My Ironman Louisville Journey: From Crippled Knees to Triumph at the Finish Line

The Ironman. It’s more than just a race; it’s the pinnacle of endurance, a challenge comprising a 2.4-mile open water swim, a 112-mile bike ride, and a 26.2-mile marathon run, all completed sequentially. For any triathlete, Ironman represents the ultimate aspiration, a deeply personal dream. On October 9th, 2016, after 14 hours and 23 minutes of relentless effort, I crossed the finish line at Ironman Louisville. Hearing those words I had yearned for so long – “Erica Schwarz, you are an Ironman” – was an experience that transcended mere achievement; it was the culmination of years of struggle, dedication, and unwavering belief.

Why Undertake the Unimaginable?

I’m frequently asked why I would choose to do something so incredibly demanding, often by people who simply don’t grasp the underlying motivation. These are often the same individuals who questioned my decisions to pursue a PhD or join the Army. For me, there’s an intrinsic allure to choosing a path that is intimidating, daunting, and demands an immense amount of dedication and preparation. It’s about committing your life to a singular goal, working tirelessly, and then actually achieving it. It’s about reaching “there,” wherever “there” might be for someone. It truly amazes me how many people don’t find this kind of pursuit desirable in the slightest.

Yet, there’s another segment of people – arguably most everyone else – who instantly connect with this ambition. They respect the sheer magnitude of the goal and understand the desire to accomplish something that, on the surface, appears unimaginable. They recognize that with persistent effort and measurable progress, the impossible slowly but surely becomes imaginable. After I finished, my husband urged me, “Just wait until you see your Facebook feed.” My phone was flooded with countless notifications, messages from friends, acquaintances, and even strangers who had followed my journey and offered their unwavering support throughout the day. Their collective encouragement genuinely blew me away.

This is my comprehensive recap of that incredible day. I entered the race with a meticulous plan developed over months of training with my coach. I had rehearsed every aspect of it repeatedly, ensuring I was prepared for any eventuality. On race day, I adhered to it completely. This adherence to a pre-defined strategy is one of the most critical aspects of tackling an Ironman. You must arrive with a clear plan: understand your pacing, know your precise nutritional needs, and time your intake perfectly. These elements are as crucial as the physical capability to cover the distances. My strategy for my inaugural Ironman attempt was simple: go slow and steady, ensuring I could cross that finish line.

The Genesis of a Dream: My Journey from Knee Reconstruction

Years of Pain and the Road to Recovery

To truly understand my Ironman story, it’s essential to know about my knees. For 40 long years, running was an impossibility for me. Any attempt would result in severe, sharp pain. My daughter affectionately (or perhaps not so affectionately) nicknamed them my “Rice Krispy knees” because of the popping and crackling sounds they made. This changed on March 9, 2012, just two weeks before my 40th birthday, when I underwent reconstructive surgery on both knees. Both kneecaps were surgically relocated and corrected, and my poor, shredded meniscuses were repaired. The surgery was merely the beginning of an arduous journey.

Weeks of intensive physical therapy followed, focusing on regaining mobility and strength. This transitioned into months of rigorous strength training, essentially building my quadriceps from scratch, as years of limited movement had left them significantly atrophied. The stakes were high; without this dedicated effort, I faced the prospect of permanent disability. But I pushed through. In September 2012, a monumental milestone arrived: I ran my first 5K. Then, on Sunday, April 14, 2013, I completed my first sprint triathlon. That day, standing at the precipice of a new physical life, my Ironman journey truly began.

The First Steps: From 5K to Sprint Triathlon

From 2013 through 2015, I immersed myself in the world of triathlons, steadily increasing the distances with each race, sharing many of these experiences on this blog. When I crossed the finish line at my first Half Ironman in Naples in January 2015, my initial reaction to my family was something along the lines of, “No way am I ever doing a full Ironman!” I’m quite certain a few choice expletives were included. However, by the end of 2015, the idea of a full Ironman had taken root and begun to consume my thoughts. It was no longer a question of if, but merely a question of which race would mark my full Ironman debut.

