I'll be fine soon - I just need to rest here..." I drifted off into a doze: Not really asleep, not really awake.
Cathy and Wade came to see me - Wade had qualified, again! "Heard you PR'ed, too - nice job!" He offered. We'd been 10 minutes apart at the start of the run, and nearly 2 hours apart when it was over, and he looked 10-tmes better then I felt. I guess after he saw me someone went and got Martha Grant, and Martha came in to talk to me. Martha has been working at IMC as a volunteer for 10 years, plus. She's seen everything, been everywhere, and knows when someone is in need of attention. She came in to talk to me, and in a polite yet firm voice (she's a school teacher - you find yourself listening intently most times) said, "I think maybe if you're feeling this bad you should really think about going back to medical. Really. You have nothing to lose. I would definitely go and get looked at."
I didn't want to be trouble. There were people sicker then me in medical - I didn't want to waste their time. I'll be fine. I just need to lay here...
Eric came in and agreed. "Come on. Your father-in-law is here. We'll give you a ride down there." Reluctantly, I figured I'd better go along with them. I sat up, and that's when things got VERY ugly. The room started to spin around me, and putting my arms over my head to put my pullover on nearly made me vomit. Thankfully, I hadn't put anything in my stomach, so I just moaned with the waves of nausea that were now pulsing through me.
Eric led me to the car like a child leads a grandparent down some steps, and my father-in-law dropped us off about 2 blocks from the finish line. It took Eric and I about 10 minutes to cover 200 feet, but he managed to get me into the triage tent without dropping me or letting me faint. The nurse took down my vitals, and went through the questionnaire. I knew I needed an I.V. I wanted an I.V. Getting an I.V. post-Ironman is now about as hard as a job interview.
"When was the last time you peed?" The nurse asked. "Second transition." I replied. "About 7 hours ago." She scribbled some notes down, and asked me, "Have you had anything to drink since then?" I told her I'd tried, but I got seasick every time I drank. She frowned and said, "Well, you don't need an I.V. Just stay here, and try to drink something." She handed me a bottle of Gatorade, and moved on. I looked down at the thing, and I felt positively green thinking about taking just one sip of the stuff.
I waved her back over and explained, "There's no way I can drink this. I just CAN'T." She was firm: "It's a fluid challenge - if you can't drink that, then we'll treat you with an I.V." Great. My father-in-law is here, Eric is here, and now I have to do this? Fine.
I took a sip, waited about 10 seconds, and explosively vomited into a conveniently placed bucket in front of me. It had taken about 2 ounces to create the explosion, but my body rocked like it was trying to empty two gallons. I slumped back into my chair, and the nurse reluctantly surrendered: "Come with me - we'll hook you up."
Eric led me into the magic room, and I FINALLY got hooked up. As soon as the bag started to flow, I started to come back to normal. The longer the drain went on, the clearer things became to me - and the more I realized I was in serious trouble. Had I waited in the room like I'd wanted, Lynda would have been taking me to the hospital at 2:00am - not something I'd ever want her to go through.
I finished the first bag, and Eric sat there with me the whole time. My father-in-law was there as well; silent, perhaps worried, but typically Irish and stoic. The man had been there at IM-USA when I ate the bee. Now he'd flown 3,300 miles to watch me finish another Ironman, then end up in medical. I wasn't exactly a proud figure at the moment, and I apologized the best that I could.
"Well, I guess there's nothing like puking in front of your father-in-law to make your trip worthwhile, huh?" He grinned and waved his hand in one of those, 'don't even think about it' gestures. I managed a weak grin, but I was still pretty embarrassed.
At the end of bag one the nurse came back over and gave me another "Fluid Challenge." I lasted about 30 seconds this time before doing my own personal Vesuvius, and she stuck another bag on the pole. "Whoo-hoo! 2-Bagger in my first attempt." I faux celebrated. While I was waiting there and getting back to where I should have been, I had several visitors. Alain Bienvenue came in after his completion of "The Double" - IM-USA and IMC in 4 weeks, and he'd been faster at IMC!
Sandra Smith came in, too. She wasn't racing, but had been spectating all day. The medical folks were VERY strict about letting people in to the tent, so I asked them both "How'd you get in here?" Sandra said, "I told them I was your wife." Alain just shrugged and said, "Nobody was looking, but I heard you were in here." I was worried that if Lynda came down and heard that my wife was already with me, I'd have some serious explaining to do (or I'd have to move to Utah).
