Ironman Arizona 2009 - a breakthrough

(A note about the pictures in this post. Thanks to my Mom for the pictures. Also, in support of Movember http://us.movember.com , I did my best to grow a moustache, and it's on display here :) Enjoy.)

It’s been two weeks since Ironman Arizona 2009 and I’m still recovering. My legs were still surprisingly sore just a few days ago. Although this bog post is about the race, the story really begins many months ago.

Twelve months ago really, if you count that chilled autumn morning a year ago when I stood in line for an hour before dawn to plunk-down my $550 entry fee and secure a spot in the 2009 edition of the race. I’d participated in this race before. The inaugural event in 2005, an unholy windy day that saw me to my first IM finish in thirteen and a half hours and my first bout with hyponatremia (a demon I’d battle for three more Ironman races). Then again in April 2008, my first bid for Ironman World Championship Qualification, another extremely windy and hot day that I survived to my previous PR of 11:01:xx. That race saw one of the highest attrition rates of any in Ironman history and subsequently, the race was moved to its current November date.

So it began. I had no other reason to compete in this year’s race except to earn a slot to the Hawaii Ironman. I’d proven to myself that I could cover the distance and, as previously mentioned, done so on this course twice before. I also have finishes in Klagenfurt, Austria and Coeur d’ Alene, Idaho. Both of which ended in the medical tent, me suffering from hyponatremia. This, in my mind, has been my downfall. Although I’ve battled injuries during training for every IM race I’ve done, I don’t believe my fitness has ever failed me. Nutrition; that’s been the missing link. I’d experimented with increased sodium in the 2008 race and had come close, but I still didn’t nail the right combination of fluids and sodium and thus was reduced to a dizzy walk many times during the run portion. Following that race, I did some careful calculations and thought maybe I’d solved the puzzle, but, I wouldn’t be able to test it for nearly a year and a half.

Getting to race day was more challenging than I can explain. Yes the training was ambitious. During the summer months it was back-to-back four to six-hour long rides on the weekends with temperatures climbing into the 100’s. There were pre-dawn rides sometimes solo and often nerve-wracking group-rides with a local group that saw several crashes, that I fortunately avoided. My run schedule that peaked, two months before the race, at nearly 50 miles a week. And a swim schedule that left me desperate for motivation to get in the pool. A few times, I just stopped mid-swim, packed-up, and went home. If you know me, you know don’t skip workouts and I sure as hell DON’T QUIT workouts. Well, that’s how drained I was.

So yes, the training was ambitious. But even more challenging were the non-training obstacles. As I mentioned, during my build to peak running volume, I got injured and was unable to run. I missed a solid six weeks of running and really eight weeks of any quality running. I did what I could to maintain some run fitness with pool running and some elliptical machine work. I spent ten weeks, two times a week, in physical therapy and managed to get back on the road with a few weeks to go until race day. There was also the obvious strain that the time crunch of training was taking on my psyche and my relationship with my partner Sarah. And then, with two weeks until race day, it looked as though I might not be able to race at all. My company had just won a large new contract and was contemplating the unprecedented, to require management employees to work on the weekends. Yes, even THAT weekend. I was beside myself and stressed beyond belief. I was seriously considering quitting my job. I’d invested too much. Then, the week before the race, I could feel I was getting some sort of cold. I tried not to panic. I started taking a cold remedy almost immediately and it seemed to hold it at bay, but I could feel it, just below the surface. My heart rate, both resting and during my training sessions, that week was abnormally high, much higher than it should have been, a sign that all was not well with my health. These are all things I should have been blogging about as they ocurred, but time was so scarce.

I hadn’t actually tallied-up my investment in this race until I was composing an email to my boss explaining why I simply could not work race weekend. Besides the investment in actual training time, over 500 hours of event specific work. 500 hours away from family and friends, and countless hours of missed sleep, that put strain on my relationships, personal and professional. There was so much more: thousands of dollars in equipment, nutrition, and coaching. I’d completed over 5000 miles of cycling, 600 plus miles of running, and over 200,000 yards of swimming. I cut-short a European vacation (where I had a free place to stay) so I wouldn’t miss too much training. I had oral surgery to ensure that a dental problem wouldn’t sideline me close to race day. I bought an embarrassingly crappy road bike so I could ride with the local roadies and boost my short duration power. I invested in a complete PowerTap system so I could absolutely nail my bike training and racing. All these things and so much more with one goal in mind: make it to Kona.

I did not sleep well the night before the race. I was, well, I’ll say it: scared. Freaked. So much pressure. I still didn’t know if I could “race” the distance. I was operating under the assumption that I just didn’t get my nutrition right in the past. What if that wasn’t it? What if I found myself at mile three of the run again, weaving about like a drunk? I missed so much running and was still technically injured. I hadn’t run more than eight miles at once in two months. How the hell was I going to run 26.2? After 112 on the bike? And I’ll admit this too, I was dreading the 62 degree water.

I woke on race day and went through my routine. Eat, coffee, body-glide, sunscreen, gather stuff, head to the race. Funny how what was once prep for the challenge of a lifetime had become routine. Deep breaths. Sarah and my Dad rode with me to the site. Traffic seemed heavier than last year’s race and I wished we’d left a little earlier. Still, I remained mostly calm.