Choosing My First Ironman: The Lure of Louisville

Race Selection: Balancing Challenge with Family Appeal

My affinity for horses played a significant role in my decision-making. I’ve always considered myself a “horse girl,” even leasing a horse and showing for a few years before my son was born, with my daughter also enjoying riding. This connection immediately made Ironman Louisville, Kentucky, stand out as a prime candidate. I meticulously researched other potential races. Ironman Lake Placid was quickly ruled out for this Florida native due to its notoriously challenging hills. Ironman Maryland seemed risky because of potential weather issues (and my intuition proved right, as the 2016 IMMD run became more of a swim on flooded roads!). Beach to Battleship (now Ironman North Carolina) looked fantastic but wasn’t very spectator-friendly, a key consideration for my family. Ironman Florida, which I initially thought sold out instantly, turned out to be less competitive for registration as the WTC expanded its race offerings.

Louisville’s Unique Charm and Strategic Advantages

Louisville offered a compelling package. It boasts Churchill Downs, the iconic home of the Kentucky Derby, the Corvette Museum a couple of hours away, and the Louisville Slugger baseball bat factory. These attractions provided excellent “selling points” to my family, making the trip appealing for everyone. As a fall race, it offered a good chance of beautiful weather. The swim promised to be an easy river swim, likely wetsuit-legal. The bike course featured rolling hills, challenging but not overly steep or extreme. And critically, the run course was famously pancake flat.

Above all, Ironman Louisville held the reputation for having one of the best finish lines of any Ironman event. The decision was made: Ironman Louisville was the one.

Meticulous Preparation: Coaching, Training, and Mindset

Overcoming the “Break” and Finding a Coach

By the end of 2015, I felt an overwhelming need for a break from intense training. However, this proved to be a misstep. That “break” stretched into two months, during which I gained 15 pounds. What I now understand as “active recovery” was a foreign concept to me then. By February, recognizing the urgent need to get back on track, lose weight, and seriously begin training for IMLOU, I found myself floundering without direction. The definitive answer, for me, was to hire a coach. Bringing on Coach Scott from Big Sexy Racing proved to be the single best decision I made throughout my entire preparation.

The Transformative Power of Structured Training

Following the structured plan he provided was incredibly reassuring. It broke down the daunting distances into mentally manageable segments. Instead of simply jumping into a 2000-yard swim, which was my previous approach, I now had drills and specific segments. This made the sessions feel faster, allowed me to progressively add distance, and crucially, prevented me from hating life in the process. His guidance on nutrition was equally invaluable; I had been entirely off track, and he meticulously straightened out my approach. The training itself was challenging but always doable and manageable, only becoming supremely time-consuming during the final, intense “build” phase. I firmly believe that working with Scott ensured consistency and prevented me from overtraining. From February to October, I completed my training without any injuries or illnesses, a testament to the effectiveness of his balanced approach.

Pre-Race Anxiety: Hurricane Matthew and Unexpected Hurdles

A Storm on the Horizon: Personal and Logistical Challenges

The week leading up to IMLOU descended into one of the most stressful periods of my life. I live in Melbourne, Florida, and Hurricane Matthew was bearing down on our coast. The situation became so critical that I had to fly with my children to Louisville on the Thursday before the race, while my husband stayed behind to safeguard our home and our nephew who lives with us. There I was, trying to mentally prepare for the biggest physical challenge of my life, all while consumed with worry for my family’s safety and the fate of our home. Simultaneously, I strived to make the best of our time in Louisville for my kids. By the grace of God, the storm unexpectedly shifted slightly east in the final hours before its predicted landfall, sparing us its full, devastating severity. Yet, my husband’s flight was still canceled, leaving me scrambling to figure out how I would manage the race with my children, aged 14 and 6, unsupervised for an entire day. I had arranged VIP passes for them weeks prior, ensuring they had designated areas with catered food, but the logistics still presented a stressful mess. I was, undeniably, a stressed mess.

