by Brian Boyle
A Sample Week of My Ironman Training
MONDAY
Abs
crunches 3 × 25
oblique crunches 3 × 25
leg raises 3 × 25
Run
warm-up easy jog 1 mile (10:00)
set 3-mile run
cool down easy jog 1 mile (10:00)
Weights
muscle exercise (4 sets of 8 reps)
biceps barbell curls
chest bench press
triceps upright rows
TUESDAY
Bike
warm-up easy 1 mile (10:00)
set 1 hour bike
cool down easy 1 mile (10:00)
Weights
muscle exercise (4 sets of 8 reps)
upper and lower legs squats
calves calf raises
upper and lower legs lunges
WEDNESDAY
Abs
crunches 3 × 25
oblique crunches 3 × 25
leg raises 3 × 25
Swim (5,100 yards)
warm-up 500 choice 500 free
drills 600 stroke 400 free catch up
set 12x25 free sprint intervals. 50 secs 20x50 free sprint intervals. 75 secs
kicking 4×300 free rest:1 min
set 4×100 free fast intervals 4 min
cool down 200 choice easy
Weights
muscle exercise (4 sets of 8 reps)
biceps barbell curls
chest bench press
triceps upright rows
THURSDAY
Run
warm-up easy jog 1 mile (10:00)
set 6-mile run
cool down easy jog 1 mile (10:00)
Weights
muscle exercise (4 sets of 8 reps)
upper and lower legs squats
calves calf raises
upper and lower legs lunges
FRIDAY
Rest
SATURDAY
Abs
crunches 3 × 25
oblique crunches 3 × 25
leg raises 3 × 25
Bike
warm-up I easy 1 mile (10:00)
set 4 hour bike
cool down easy 1 mile (10:00)
Run
set 3-mile run
SUNDAY
Swim (5800 yards)
warm-up 500 stroke 500 free
drills 16x50 free rest 25 secs 25 slow - 25 fast
set 12x25 free sprint int. 50 secs 10x50 free sprint int. 95 secs
pulling 12×100 free rest 25 secs
set 400 IM rest 60 secs 8x100 free rest 20 secs 12x50 free sprint rest 30 secs
cool down 200 choice easy
Weights
muscle exercise (4 sets of 8 reps)
upper and lower legs squats
calves calf raises
upper and lower legs lunges
October 6, 2007. I arrive with my parents in Kona, Hawaii, one week before race day. It’s three in the morning when the plane lands at Keahole Airport. My jet-lagged sleepy brain is locked within a state of disbelief when my feet touch the tarmac. In the dark, humid night I feel confusion, even intense disorientation. Everything seems unreal. Just being here feels like a dream. Just over three years ago, I was waking up from a coma. Everything was puzzling and strange in the hospital room. Nothing made sense. I didn’t know where I was, how I got there, why I couldn’t move any of my limbs. But there’s a big difference between coma and Kona. I didn’t ask to land in a coma. A speeding dump truck made that happen. But I want to be in Kona. I’ve worked hard at it, fighting against steep odds. I have had tremendous help along the way, from the doctors and nurses when I was smashed and crushed, to the generous assistance from the Ironman organization. While I’m not an elite agegrouper who qualified for Hawaii, I feel as fortunate and as lucky as any of the other 150 lottery winners who snagged an entry slot.
I am grateful that my parents are with me in Kona. They have made this long journey with me at all times, from Room 19 in Intensive Care at Prince George’s Hospital to our adjacent rooms at the King Kamehameha Hotel, which is also race headquarters for the Hawaii Ironman Triathlon World Championship.
I fall asleep right after checking into my room. The next thing I know, I’m having a dream. I’m alone on a sailboat in waters off the Hawaiian coast. The boat is fairly beaten up. The mainsail and jib aren’t out because there isn’t much wind. The anchor line is taut as it enters the clear blue water. Various pieces of nautical equipment are on board—old buoys and a sun-bleached life raft. I notice small, white-painted lava rocks scattered across the scuffed oak floor. Suddenly, I get this powerful urge for a drink of water, but there’s nothing to drink on the boat. So I decide to swim to shore and find fresh water. I prop my hands over the carved oak hull, and am ready to jump overboard when I see an engraving in the wood next to my left foot. It says July 6. I lose my balance and fall backward into the ocean.
The dreamends. I look over to the alarm clock on the nightstand. It’s almost six in the morning—time to wake up. In several hours, I will begin the first session of a four-day Ironman training camp.
I meet my fellow LifeSport campers in the lobby of the hotel. Our instructors are LifeSport’s Lance Watson, Paul Regensburg, and Alister Russell, who will help newcomers like myself become familiar with the race course. There are fifteen triathletes in the camp, men and women, old and young, and judging from their accents, from all over the world—United States, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand. The skill levels are broad, ranging from lottery-slot recipients to elite age-groupers and even a few professionals. I’m both the youngest and the least conditioned triathlete. I’m the baby of the group.