I dropped-off my special needs hoping not see the bike bag again and hoping only need one thing out of the run bag. The rest of the stuff in those bags was for emergencies only. I took my bike bottles to my bike and pumped-up the tires, and snapped-on my PowerTap computer. I got my body marked, I don’t know why I do this, mine always rubs-off some time during the swim. On my way out of transition two women asked to borrow my pump. I was in a hurry, but couldn’t say no. I let them struggle with their front tires, but then offered to pump the rear tires for them. Which I did, quickly, and was on my way with thanks, gratitude, and good race karma behind me.

I found Sarah and my Mom and Dad and headed to a place to put on my wetsuit. Of course, I then felt the need to use the facilities AGAIN. Time was short and the lines were long. I decided to go anyway. By the time I made it back, I had only ten minutes to get to the water. I hurriedly put on my wetsuit, at first putting my left foot in the right leg, whoops, and I finished with only few minutes to spare. I made my way to the entrance to the swim and jumped into the still-dark water. Let me just say this, it wasn’t warm. I swam through hundreds of bodies and made my way the front of the pack, seeding myself in about the “fourth row”. I treaded water and tried to catch my breath, not from the effort, but from the cold water.

Not long after the start, maybe 500 yards in, I got double-teamed from both sides and took a bunch of water into my lungs. I seriously thought I was drowning and could not regain my composure. I began to panic. No! Not again! This happened to me earlier in the year and cost me an overall race victory. I genuinely considered swimming to the side and getting out. Unthinkable. I forced myself on, counted strokes, and calmed myself. After the turn-around, I realized that I was not navigating well. I focused on it, sighted more often and tried to follow feet. I got into a good rhythm and hoped I was making-up for an abysmal first half. In the last few hundred yards, I picked-up my kick, moving blood to my legs and mentally rehearsed my

transition.

I knew I needed to swim very close to an hour to make this day happen and was anxious to see the clock when I got out. I had swum two 1:03’s in my last two IM’s and despite my recent performances in the pool, I was hoping for a three-peat or better. I was pulled-up the exit stairs, I lifted my goggles looked up and saw the clock: 1:12. “What!?!?!? Noooooooo!” Is what I was screaming in my head. How? I knew how: poor fitness, lousy navigation, that panic attack, poor pacing. The list went on. (must fight the negative self-talk) Now what? Go out and suffer hour after hour for just another IM finish? I didn’t know. My body went into auto-pilot. Peal your top off, sit your butt down, let them yank-off the suit, get up, hurry on, find your bag, head to the tent, change like we practiced. Friends and family cheered me on my way out of the swim and on to the bike, I scowled. Still, an Ironman PR T1 in under five minutes, just like I planned.

Out on to the bike I immediately set my plan in motion, sitting on my goal watts. There were some packs of riders to contend with and some individuals that took some time to sort-out my position with. Dealing with these things are the only times that I deviated from my plan. I was pushing toward the upper-end of my goal power range, but I knew I had to. That damn swim. The draft marshals were having a field day. They could have done more though, drafting was rampant. Still the penalty tents were often full when I passed them. There was a little head-wind on the out portion of the first loop and a nice tailwind on the way back. As I approached the end of the first loop I could see I was right on goal pace of 1:40 per loop, 1:38 actually, and that I had nailed my watts.

The wind picked-up on the second loop. I’d ridden that route several times over the last month and that was the most wind I had experienced out there. Of course. Loop two was a steady 1:40 but my legs were getting tired and my heart rate was a full 20 beats too high. Good thing I wasn’t racing on heart rate. The third loop was a bit of a struggle but the wind had died-down and I worked to maintain my goal power. My stomach had been feeling bad for some time and I had backed-off on my calories and was taking plain water and salt tabs. I decided with 15 minutes to go that I would try some Tums that I had with me. I chewed a couple and felt better within five minutes. Whew. Also, I realized that I was going to nail my goal bike time of five hours. Awesome! But that damn swim. I was going to have to gamble on the run.

I made it through T2 in another PR of less than two minutes and even got some sunscreen this time. Although I’d allowed my Garmin GPS watch to acquire the satellites in the area the day before, it was taking forever to locate them today. Finally after half a mile of me swearing at it, slowing to a walk, and willing it to work, it clicked-on. Good, I was counting on it to pace my run perfectly.

Now, mind you by this time, my math skills were impaired. I figured with my 1:12 swim, and five-hour bike, I’d have to run at least a 3:15 marathon to come in at my goal time of 4:30 in the afternoon or race time of 9:30. Never mind that it was only like 1:10 pm, I must have gained some “magic” time somewhere. I had card in my race belt with marathon paces on it. I looked at the pace I’d have to average. Ugh, I don’t think I didn’t think I could do that.(must fight the negative self-talk) Still, I felt good and stuck to my first 10k goal pace of 7:45. A little faster actually, but close, and I was holding back a little. After three miles, my legs began to really hurt. I was shocked. I’d had some good long race-paced bricks recently and my legs had felt golden. But not today, and I was really concerned that I’d be able to run the whole way. BUT, my nutrition plan seemed to be working and I wasn’t dizzy and my energy was good. So, all I had to do was suffer. I can suffer all day. I just kept telling myself, “keep running. That’s all we’re doing is running. You can do that right? Just out for a run.” 10K passed, and I tried to pick it up a little, but decided to hold steady. Eventually loop one of three was done and I couldn’t imagine two more.

