BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP…3:30am and 3.5 hours to go… "The count down starts…" On three, maybe four hours of sleep, I downed a PB&J, half a protein bar, half a bagel and some G2, then sprayed myself with sunblock. 2.25 hours to go…dropped off trans-bags and boarded a school bus in the dark. The atmosphere—giddy. 1.5 hours to go… arrived at Sand Hollow Reservoir. I filled the front aero bottle on my bike with 12 packets of GU and water, then packed the bento box with salt pills, Ibuprofen, half a PB & J, four Fig Newtons, two unwrapped Powerbars, and most importantly, one Snickers bar. I prepared my bike bottle with one scoop of Perpetuem and G2 punch flavor. One hour to go… inflated tires, checked gearing. I headed out to search for the port-a-potties but the line that wrapped around the transition area found me first. I decided to find a "shorter" line and after 45 minutes, one GU, and a near anxiety attack, I made it to the front. Fifteen minutes to go... Dropped off the morning clothes bag and struggled to slip into my super suit(wetsuit). Rubbed Glide on neck to prevent chaffing, donned two latex caps and readied my goggles. Ten minutes to go... Leaving the transition area on cold bare feet, I gingerly treaded the asphalt, unsuccessfully avoiding pebbles that felt like shards of glass. Like a pack of penguins, the triathletes marched down the boat ramp before me into the icy water. National Anthem—5 minutes to go... I entered the water and maneuvered myself to front and center. One minute to go... Tried to relax--breathed…

BANG! 1,900 triathletes splashed off. I stroked in front with the luxury of not having to battle for position, eying a school of triathletes on the far left, and a smaller pack on the far right--I had clear water before me. Once we reached the first turn buoy of the 2.4 mile rectangular loop, we headed directly into the rising sun. I couldn't see much, just a few shapes and splashing. Swimmers that were previously moving in a straight line were now meandering, jamming into me as I was them. We somehow managed to make it to the second turn, and to the longest stretch of the swim. My pace…solid, I swam as smooth and relaxed as possible, but then something was wrong. My legs intermittently twinged and I was beginning to lose control over my little fingers. After the last two turns around a small rocky island, I stepped out of the water in 56:46, faster than I imagined I could do. I stumbled into the tent. There were rows and rows of empty fold up chairs—a good sign. I plopped down and instantly, my legs started to cramp—the water was cold, probably low to mid 50s. I wiped my feet with a small towel and while forcing a sock over a damp foot, I tore a hole in it the size of a silver dollar—blisters??? My race belt, helmet, and sunglasses went on and I jogged awkwardly in cycling shoes towards my bike which was waiting for me by the aid of a volunteer. I mounted it with a transition time of 5:43. Onto the 112 mile bike course, I shivered, but warmed up quickly as the fifty degree desert air dried me in minutes. I pedaled strong and held a steady pace as I passed several cyclists. About five miles in, I was overtaken by someone in the age group below me. His bib was tweaked and I couldn't read his name. I pursued him only to use him as a pacer. My legs weren't great, but the cramping subsided and I was riding well holding my watts to the low 200s. I set my watch to beep every 15 minutes to remind myself to drink, eat, or suck on the GU (the beeping probably irritated the crud out of my pacer). Unfortunately, the GU sprayed out of the aero bottle. Before I knew it, my legs and bike were covered in drippy, sticky, vanilla bean GU. Over the first 22 miles of rollers, my average was 20mph. Through the sharp turns of the bike path section, I hit my brakes which shrieked like a banshee on fire—GU.