The Power of Friendship and a Timely Surprise

The day before Ironman Louisville, as I checked in my bike and gear bags, the immense reality of what I was about to undertake truly hit me. A wave of panic washed over me, prompting an urgent text to Coach Scott, a desperate cry for help. His advice was simple yet profound: get off my feet and find some downtime. That’s precisely what I did. I returned to the hotel, asked my kids to wake me in a couple of hours, and managed a much-needed, if brief, nap, which proved surprisingly restorative. Later, we met up with some dear, longtime friends who had driven all the way from Dayton, Ohio, to support me. Catching up and sharing some much-needed laughter was the perfect antidote to my pre-race jitters.

One of my friends, Mike, recalled a conversation years ago where I described my severely damaged knees, proclaiming I would never run again. “Erica,” he said, “if anyone had told me seven years ago that you would someday do an Ironman… This is absolutely awesome.” Hearing those words, a direct acknowledgment of how far I had come, resonated deeply.

Then, something truly fantastic happened. My prayers were answered. Back in the hotel room, around 7:45 PM, there was a knock on the door. It was my husband. He had managed to secure a flight out of a different airport and surprised us all by arriving. He was there. Suddenly, all felt right with my world. It was at that moment I knew, with absolute certainty, that I would finish. One by one, every single thing that could have gone terribly wrong had miraculously fallen into place. As I later told a friend, it felt as though God was gently tapping me on the head, reassuring me, “Relax child, don’t you trust me?” Now, I was truly ready.

Race Morning: Final Preparations and Anticipation

Fueling Up and Strategic Timing

Coach Scott’s instructions for race morning were clear: ingest 600-800 calories by 5:30 AM. My alarms were set accordingly. At 2 AM, I had a Clif bar; at 4 AM, another. I donned my super cute, super pink tri kit and quadruple-checked that my timing chip was securely fastened. Then, I brewed some coffee and sat on the toilet, offering a silent prayer to the “Poop gods” to smile upon me then, rather than later. This is the ideal sequence of events for any endurance athlete: coffee, then relief, then the race. Every. Time.

The Rolling Start Advantage

Ironman implemented a significant change to the race start for Louisville in 2016. IMLOU had always featured a rolling start, a welcome contrast to the often chaotic mass swim starts of other races. This year, each athlete was allotted a full 16 hours to complete the race, regardless of when they entered the water. This change ingeniously resolved the previous years’ madness, where competitors would line up as early as 4 AM to secure more time on the course. It effectively leveled the playing field for time, and importantly, meant we didn’t have to rush to the swim start, allowing my family a bit more precious sleep.

We left the hotel at 5:30 AM. Our choice to stay at the Hilton Garden Inn proved strategic; we were just a block from the finish line and a mere five-minute drive from the transition area. We arrived without issue and easily found parking directly across from transition. I made my way to my bike, meticulously loading it with my pre-planned nutrition: an 800-calorie bottle of concentrated PhD Glyco Durance and three bottles of PhD Battery electrolyte drink, 80 calories each. I mounted my Garmin 910XT Forerunner, my trusty companion for the bike portion. Next, I handed in my special needs bags, containing identical nutrition bottles for pickup at the bike special needs stop. I then had to frantically search for a bike pump, deeply regretting leaving mine at the hotel. Whenever a pump was spotted, athletes descended upon it like zombies on a kill. If only I had noticed the dedicated bike tech tent with pumps earlier!

Once my bike was set, I reunited with my family, and together we walked the mile up the river to join the swim line with the other 2651 athletes. Waiting in line, I was surprised by my own calm. I felt excited, a deep knowing that I was going to make it. As we neared the front, we slipped into our wetsuits, shedding sweatshirts and shoes. These “morning bags” were then handed in near the start. Walking up the ramp to the starting platform, the surface felt particularly cold underfoot from the morning chill, and damp with urine – a common sight as athletes emptied their bladders in their wetsuits before plunging into the water. As I approached the start line, my family was perfectly positioned to see me off; those VIP passes were truly worth every penny. I turned the corner and jumped into the Ohio River just after 8 AM.