So, I didn’t. “Just get to the next aid station”, I thought, “take a few walk steps, reset, and run on.” I could see my overall average pace slowing on my watch, but still within my limits. A half marathon passed. “Just a half marathon to go” I thought, “No problem, I can run a half marathon in my sleep, right?” I dug in, steeling myself to the challenge, grunting in my head “I’m a runner, I’m a RUNNER, I’M A RUNNER!”

My legs were throbbing though, and I was more bark than bite. Toward the end of the second loop, I decided I was going all cola on the third loop. It was something to look forward to. It was worth it once I got it, but It didn’t give me the same jolt as in past races. Eight miles to go. “Just run to next aid station, one mile, no problem, walk, drink cola, repeat.” With 10k to go, I could see that I had more than 50 minutes until 4:30. “Holy crap, I think I’m gonna do this… This is happening. 4:30 is a 9:30 IM. That’s gotta get a slot to Kona, right?!?” My energy raised and my pace quickened a bit. With four miles to go, my right calf began to tingle and feign cramping. “Oh no. OK, stay calm, we can work through this. Slow-up, get lots of water at the next aid station, take some salt.” This continued for the next few miles but I ran on, hoped, and prayed.

As I crossed the Rural Bridge for the last time, with less than two miles to go, I just kept telling myself, “Nothing’s going to stop me. This IS happening, just like I imagined”. I saw the turn-off for the finish and a jolt went through my body. Just up around the corner, a few hundred yards away, I’d make the turn into the finishing chute, see the crowd, see the clock, and know it, know I had done what I trained to do, and that I had executed with perfection, that all the training and sacrifice were worth it, that I could race this distance, and know that I had the Ironman race of my life (so far).

And I did. And I’ll remember that finish as one of the happiest moments in my life. I almost felt good at the finish. Sarah, my Mom and Dad, my Aunt Sue, friend Ronijean and her kids Zachary and William came rushing over from the stands. Sarah and I hugged. And cried. And laughed.

I hugged everyone over the barrier fence, but eventually they made their way around the finish area so we could gather. My coach, Brian Grasky was there and he found us and congratulated me. After some discussion about the race and me complaining that I’d swum so bad, it was revealed that I had not swum 1:12 like I thought. If you hadn’t guessed already, the Pro clock was still up when I exited the water. They had started the race ten minutes before us age-groupers. I had therefore swum 1:02, just like I hoped. I couldn’t believe I’d lived with that in my mind the whole day and never figured it out. It seemed plausible, given my errors during the swim, that I could have screwed-up that bad and I had not had a good swim all year. Live and learn. Coach Brian took the opportunity to tell me the first rule of Triathlon: don’t look at your swim time. Coulda used that information before race day!

My Mom had called my brother Marc in Colorado and we were able to talk. He was online following the race and hand preliminary results. He wanted to know how many slots there were for my age-group and I told him probably eight. “Where did I finish?” I asked. “I don’t want to say”, he said. “Just tell me” I pressed. “14th” came the reply.

Oh. I was shocked, but somehow not incredibly disappointed. I knew, and I still know, that I could not have put together a better day and I could not go back in time and not get injured. The day had gone as well as it could have. I still feel happy about it. It turned-out that one pro had been miss-classed into my age group, so officially I was 13th. But still, no roll-down, so no slot this year. I’ve reserved (for $550) a spot in next year’s race. We’ll see. I do feel a renewed hunger though.

I want to thank Sarah for her patience and continued support. Thanks Baby! You’re the greatest! A Thanks Mom and Dad, Aunt Sue, Ronijean, Zachary, and William for coming out to cheer me on. Also, thanks to my coach, Brian Grasky and Grasky Endurance for pushing me and putting together a winning plan. Last, but not least, thanks to our sponsors this year, please click on their buttons on the right side of the page and check them out.

See ya next season!

Fresh pavement

Get ready for a buttery-smooth ride. Fresh pavement on the Beeline
from Gilbert Rd to Shea Blvd.

Rotten Injury

Well, my Ironman Arizona prep has hit a speed bump. More like a traffic jam. I've inured my foot. Got a little of what they call peroneal tendonitis. I haven't run "long" in nearly a month now. My training was rockin' too. Hitting on all cylinders. And now this. This annoying little bit of proverbial gravel in my training shoe. The toughest part, I've caught it early. It never stopped me from running, but I knew eventually it would. I've had to choose to stop; a very tough thing for me to do. And even though I've mustered the strenghth of will to hold back, I'm still not healed!! Frustration is too mild a description. My IM goals are fading over the horizon and if I don't get back at it soon, I think I'll lose sight of them for this go-'round.

I've got a superstar physical therapist I'm working with and giving all of my money :) and I know he'll get me back, but when? How soon? And in what capacity? How many :00's per mile will I have lost off my 42k pace? The questions go on and on. Did I know soooner? Did I run in those shoes too long? Did I listen to my gut when it said "hey, maybe this is too much" and "hey, stupid! This IS too much!"? Enough! Just shut up!