Once we reached the beginning of the first of two 43 mile loops, we turned into a light head wind. The only cyclists to pass us were the top age groupers—names I recognized from the awards banquet. My pace remained sound and breathing well under control. I focused on keeping about four bike lengths behind my pacer and ignored the cows and much of the beautiful red rock and lava fields that surrounded us. Once we hit "The Wall" I dropped my pacer and passed several others whom had passed us miles earlier. After a few rollers at the top, I sped down the backside of the loop in the 30 to 40 mph range, thanks to a tail wind. But my legs were cramping again. I thought if I could make it though this long down hill stretch, they might recover. I took it easy, and towards the bottom of the descent, the guys I had passed up "The Wall" were now returning the favor. I let them go—well, I had no choice;) The timing strip missed my second split, but I'm sure I was still at least 20mph. A fellow age grouper named Jeff Rhodes passed me at the beginning of the second loop. He'd a 5:52 split at Arizona. I knew I was doing well to have held him off for so long. I was about 70 miles in. He quickly disappeared into the red rock. My legs hadn't recovered and were still itching to cramp. My watts had dropped to 150+. I decided to take a salt pill, but the unwrapped Powerbars were not only cemented to the bento box, but to the loose salt pills as well. This was my first IM after all. I took my time as I headed up the rollers of the second loop. The head wind strengthened from the first lap around, my pace slowed, and my legs were simply being ornery. I knew at this point it was going to be a longer day than I had hoped for, but I was content. During a few of the climbs, dismounting and walking up The Wall crossed my mind in fear of my legs going into full cardiac arrest. But I stayed in the saddle and crawled up each hill at a sea slug's pace. While spinning over the rollers on top of the loop, my stomach wasn't happy, so I ate the last half of my Snickers to cheer it up. I figured I earned it, but it didn't help. I felt sick and thought I might need to vomit sometime early in the run once the stomach really starts bouncing around. I looked forward to the long down hill glide to T2.

My legs wanted a break and I was badly needing to relive myself—but then… I flatted. A staple punctured my rear tire. I carefully changed my tire taking my time, but while attempting to inflate the new tube with the cartridge, a burst of CO2 escaped. Only 70 to 80 pounds made it in and that was my one and only CO2 cartridge. But I'd a stroke of good fortune, for about the same time, an angel on a motorcycle pulled up behind me with a floor pump in hand. She grabbed the wheel, pumped it up and fixed it to my bike lickety split. Off I went blazing down the backside of the loop. The winds were roaring and my computer ticked as high as 47mph. At one point during the decent, a crosswind pounded me and my front wheel began to shimmy, shaking back and forth like a pit-bull with a mouth full of rat. It didn't last more than three or four seconds, but long enough for me to have seen God. Once I finished the loop, and just before the finish of the bike leg, I was hit with an unexpected, short, steep hill. Ouch! At T2, I dismounted with a bike split of 6:02.

I couldn't believe I was still on pace to go sub 11 hours which was my initial goal. One volunteer took my bike, another handed me my Trans-bag. I love these transitions. I'd never been pampered like this before and the volunteers were extraordinary. I shoved on my shoes and headed right to the first port-a-potty. My second transition time: 4:51. The skies were breezy, blue and partly cloudy, while the temperature must have been in the neighborhood of 80--nice. Once I stepped onto the rolling marathon course and started up Main St, I knew right then and there that I wasn't going to be doing much running. The legs were still not right and it was deja vu as I had the same issues with my legs after the cold swim during the Desert Tri the previous year. But I was truly content and just having fun. I walked and then ran whenever I felt up to it, talking with other competitors and volunteers. Graciously, my stomach decided to no longer hold me hostage. Chocolate chip cookies, licorice, bananas, grapes, potato chips were just a few of the things on the menu I enjoyed at several aid stations. There must have been 50 volunteers at every one, yelling and cheering, handing out snacks, drinks, and sponges sopping with ice water. I may have actually gained weight during this race. Several miles into the "run", I caught Jeff Rhodes who was walking with his arm in a sling. I spoke with him for close to a mile. He'd crashed on the bike path breaking his collar bone—he finished the race.

During the marathon, I saw everyone I knew at one point or another. I love the out and back courses. Like a shot of caffeine, seeing people I knew was always great for an extra lift. Heading into the turnaround, I thought I might be able to run the last half—nope. I walked on. At the 18 mile marker of the marathon, I checked my watch and was pleased with my overall progress. But then I started thinking and thought, I still might be able to break 12 hours. But, I'd have to average 10 minute miles. That would mean I'd have to run most of the remaining distance when I had only been running one mile intervals with long walking breaks between. I did my best to just keep moving, and stopped stuffing myself with chocolate chip cookies. After about a mile, my knee starting hurting and I had to take a break, but I did get going again. Sometime later, as I finally lumbered towards the finish line, electricity buzzed all around as the raucous spectators that lined the street, cheered and rang cow bells. I tried to tune them all out. I focused my attention ahead, peering up into the scaffolding ahead, looking for Mike Reilly, listening intently, waiting… waiting… A rush of adrenalin gave me a bounce in my stride. And then, there it was: "William Peery from Chino Hills California, you are an Ironman!" 1149:37.