The Swim: A Serene Start to a Grueling Day

Navigating the Ohio River

The water temperature was a perfect 73 degrees. Visibility was nonexistent, but having trained in often murky ocean or brackish waters, this didn’t faze me. The freshwater was actually a delight, save for about ten minutes when I was quite convinced I was swimming through pure urine – but let’s not dwell on that! I quickly found my comfortable pace and began executing my plan to swim buoy-to-buoy. The IMLOU swim commences in a channel, heading upstream (though I couldn’t detect any current). We swam this channel, hit the turn buoy around 900 yards, then turned into the Ohio River to swim downstream towards the exit. I genuinely enjoyed the swim; I had ample space, no one swam over me, and I avoided any kicks (though you always have to watch out for those big guys doing breaststroke!). While I usually thrive on the craziness of mass starts, for this race, I was incredibly grateful for the rolling start’s relative calm. At one point, I actually paused, treading water for a moment, to simply look around and absorb it all. I was overwhelmingly happy; I was finally doing it!

Minor Setbacks and Major Milestones

My only minor issue during the swim was a sports bra seam that rubbed my armpits quite badly. I had biked and run in it countless times during training, but foolishly, I had never swum in it. My armpits paid the price for that oversight for the remainder of the day. Once past the island, I intentionally veered away from the buoy line, moving closer to the center of the river to capitalize on any potential current. Sighting was incredibly straightforward: there was a massive steel bridge to aim for, followed by a second one. Before I knew it, I was heading towards the shore, up the stairs, and out of the water. I glanced at my watch and was thrilled to see my time was several minutes better than I had anticipated. My family was right there, perfectly positioned. I gave my son a quick kiss and trotted off towards transition. Swim time: 1 hour, 14 minutes.

The Bike: Battling Cold, Hills, and a Unique Challenge

Settling In and Averting Disaster

While the swim had been warm and comforting, the bike leg started cold and felt undeniably intimidating. With the air temperature still in the 50s and my body still wet, I was genuinely cold. I had planned for this and raced in much colder conditions before, but I still despise being chilled. It was manageable, though. My strategy for the initial phase of the bike was to take it easy. I wanted to settle down, keep my heart rate from spiking, allow my stomach to calm before starting nutrition, and most importantly, let the truly fast, aggressive riders pass me by. After all, I had never raced with anywhere near this many competitors. So, I kept to the right of the lane, averaging about 16 mph for the first 10 miles, prioritizing safety above all else.

A few miles down the road, a fellow cyclist pointed out something odd on my bike, urging me to check it. I pulled over, looked, and gasped – a cord, like from a rug or blanket, was dangerously entangled in my lower pulley. This could have easily caused a catastrophic mechanical failure. A sincere thank you to that observant rider and to a higher power for averting disaster; I quickly managed to untangle and remove it.

Conquering Kentucky’s Rolling Terrain

After about 10 miles, the hills began. While some might call them rollers, living in flat Florida, to me, they were undeniably hills. During my training, I had regularly driven 80 miles to Clermont, Florida, on Saturdays, specifically to bike on terrain very similar to the IMLOU course. This preparation immediately paid off; I quickly realized the IMLOU hills were comparable, which allowed me to relax and handle them with confidence. I was trained and ready, a profound sense of relief washing over me. I also managed descents effectively, meaning I wasn’t riding my brakes unnecessarily. When I first started riding in Clermont, I had to conquer a crippling fear of fast descents, and that specific training proved invaluable at IMLOU.

At one point, a sudden noise made me believe I had a flat tire. “Buckle up, Buttercup, here we go!” I thought, recalling my DNF at a Half Ironman last year due to screwing up a tire change. I pulled over, but immediately saw a piece of black electrical tape fall to the ground. “Hmm,” I wondered, “did that get in my wheel and cause the whipping noise I heard?” I started off again, and sure enough, no noise. I had a good, relieved laugh about that near-miss. I reached the special needs stop at mile 60, where I reloaded my nutrition bottles. By then, I was desperately in need of lip balm, and wonderfully, I had one stashed in my bag! Yay for preparedness!