Head up. Stay positive. Move on.

This is where you win races...

I saw this new ad from Cycleops recently in Bicycling Magazine. I love it:

It really struck a chord with me because this is exactly what I tell myself when I'm sluggin' it out on the trainer and I just don't fee like pushing. It usually does the trick. OK, my winning is different from others, I don't have an overall win (yet), but, it is in training when the performance is born. You can't just decide to go faster on race day, you can only go as fast as you've prepared to go. When you boil it down, the race is only a test to see whom has prepared the best and executed on the day. The winner has already won but will only be revealed to all at the finish line. Sometimes I think of it like a photograph (forget about digital photos for a second), during training, you take the picuture, it's set, the composition can't be changed, and on race day, you develop the film and see how the picture turned-out.

Buffalo Springs Lake Triathlon 70.3

Buffalo Springs Lake Triathlon is one of the few 70.3 races in which one can acquire a qualifying spot to the Hawaii Ironman World Championship in Kona. There is really only one slot per age-group available, but my age-group commonly ends-up with two. I won't explain how that happens here, suffice it to say I had to come in first or second, or someone whom finished higher than me had to decline to accept their spot. Not likely.

This race marked my first "official" attempt at doing just that, qualifying for Kona. It was my only real intention for doing this race. The venue is well, eh, and the 13 hr drive to Lubbock, Texas is nothing I'd like to do on a regular basis. Let me back-up.

I decided to do this race a bit late. It often does not sell out as most of the full Ironman distance races do and so I had the opportunity for a late entry. Still, I knew when I signed-up that the timing was bad. The race would be less than two weeks after a 10-day trip to Europe during which I would not be able to train optimally. When you're trying for a Kona slot, and you need to be perfect, less than optimal is bad. Still, I thought I'd take swing at it.

Prior to my Europe trip, I raced Deuceman (see previous post) and had a half recovery, half-maintain fitness week before I left. I had a great time in Europe and did some running, less cycling (stationary bike), even less swimming. I tried to kick things back into gear when I got home, but jet-lag and too much Guinness took their toll and I went into race week feeling less than fit.

When you're racing for a PR weather can be a determining factor. When you're racing to best others in your division, it just really doesn't matter. You're all in the same boat. But, here's the run-down anyway. I'd expected it to be blistering hot and humid on race day and I'd taken advantage of the Arizona climate and done lots of training in the hottest part of the day to try to acclimate. However, race day temps were seasonably low and the wind was high. The water temp was "wetsuit legal" but that's about all. The very-warm water had many scratching their heads; wetsuit or speedsuit...? I don't, OK didn't have, a speedsuit, but after a short swim the day before in a wetsuit, I bought a speedsuit at the expo. I was SURE they'd say no wetsuits. The water was just too warm. The call on race morning proved me wrong, nearly everyone donned their wetsuits and I followed suit, no pun intended. It would just be too much of a disadvantage for me and the water was rough. I thought it the best choice.

I navigated the swim better than I have recently, but the water was very murky, and in the low light you couldn't see past your wrist never mind feet in front of you. So, drafting was difficult at best. I came out of the water, looked at my watch, and thought I was out of contention already, at least two minutes off the pace.

The bike felt bad. My legs just felt sluggish and the wind was gusting enough for me to lean into it during some segments. Around mile 25 the rain kicked in and became steadily stronger, toward the end becoming quite heavy. I rolled into T2, checked my split and was fairly certain I was out of contention. I was good six minutes off the required bike pace. There was probably no way I was going to run fast enough to make up the time. I'm not being defeatist here, I'm just stating the facts. Still, you never know what's going to happen, so you press on.

I got to my rack and all of my stuff was SOAKED. My shoes could not have been wetter if I'd swum in them. I squish-squashed out of T2 and I had to stop early, something just felt wrong, like I left a gel pack in my right shoe. I pulled to the side, took off my shoe, and...nothing. Just soggy, soggy shoes and no socks. I held back some in the first half of the run, as planned, but toward the end, I was huffing and frothing, thinking of every motivational thing I could to push the pace, but it just wasn't there. I passed Heather Golnick with about 1k to go and actually asked if she'd read the calf of the guy in front of me. She was as astonished as she should have been. What the hell was I thinking. The answer came: "no". I could barley crack 6:30's according to my Garmin and I knew I needed to run 6:20 miles or better. My legs had been cramping since mile six and I knew I'd been on the ragged edge. I didn't have the legs. Too much time off.

I finished in 4:34 with blood-stained shoes. Wet + no socks = no skin. Not a bad time given the hilly course and windy conditions. But, like I said, everyone was in the same boat and four other guys in my AG had smacked it. The second Kona slot rolled-down to third. I, being in 5th, missed it by about six minutes. No "I woulda, coulda, shouldas" though. I went as fast as I was capable that day, but not as fast as I'm capable of. I know that. I did get a qualifying spot to the 70.3 World Championships in Cleawater, Florida on November 23rd. To quote Carl from Caddyshack, "So, I got that goin' for me."