Once he knew that I wasn't going to die and let him win The Duel by default, Eric went off to get some pizza. He came back I was just about 100% - the slice actually looked appetizing. I had dodged my first serious medical bullet - thanks to all of my friends watching over me, when I had stopped watching over myself. I felt so much better, it was scary to me just how far I'd let myself go. As I finished the second bag I heard both Jeff Campbell and Ron Gilcreast beat Cinderella home in the final hour, and I cheered for them even though I knew they'd never hear it.
I managed to stand up and walk out at 11:55pm, and we heard the final finishers come through. Eric helped me pick up my bike, my bags, and my dry-strip bag while my Father-in-law got the car. We loaded up, and I thanked Eric and my Father-in-law for taking care of me while they both made it seem like it was nothing. We all piled into the car and headed back to the hotel, bringing the longest day to an end.
Almost. Once I was up in the room and the din died down outside, I sat down
with my bags, and dumped out their contents. I unfolded each of the notes,
cards, and signs that had been put in my bags by the people that care, and read
every single word. My friends had carried me and cared for me, and I'd taken my
wife across the line after all their help. Friends and family - they'd all been
there for me. They'd all played a part in my race, and carried me when I'd gone
too far.
I'd been up for 21 hours, but I didn't want to sleep just yet. This had been a day. THIS was a day to remember. It was like a mini-marriage: There were ups, there were downs, there was joy, there was sorrow, there was sickness, there was health. In the end, there were friends, and there were family. They were all that mattered, and I had them all there with me. As I pulled the covers up over my wasted body, I knew that I could not have asked for more. This was a day like none other - and I passed into the deepest, coolest sleep I'd had in months. The tension of Sunday morning was now the peace of Sunday night, and I was gone under it's spell in seconds.
The same circle of friends and family would cheer up Kim, and they would be
there for Eric, even though he seemed strong enough that he didn't need it. He
was one tough customer - never one to show too much emotion. I knew he HAD them
- he was just very strong at keeping things on an even keel. Kim and Mike swore
they'd be back - someday. Eric did too, although we didn't really know when.
I didn't know when I'd be back, either...but I knew I was ready to walk away from it all. I had no regrets. No lingering, "What if's..." to keep me awake and wondering about what could have been. A child was next for St. Lynda and I. Maybe it would be a boy, perhaps a girl. Maybe it would be in 9 months - maybe a year. Maybe two years - who can tell Mother Nature when to deliver such a blessing? I certainly couldn't, but I could go ahead now and think about it.
We would say our goodbyes at the Awards Banquet, and go our separate ways the next morning. Lynda and stayed until late afternoon, walking along the lake. It was still a beautiful place, but without the friends that made IMC so special, it was JUST a place now. The people that matter gave the race life - never was that so clear to me before.
As we drove out, I asked Lynda to stop the car at the summit of Yellow Lake. I wanted to take a look - I'd never really spent time up there, and I wanted to see the actual lakes instead of just grinding past them. She pulled off to one side, and I walked back along the road I'd fought 2 days before. The chalking was still there - safe from passing wheels on the shoulder, waiting for the next hard rain to erase the marks to memories. As I walked down the road there were still hand-made signs in the trees, and then I saw it. Just one message amongst the blurry words: "GO ERIC WEISS #542" It was from Amy, and when he came across here it helped him come flying into town...but then nothing could help him when his body shut down. Friday's writings are all of promise and hope, but Sunday's truth can erase them in such a cruel blink.
Mike, Kim, Eric, and countless others I didn't know. I wept for all of them. There would be other days for them, but I felt guilt at being the one to have finished when they could not. Lynda came along, and I knew it was okay when I saw she was crying too. "Come on. It'll be okay." She whispered. She wrapped her arm around my shoulder, and we made our way out of town.
There will be a child for Lynda and I.
There will be another Ironman, someday.
There will be another day for Mike, Kim, and Eric.
If I dare to wish my way, we will all be there together. We will all finish, and I'll hug my son, daughter, and wife as I send a champagne cork flying into the sky to celebrate the last one home.
That will be a day.
Hurricane Bob
* Someday, Somewhere, Someway. *