The Unforgettable “Pee-a-thon”

The first 60 miles were genuinely enjoyable. Then, the fun began to wane. Another skill I had planned to utilize fully was peeing on the bike. For the first, second, and third hours, I peed like a champion, reassured that I was hydrating properly. At the bike special needs stop, taking a water bottle, I hosed my shorts down. Me: “Don’t ask.” Volunteer: “I never do.”

However, my superpower of peeing on the bike inexplicably stopped. My lower regions seemed to seize up. I couldn’t pee anymore. Three hours passed, and still, no relief. I would pass through an aid station, grab water, see the long lines for the porta-potties, and adamantly decide, “Nope, nope, nope, I am not stopping for that!” So, I pushed on. But my full bladder caused my stomach to swell uncomfortably. Added to that, after 60, 70, then 80 miles, my backside was throbbing, as were my neck and shoulders. I was utterly over it. By mile 88, my aluminum bike and I had absolutely nothing left to say to each other. Being aluminum, not carbon, meant she made sure I felt every single bump in the road. She was a bit of a bitch, I thought, in that moment of profound discomfort.

Finally, I don’t recall the exact moment, but I summoned every ounce of willpower I possessed to make myself pee. I literally willed it to happen, drawing on a deep-down-in-my-soul reservoir of sheer determination I hadn’t tapped since giving birth to my first child. “Just push it out, Erica!” I urged myself. Finally, it came. And came. And came. And came. Anyone riding behind me must have thought it incredibly strange that I appeared to be dumping out a water bottle – because that’s precisely what it looked like. For five excruciating minutes. And I am not exaggerating in the slightest. On a side note, for the entire 112 miles in Kentucky, I only saw one horse. Just saying.

Anyway, after my “pee-a-thon,” I felt like a new woman. The hills eventually ended, and we made our way back to transition. My goal for the bike leg was to average 15 mph, aiming for a 7.5-hour finish, balancing the slow 6-10 mph climbs with the exhilarating 25-30 mph descents. Bike time: 7 hours, 26 minutes.

The Run: Pushing Beyond Limits and Embracing the Darkness

Transition and the Onset of Pain

Coming in from the bike, I was immensely grateful for the Ironman system: you hand your bike off to a volunteer, grab your run bag, and scurry into the change tent. Inside the tent, I grabbed my baby wipes and attempted a quick clean-up. It wasn’t enough to make a real difference, but it took more time than I would have liked, so I resolved not to bother next time. I did gratefully accept Vaseline from a volunteer, smearing it generously under my arms, which were still tender from the chafing during the swim. The tent was a chaotic scene of naked bodies and frantic changes, but I stuck to my preference: starting and finishing in the same tri kit. Being “grody” simply comes with the territory, and I don’t let it bother me.

The Mental Game of the Marathon

Prior to this race, the furthest I had ever run was 16.5 miles. I had never completed a full marathon. What I knew as I started this final leg was precisely where the pain would eventually settle: my sacroiliac joint (lower back, left side), hips, and feet (bunions). It was only a matter of time. Typically, something (or everything) would start to ache for me around miles 9-10. At IMLOU, it began around mile 5. However, it remained manageable, provided I maintained a slow, steady pace and, crucially, did not stop to walk. The only walking I allowed myself was through the aid stations, where I quickly ingested cola and water at each. There were also about three brief potty breaks, and perhaps a minute of walking around mile 9 when I felt a little dizzy. But I understood implicitly that if I stopped, I might not be able to start again. My knees, which were performing surprisingly perfectly, would stiffen immediately upon ceasing movement. I had to keep going. As the adage goes: Training gets you mostly there, but your heart gets you to the end.