Deuceman Half-Iron

The weather forecast for the Saturday races was supposed to be rainy and cold, but that’s not how it turned-out. Clear skies, sunny and just a little wind were what we got. Perfect. The water temp was on the chilly side at 61 degrees. Luckily I just got a Zoot neoprene cap and I kept me quite warm.

Just before the swim start, it seemed as though everyone wanted to be at the front. It was really crowded. There were only two waves in the Deuceman Half-iron; men and women. So, it was really rough, just as bad as an Ironman start. I pushed hard in the beginning with thoughts of getting dropped in the swim two weeks ago at the Tempe international running through my head. Big mistake. The combination of the coldish water and high altitude sent me into a hyperventilating tail-spin. I’ve never experienced that before, well maybe not since my first ever open-water swim. I had to stop swimming several times and watch the race swim away from me. When I thought about that, I added panic to the equation and it was just a mess.

I managed to get things mostly under control by the half-way point, but it was really too late. I came out of the water in a disappointing 31+ minutes. I swam faster here two years ago. I let lots of hard work in the pool go to waste. I tried to stay positive and make the best of what was left. I moved through transition pretty quickly and hit the road.

A couple of miles in, Dan Beaver (2009 Kona qualifier) rode past me; we traded spots on and off as hills and pacing dictated. It seemed pretty clear that neither of us were going anywhere. Not working together, but just riding our individual race plans neither willing to abandon the plan and burn matches to break away or to drop off the pace. By mile ten we were joined by a third rider. Each of us occasionally putting in a slight surge to try to break from the other two, but each unable or unwilling to sustain it long enough to break the elastic. By mile 20 we were joined by a fourth, Brian Henry, a strong cyclist. By mile 30 I’d resigned to the fact that this group would likely be together all the way into T2. On one hand I was OK with this as I new I was riding with some strong cyclists, on the other, I didn’t want to roll into T2 with Beaver. That’s too much pressure on the run.

With about five miles left in the bike, I pushed my watts up a little bit and put a small gap on the other three, enough that I was able to pedal easy the last mile and get my legs ready to run. But as I ran into T2 I quickly glanced over my shoulder and saw the other three were right there. Crap! I made a fast (day best) 1:08 transition and hit the run fumbling with my visor, number belt, Hammer Gel flask, and Garmin. In all that mess I stopped my watch and didn’t realize it until about .7 miles in.

The early part of the run felt bad and I thought it was going to be a long day and even that I might end-up walking. At about 1.5 miles in, a twenty-something ran by me, strong. It surprised me. I thought maybe he was in the Olympic distance race or maybe in a relay. He was slowly pulling away from me and I was concerned. At the three mile turn-around point, I could see that he was wearing a Duceman number. Bad news. The good news was that I saw only one other Deuceman number heading the other way. I’d checked my watch when he went past me and again when I hit the cone. I was two minutes out of the lead with ten miles to go. I was worried about the guy in second but I didn’t want to push the pace yet. I had to keep reminding myself to be patient. “Long way to go Brad, he could be going too hard, gotta stick to YOUR race, wait it out, stay in contact, see what happens.”

The twenty-something was still putting time into me, but I could tell we were slowly catching the guy in the lead. By mile six I was gaining on second and we had taken a minute out of the lead. At about nine miles in, the twenty–something imploded. I went past him at the mile nine aid station and I could hear him struggling behind me. Within a minute I went past the 47 year-old stud (John Poisson), whom I was sure was the lead.

Four miles to go. Was I going to hard? My heart rate said I was good to go. My mile splits were all between 6:20-7:00 per mile, just as I planned. I pressed on. After the turn-around at mile 10, I checked my watch and pushed the pace some more. I was still putting time into the two behind me and I was pretty sure the rest were too far back to do anything about it. With two miles to go I pushed harder. “Take no chances”, I thought. Within 100 yards of the finish, I could hear the announcer. “Oh, I must not have been paying attention”, he said. “That was our fist Deuceman finisher!” What?!? I didn’t understand. Where was that guy? Answer: too far ahead for you to know there was someone else up there. I thought I’d missed the win by thirty seconds and my thoughts shot back to my abysmal swim. Crap.

I later learned that the announcer REALLY wasn’t paying attention. The winner Glenn Mengering, had been done about 2:30 before he made that announcement. So, I was more like three minutes back. Still, had I had the swim I should have, it may have been very close. Oh well, I’ll take second overall!

Click here for results

Tempe International Triathlon

As I said before, this was my season opener. I had not raced since October of last year, so it was intended to be a knock-the-rust-off race. A chance to stretch the legs a little with some race-pace speed and get ready for Deucman 70.3 at the Deuces Wild Triathlon Festival in two weeks.

Early last week my legs felt about as fatigued as they ever have been and I doubted I’d be very well recovered for the race. “Ah well, it’s a ‘C’ race” I thought, “don’t worry about it”. I couldn't help it though. I knew I would judge my chances at my next two races based on my performance. Not a good thing, but, I knew it was the truth.

The forecasted high temperature for race day was 106 degrees. Yeah, that’s warm. It’s been warm here in Phoenix, with above normal temps for two weeks or so. I’d been watching the Tempe Town Lake water temperature online. In the morning it had been 76-77; right on the edge of the 78 degree legal limit, and then it would climb into the 80’s by mid day. The race director said they’d make the call about wetsuits on race day. I held some hope that it would be wetsuit legal, but I was pretty sure it wouldn’t. As such, I safety-pinned the pocket on my race jersey closed to help reduce drag in the water.