Our first training session takes place at the Natural Energy Lab of Hawaii, which conducts cutting-edge research in small-scale ocean thermal energy. The 870-acre complex spreads out from the seashore to the Queen Ka’ahumanu (“Queen K”) Highway, which is the main road for the bike and run course. The three-mile asphalt spur to the Energy Lab—coming at the sixteen-mile mark in the marathon—is where many Ironman champions have been born.
Several campers all tell me the same thing: This place should be called anything but the Energy Lab because that is the last thing you have left in your tank during the marathon. They’re probably right.
The flat road that descends to the sea is scorched and charred earth, the remnants of a volcanic eruption that happened two hundred years ago. We park the van. Campers pile out and immediately start running. Some move blazingly fast, galloping along at a six-minutes-per-mile pace. They all have quick leg turnover, land on their mid-foot, and run with nice long strides. My form is pitiful: slow leg turnover, short strides, and I periodically land on my heels.
I begin with a light jog in this South Sea sauna whose heat sucks away my breath. I return to the van after twenty minutes, overheated and drained. The other campers are busy chatting, their arms and legs glistening with sweat and liquefied sunscreen. They don’t even look tired.
“How was the run?” asks a super-fast Aussie named Brad. “It’s hot, mate. It’s burnin’ up out here.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty warm,” I reply, with sweat dripping down my face.
When we get back to the hotel, we take a short break. I use the time to walk around the small town of Kona. Triathletes are everywhere, walking around with their bikes, helmets on or slung over their shoulders, carrying duffel bags with bike pump handles hanging out of them, and wearing running or bike jerseys. They are speaking German, French, Japanese, English, and Spanish. One young couple wear T-shirts that proclaim Tri or Die with a skull and crossbones printed in black.
I poke my head into the souvenir shops. I see triathletes chatting at small tables in outdoor cafes with their shiny bikes propped next to their chairs. Many of the guys aren’t wearing shirts, so you can see their heartrate monitor tan lines—a band of white stretching across their muscular chests. The girls are wearing sporty tank tops. They all have
lean, flat abs. I feel like a foreigner, just another stocky tourist, among these chiseled bodies. I’m not in Maryland anymore.
Tropical trees and bright flowers line both sides of the main seaside road, Alii Drive. In less than a week, I will be running along this road that hugs the coast. For now, I allow my senses to be swept away by the aroma of seafood and coffee. People of all ethnicities smile at me as I walk the streets of Kona, and I return their friendly gestures. For the first time since waking up from the accident, I’m at absolute peace with myself.
I veer off the sidewalk and shopping area and find a perch on a concrete seawall. Kailua Bay is calm and looks like a sheet of rolling glass from the way the sun strikes the surface. I watch two swimmers stroking along in a good strong rhythm. Sitting alone, I become hypnotized by these faraway swimmers, their arms regularly rising over the blue water. The longer I stare at them, the more thankful I feel.
On the camp’s second day of training, we meet at the Kona pier in the afternoon to learn more about the swim course. The large bright orange buoys are already in place. I can’t even see the last buoy. I’m told it’s yellow.
“Hey Brad, can you see the last buoy out there?” I ask, as he adjusts his swim goggles.
“Nah, mate. I was just getting ready to ask you the same thing,” he says, and we both let out a nervous chuckle.
As I wade into Kailua Bay, I find the water cool and refreshing. I’m used to swimming in a pool, so the first thing that I notice is that I’m more buoyant in the salt water. I can rotate my arms at a regular freestyle pace but it seems easier.
There are several dozen triathletes swimming, keeping close to the buoys. I see tropical fish when I look down. It’s a spectacular view—one I never had swimming in pools, where the only feature is a single black line. There are small rolling waves. I can’t imagine what things would be like if the waves were bigger.
Lance, Alister, and Paul accompany us in one-person kayaks. Lance says we should try drafting. We are paired into partners and instructed to swim for about fifty yards. Brad and I team up.
I have to race to keep up with Brad’s feet, trying to catch the exploding bubbles with my cupped hands. Occasionally, I touch his toes, and he then increases his pace. This is a great workout for speed and technique. I switch places with Brad and now I’m the one being chased. There’s a noticeable difference when I have to cut through the water by myself. Drafting works. Brad and I alternate back and forth all the way back to the shore.
As I towel off my hair, I run into professional triathlete Joanna Zeiger, with whom I’ve been corresponding via email. She and her husband Mark Shenk are good friends with one of my St. Mary’s classmates, Montse Ferrer. Joanna turned pro in 1998 after being voted 1997 amateur triathlete of the year, excelling in all three distances of triathlon: Olympic, half-Ironman, and Ironman. In 2000, she won triathlete of the year honors for her fourth-place finish in the Olympics in Sydney and her fifth-place finish six weeks later in Kona for the Ironman World Championship. In 2005, she won her first Ironman in Brazil and then won Ironman Coeur d’Alene in 2006. And now in 2007, she is back in Kona.
She is pleased to see me. Wishing that I do well, she runs down a list of race tips, including what to have for breakfast on race day, how to take salt pills to avoid leg cramps during the bike and run, how often I should eat and drink, and how to maintain proper foot cadence during the marathon.