The IMLOU run course is an out-and-back, completed twice. This means you run 13 miles away from the city and then return. As you approach the finish line for the first loop, you can see it, hear it – the cheering crowds, the blasting music, the palpable sense of celebration. Then, you must turn a corner, go around the block, and head back out to run it a second time. By that point, I was incredibly sore. Genuinely, truly sore. I honestly didn’t know how I was going to make it, but still, deep down, I knew I would. Seeing my family then provided an immeasurable boost. I didn’t even bother to stop at the run special needs bag. I simply plodded off into the encroaching darkness for the second half of the marathon.

My heart rate remained solidly around 145 bpm, which for me is upper Zone 2. This meant I technically could have pushed harder, but the rest of my body vehemently said, “Nope, nope, nope” whenever I tried. So, I maintained a relaxed jogging pace, never out of breath. It was what it was, and I accepted it. As I continued to plod along, I began to focus intently on reaching mile 18. Mile 18 is significant; it’s where “walls” are hit, where “bonks” happen, where tears can come, and doubt can creep in. If you can get through mile 18, you’re golden – or so I had read countless times. Get to mile 18. And mile 18 came, then 19, and 20, and I just kept plodding along. I was alright. Sore, yes, but okay.

The Final Miles and the Sweet Sound of Victory

The last four miles felt interminable, the longest of the entire day. It was dark, and the streets were quiet save for a few dedicated supporters still out with their signs and cowbells. As I moved forward, it felt as though I wasn’t making any progress, a strange, disorienting sensation. But then, suddenly, I was back in the heart of the city. My spirits lifted instantly, knowing the end was just around the corner. And there it was. I made sure to listen intently for those iconic words as I crossed: “Erica Schwarz, you are an Ironman.” Run time: 5 hours, 22 minutes. Total time: 14 hours, 23 minutes, 53 seconds.

The Finish Line: An Emotional Triumph

A Family’s Unwavering Support

Moments after finishing Ironman Louisville, I spotted my family on the side of the finisher’s chute. My daughter, my most steadfast supporter, was crying tears of pure joy. We embraced, and I immediately started sobbing, utterly overcome with emotion. My husband and son quickly joined the hug, creating a powerful, collective moment. That family embrace after crossing the finish line – with my family surrounding me – was, without a doubt, the single best moment of my life. My children had witnessed my arduous rehabilitation after knee surgery. They saw the tears shed during exercises just to walk again. They watched me go to the gym, often twice a day for months, just to be able to climb stairs. All the knee injections, patellar straps, braces, PT taping, ice, stretching, modified physio-ball squats for what felt like days, all so I could simply run, and then run farther. And this year, all those countless hours of training. So. much. time. training. This was all “Mommy talked about,” and sometimes, it probably felt like it was all I cared about. But they get it. They understand the profound truth: you can have a goal that seems utterly unimaginable, but it becomes imaginable if you put in the relentless work.

Lessons Learned: The Power of Perseverance

A couple of months before the race, I returned home from my first ride on those Clermont hills, completely defeated. Those hills had handed me my ass that day. “How am I ever going to do this race?!” I exclaimed in the middle of my house, exasperated. My son, with emphatic hand gestures, calmly reminded me, “But Mommm, you practice every day!” His simple truth silenced me. He was absolutely right. Consistency, perseverance, and daily effort are the bedrock of such achievements.

~✿♥✿~

What’s Next? Embracing the Triathlete’s Life

A few days after completing Ironman Louisville, I did what every triathlete inevitably does after finishing a major race: I signed up for another. If you’re interested, I’ll be participating in Capt. Hiram’s Sprint Tri in Sebastian, FL, on Sunday, November 20th. Following that, my calendar includes the Space Coast Half Marathon on November 27th, and the Disney Marathon on January 8th. A huge shout-out and an abundance of love go to the incredible volunteers at IMLOU 2016! Every single person I interacted with and who assisted me was invaluable. Thank you so much for being an integral part of one of the absolute best days of my life.