Race morning came and sure enough, no wetsuits. This is a bit of a disadvantage for me, as swimming is not my strength. I’m not awful, but I’m not going to win it in the swim. As I looked around, I noticed that most of my competition either decided to swim with no top or they had on their speed suits. I was debating right up until I got in the water if I should ditch the jersey or not. You see, they have a rule, or a law, in Tempe, that men have to wear tops during races. So, if I swam without one, I would have had to put it on in transition. Having experienced the whole ordeal of trying to put a jersey on a wet body before, I decided against it.

Then gun went off… Wait, no it didn’t, a guy with a bull horn said, “3-2-1, swim!” I could see the lead pack of 10 or so pull away. I thought a few might come back to me, but they never did. And it seems that I must have been the fastest of those left behind as no one passed me the entire swim. Well, not that I could tell. I was left to go it alone the whole time. Not good. No wetsuit, no speed suit, no draft.

I hit the exit and checked my watch. I expected to see 21:xx-23:xx but what I saw was 28:xx. Oh crap… My heart sank. I looked again. I just couldn’t understand how that was possible. I thought for sure I’d blown the race. My girlfriend Sarah yelled to me that there were nine ahead of me in my age-group. Ugh. Well, time to get to work.

I blew through transition in just over a minute. Early in the bike I had a lot of cramping in my glutes. It was strange; I’ve never had that before. I figured it would pass and it did. The bike was mostly uneventful, although I was never very comfortable with my pacing. My new Kuota Kueen-K was awesome and silky smooth with the race wheels on!

There were a few out-and-backs on the course and I was keeping an eye on a few guys. I put a little time into them here and there, but lost it back to a few. Bike time: 1:01:28

I was greeted in transition by mostly empty bike racks. Sarah told me that, as best she could tell, there were six ahead of me in my age group. I made it in-and-out of T2 in :43 and started the run. I felt really good and I picked-off a few guys early. It was getting warm, but the race director had aid stations just about every half mile. It was really great! Just near the end of the first loop of the run, I could see my one of my AG competitors running across the Mill Avenue Bridge, still far in front. I tried to stay calm and I held my pace. As I began the second loop, Sarah told me there were still three in front of me. I caught one of them a half mile later. At four miles I was crossing the Rural Bridge and I could see another competitor about a quarter mile ahead. I picked-up the pace and slowly began to reel them in.

By mile five I’d caught them. I intended to shadow for a while, I felt like it was too early to make a move. I didn’t want a mile-long foot race on my hands. But, they had a friend riding along next to them, an extra set of eyes, and before I knew it, my cover was blown. I had to go. I put in a surge and I heard his friend encouraging him to go with me. I dug in. No way. I wasn’t going to back down, and I wasn’t going to let up, and I wasn’t going to look back. Not yet. Three quarters of a mile later, there was (another) u-turn on the course. As I looked back across the bridge, I realized the chase was over. No where to be seen. Still, didn’t let up until the finish. Run time: 36:26

Around the finish line, there was plenty of discussion about the swim and consensus is that it was about 300-400 yards long. That still means I didn’t have a great swim, I gave up 4-5 minutes to the leaders, but at least it wasn’t as bad as I’d thought.

Preliminary results had me at 2nd AG and 6th OA. But at awards, I learned that I’d won my AG.

Click here for results and scroll down for age-group standings.

What a great way to open the season. I can’t wait for Deuces!

I have (the) power!

Just a quick update here. A couple of pictures of my new Cycleops PowerTap training wheel (Mavic Open Pro) and Zipp 808 built-up with another PowerTap hub. I just got the Zipp back from the shop and I'm really excited. Thanks to Cycleops, I'll be training and racing with a power meter from now on. OK, so I didn't get the SL+, but hey, I'm on a budget.

Training wheel here:

And here is the Zipp:

I'm really loving all the data I'm able to get from the PowerTap. Aside from power data, there is hear trate, speed, cadence, calories burned, average speed, average heart rate, average cadence, average power, and on and on. It's amazing. Downloading the PowerTap head to the computer is a breeze too. The graphical analysis is really interesting and provides lots of new insight to me as to how I ride, my limitations, and how energy expenditure affects me both immediately and as a ride progresses. Check out PowerTap here: http://www.cycle-ops.com/

Season opener

Well, it's been far too long since my last post. How many of my posts start with a statement like that? I'm not going to go back and look.

I am excited! I haven't raced since October, unless you count the RAGNAR Relay, and my season opener is this coming weekend. It's just been week after week of training. However, its been solid training and I feel below all of the accumulated fatigue, I'm stronger than ever. I don't know how recovered I'll be for this race, but I guess it doesn't matter. It's an Olympic distance race that was and is intended to be a tune-up race for a half IM two weeks later. Still, I can't lie, I'd like to do well. Anyway, my legs feel VERY fatigued right now and I'm hoping things will come around. I'll post a full race report next week hopefully with pictures.

Rollers!