Though it’s only my second day in Kona, Ironman’s director of communications, Blair LaHaye, has asked me to attend a special Ironman “Inspirational Triathletes” press conference. A large room off the hotel lobby is set up for the conference. I take a seat at the front table with three other triathletes. Blair introduces us to the gathered reporters and news media with brief biographies.
The first person Blair introduces is Scott Johnson, an accomplished Ironman triathlete from North Carolina in his mid-thirties who has cystic fibrosis and is also a double lung transplant recipient. He recently completed the Ironman Florida in Panama City Beach in a time of 15:00:50. This is his first time in Kona.
The next athlete is Scott Rigsby, who is also in his mid-thirties and is from Georgia. He’s an experienced triathlete who will be the first belowthe-knee double leg amputee to do Ironman with prosthetics. He lost both legs in an auto accident when he was eighteen years old.
Blair then introduces the older man to my right, Charlie Plaskon, who is a sixty-five-year-old grandfather and former schoolteacher who was diagnosed with a form of macular dystrophy called Stargardt’s disease when he was six years old. After retiring from the classroom, the Florida resident took up running and triathlon. Since 2003, he has completed numerous marathons and triathlons. Because he’s legally blind, he must swim and run with his guide, Matt Miller. When it’s time to bike, Charlie pedals on the tandem’s rear.
Sitting at the podium and listening to these three men talk about their experiences and how they have overcome physical limitations makes me feel proud to do this race with them. We share an intense connection, a bond of determination and willpower. Each one of us was forced to go far beyond what most thought we were capable of.
Then Blair introduces me: “Just three years ago, Brian Boyle was involved in a serious car accident. . . . ”
I feel butterflies fluttering in my stomach. Over a hundred journalists are here. Cameras are pointed at me, with flashes going off every few seconds. I have no experience being in the media spotlight like this. I’m terrified. Blair hands me the microphone.
I nervously begin: “On July 6, 2004, one month after graduating from high school, I was driving home from swim practice when I was involved in a near-fatal car accident with a dump truck. My heart was knocked across my chest, my lungs collapsed, and my pelvis and left clavicle were shattered. Pretty much every organ in my body was damaged. I lost 60 percent of my blood and was medevacked out of the intersection and flown to a local shock trauma unit. I underwent fourteen operations during a two-month ordeal during which I was in a chemically induced coma and on life support.
“My three goals after graduating high school were to go to college, swim on the team, and to one day do an Ironman triathlon. But after the accident, these dreams were gone. I’ve miraculously accomplished two of these goals with a lot of help and support from my parents, family, and friends, and now I’m trying to realize my third.”
I conclude by saying, “It’s an absolute honor to be here in Kona competing with the world’s best triathletes and to be given the chance to live a dream. Scott Johnson, Scott Rigsby, and Charlie Plaskon, I wish you all the best for this weekend’s race and that we will all get to the finish line together. I would like to thank the Ironman for allowing me to be here, and I would like to thank my parents for always believing in me. It’s an absolute honor and privilege to be here. Thank you all for making it possible.”
After a round of applause for all four of us, there is no time for me to stay around and answer reporters’ questions because I have an interview scheduled with Ron Staton of the Associated Press.
Right from the start, Ron puts me at ease with his gentle conversational manner. He asks me questions about training, the hospital, rehab, the half-Ironman Steelhead race in Michigan, and my plans after I finish the Ironman. And then he asks, “What if you don’t finish?” This last question stumps me. I tell him that I will have to get back to him on that.
After our interview, I can’t help but mull over this last question. What if I don’t finish? I have been so absorbed with getting to Kona, I never really thought about not finishing. I can’t now let doubts creep into my mind, because they could affect me psychologically on race day. No, I’m going to finish this race. But my main legitimate concern is avoiding a bike crash.
The next morning, I find a copy of the West Hawaii Today newspaper by my door. On the front page of the sports section is Ron’s article, “From Alpha to Ambitious,” along with several photos of me. I hurry to show the profile to my parents. We are thrilled
.
I then check my email to find around fifty emails from friends, relatives, and school acquaintances who have read the article. My story also appears on ESPN.com, SportsIllustrated.com, and CNN.com. When I listen to my voicemail, I have seventeen messages from newspapers, radio stations, and local news stations in Baltimore and Washington, D.C. They all want to interview me.
On the third day of the LifeSport camp, Lance bikes alongside me on the Queen K Highway, giving me pointers on how to better shift gears, how to get my body more streamlined, and how to efficiently switch water bottles when one gets empty. Even though the race is still several days away, the road is jammed with cyclists in training. Every few minutes, I hear somebody behind me shout “left” in English or the equivalent in their native language, and I try to scoot over and let the rider pass.
Cannondale’s marketing manager, Bill Rudell, is in Kona and phones me at the hotel to meet him at the local bike shop called Bike Works. When I arrive, the place is swarming with triathletes. Most of them are in cycling jerseys, walking awkwardly in their bike shoes, and still wearing their helmets. Everyone has a fancy triathlon bike, and is hoping to get minor prerace mechanical adjustments.