Saturday was my birthday. I turned 36. Or, 18 for the second time around, right? Well I am in as good of shape, probably better than I was at 18. So, I've got that going for me. My training plan called for what amounted to a Oly distance race simulation. The forecast called for wicked wind and rain. Sure enough, Saturday morning brought both. Lucky for me, my wonderful significant other, Sarah, got me a sweet birthday present! Rollers!

This was my first ride on rollers and 2.5 hours on these made me aware of some less frequently used muscles. My hammies were pretty tired by the end. But, the sun came out for my brick run and I have to say I was very pleased with the pace. The time passed much more easily on the rollers than on a standard trainer and the resistance setting allowed for a harder-than-flat-road effort. Plus, my Kueen-K stayed nice and clean, OK, except for a little sweat.

Recovery

Recovery is probably the most important part of training. Without it we never realize those fitness gains we all work so hard for. Recovery may also be the most overlooked aspect of training. It's usually not on your training plan "recover well, get x calories right after, get to bed by x time, etc". I think I do a better job than most when it comes to this, but I can do better, especially in the sleep department.

My usual post workout routine includes stretching and getting some Hammer Recoverite in me ASAP. I truly believe in the Recoverite and I love the new Strawberry flavor. Also, after my rides and runs, I'll roll-out my legs on a foam roller and if it was a real long session, I'll lay on my back with my legs up against the wall for about five minutes. During super-eavy volumes, I've even done contrast baths-five minutes in a trash-can full of ice water and five minutes in a warm tub- repeat three times. Often times before bed, I'll roll my legs out on a length of PVC pipe.like It's like getting a deap tissue massage. It hurts like hell, but my legs feel great afterward.

I have a new weapon in my recovery arsenal, Zoot compression tights. I've been experimenting with theses for a couple of weeks. In addition to all I motioned before, I've been putting these on right after I shower following a workout. I'll leave them on for a few hours or even sleep in them if the session was long or late. I've definitely experienced far less DOMS (delayed onset muscle soreness) after wearing these and I really feel I'm recovering better than ever. Get yours at Trisports.com http://www.trisports.com/zoot-compression-clothing1.html . Save 10% with discount code BHEN-S.

Weekend Runs and Grattitude

This weekend I was in Colorado and had a chance to run at altitude, 9,000+'. Saturday was an 11 mile run on all dirt road up to the Moffat Tunnel. More on that later.

About a month ago, I started feeling dizzy or light-headed for much of the day, every day. I've had bouts of this in the past, but they only lasted a few days. I've seen my doctor each time, and each time they've told me it's probably just stress. This time they decided I better see a Neurologist. Huh? Something literally wrong with my head?

The Neurologist ordered a bunch of tests. Blood work, I get that. MRI of my head, yikes, but I get that too. 24hr EKG and heart ultrasound. Huh? I'm in great cardiovascular shape right? Quack. At first I figured I'd do these just to humor the doc. But as each other test came back as normal, I began to worry. I started researching my symptoms as they relate to heart problems. Holy Sh*t. By the time I was done, I was sure I'd developed an arrhythmia and probably an enlarged left ventricle. I thought there was a good chance I'd have to quit training for three months or forever. I waited and waited for the test results but got some major health care system run-around.

In the mean time, I kept training. I was sure my heart would seize-up or explode at any moment. Which brings me to last weekend. As I said, I tried in vain to get my results and by Friday afternoon, I still didn't have jack. I talked to family members and they all just said "do what you do, and don't worry about it. You could get hit by a bus tomorrow." Or something like that. In my case though it'd be "your plane will probably crash." But that's another phobia and another story.

Saturday I did the bravest or dumbest thing I could. I ran 1hr 30min at 9,000', in the cold, in the middle of nowhere, with very few people around, and no cell service, possibly harboring a heart condition. Brains, I got 'em. It was beautiful though. Here are some pictures (forgive the crappy cell-phone pics):

When I first saw this sign, I was sure it read "The Moffat Road - 'Hell Route'"

Just a couple of miles from the end of the road. Yep, that's timberline in the distance.

End of the road, the historic Moffat Tunnel.

Sunday, I had a 2 hr run scheduled and and was now staying at my brother's house in Denver at a "lower" elevation of 5,500'. I once again got the opportunity to run on the Highline Canal. The weather was great and there were so many people on the trail it was almost an event. I kept getting "heart flutters". Every time I was thinking "Oh crap, this is it. At least there are lots of people around if I go down." I counted them. Twelve flutters during the run.

Along the way I worked very hard at being grateful for the run. Running became painful, but I also considered that it may have been my last run, even if only for a while. The view of the front range was spectacular. One of those clear Colorado days when you can see from Longs Peak to Pikes Peak, and even further today. I took it all in and did the best I could not to worry. Thankfully, I completed the run without major incident.

Yesterday, I finally got my test results. "Unremarkable" they said. I was offended at first, but then I let it go :). I'm very grateful that as of now, there's nothing wrong with my heart. It's quite a relief and I feel like I can get on with doing this season's work.

My new ride

I've got a new ride and I'm just about to burst. I have to admit, I was skeptical at first. I figured people were just riding this thing because Norman Stadler won Kona on one. I've been riding a Cevelo P2C for a year. I lusted after the Cervelo and thought I'd never ride another when I got it. When the opportunity presented itself to ride a Kuota, I was hesitant but curious. Even still, I had doubts that it would measure up. After all, Cervelo is widely regarded in Triathlon circles as THE best TT bike manufacturer. So, what could I expect?

I picked-up my new Kuota Kueen-K last week at Trisports and took it on its first real ride Friday, the Mt. Lemmon ride during Trifest. This ride started with an easy pace 15-mile ride out to the base of Mt. Lemmon at 2,000 ft and then continued the 24-mile climb to nearly 10,000 ft to Summerhaven. I have to say, the Kueen-K is just awesome! I just can't believe how much better this bike feels. Wicked stiff, but incredibly comfortable and even after 85 miles and nearly six hours in the saddle, I was ready for more. After riding again yesterday on some more familiar routes, I'm convinced this is a superior machine. I just couln't remove the grin from my face. I kept shaking my head and saying outloud "Unbelievable..." There is no doubt that the Cervelo is a quality bike and I just couldn't/can't make sense of how the Kuota can feel so much better. I can't wait to ride again. If you are interested in a Kuota, you'd be crazy not to contact me: brad.hendron@gmail.com

Back at it.

After about a week of recovery time and some half-hearted random training last week, I'm ready to get back to it. I hit the trainer hard this morning as a beginning to some good, solid, consistent training.

Most of the swelling in my mouth is gone, but there still some discomfort and not everything is totally healed-up, but enough. I'm feeling comfortable about getting back in the pool this evening although I'm going to be conscious about not getting too much of the water in my mouth.

It feels good to have this out of the way and eliminate at least one potential pitfall for the season. You don't know what you've got 'till it's gone, as they say, and that goes for training too. Sometimes it feels like a grind, but when you can't do it, you miss it. A lot. Or at least I do.

Oh also, I managed to pack on 3+ pounds with liquid calories (smoothies) and no exercise. So, so much for losing weight! I have my work cut out for me.

Training Interrupted

Well, I'm out for a bit. I had my two lower wisdom teeth removed early Friday morning. Here it is Sunday, and I'm getting more swollen every day. I was SURE that I wouldn't swell up this bad. This was something I'd been avoiding for more than a decade and had I known, I still might not have done it. Both were severely impacted, laying horizontally in my jaw and pushing up and under the molars in front of them. I don't even want to know what they had to do to get them out. It had to be done though. Those teeth had threatened to interrupt training in the past and I just couldn't have that this year. So, I decided to get them yanked when they'd have the least impact on my season. I don't know when I'll get back on track. Swimming seems out of the question, running like all bouncing cheeks and pain, and cycling like just a bad idea given the chance of crashing. In fact, I'm worried about exerting myself at all for fear that something will burst! Oh well, maybe I'll lose some of the off-season weight gain.

Runs Remembered

I’ve intended to make this post for some time. OK, weeks. The day after my last post I set out on a run down the Highline Canal. I hadn’t run that route in at least 7 years, maybe more. Though I’d run here many times in the past, my starting location was new. I left from my brother’s house and began to run north through the snow and 11 degree temperatures. I wondered how long I’d manage. My plan was to go for and hour and fifteen minutes and after about ten minutes, I was warm and comfortable.

Within a couple of minutes I entered an open space area where the path winds along a creek and sometimes crosses it. This area seemed vast as a youth, but now, older and faster, I crossed it’s entirety in only a few minutes. I passed “the cliffs” were my brother and I explored when we first moved to the area, and later as a teenager on some faded Indian-summer afternoon, my friends and I, swung from a rope tied to a high tree branch, way out over the water and back. I ran past the pond that once seemed large but now only a puddle. It hasn’t really changed, but I have.

Further down the path I ran through Cherry Knolls Park where I frequently played two-man volleyball with friends, hit tennis balls with garage-sale-bought golf clubs with my friend Dave, and met classmates for parties. I ran past the steep hill where one summer my friend Adam and I did hill repeats in prep for the upcoming football season. Further on I ran under the Arapahoe Road bridge to the most familiar and formal beginning of the canal trail. The same canal trail on which I’d run so many times before. Often as part of stutter starts and stops in an attempt to “get back into shape”. The same canal on which I rode a bike next to my Dad and passed him water as he trained for a marathon and on which he DID his first marathon one week before his first official marathon! I can’t imagine…

As I approached the South Suburban Recreation Center I recalled the last time I ran here. Instead of running, I had driven to the rec center to start my run and had only completed four miles, two out and two back. And it was not easy. Still, I felt like I’d done some good work. Later that evening, I had met some friends at a bar, drank too much, and probably smoked most of a pack of cigarettes. Yikes…

But this is now and not then. I ran further down the canal, all the while recollecting bits and pieces of runs past. It was easier today though. Despite my now low-altitude Arizona acclimation, were I afforded the opportunity to race myself, I would kick my own younger ass. As I floated past the old turn-around point on still fresh legs, I felt gratitude for the changes in my life and my health and my fitness.

I went a little longer than planned and did around 10 miles in 1:20. It’s going to be a good year and I hope in a few more years, I’ll still be able to kick my own younger ass. It could happen.