about 50 yards away, there was a pack of coyotes moving silently from
right to left. Great run!
Friday, August 20, 2010
Morning Trail Run
about 50 yards away, there was a pack of coyotes moving silently from
right to left. Great run!
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Mountain Man Half Iron
I feel like it's been a ho-hum year for race results, I really needed a good one and I was hoping things would come around at this year's Mountain Man Half Iron distance triathlon.
As Sarah and I drove to the race venue on Sunday morning, we were happy that the heavy rain of the day before had stopped and it looked like clear sky's. But, we drove through several heavy fog banks on the way. As dawn broke, we could see Lake Mary was quite covered in fog. For some time, one couldn't see any of the buoys marking the swim course. As start time approached, some of the fog cleared, and from the bank I could see all three of the buoys (yes, three buoys for a 1.2 mile swim).
The swim start was mostly uneventful and first buoy was pretty close, almost straight across the narrow lake, and the whole pack seemed to swim straight for it. However, as we turned to head towards the far buoy, on the far side of the lake lengthwise, we could see nothing but fog. We swam on for what seemed like too long, but I was comfortably following the four lead swimmers and along side a kid in a kayak. I gotta say it again, I love that Zoot Zenith wetsuit! It's just a joy to swim in.
All of us at the front stopped several times and looked hard for the the far buoy, but all we could see was fog. Eventually though, I stopped looked far to the right and I saw a green buoy. I yelled to the kid in the Kayak, "hey, is that our buoy?!" he asked what color our turn buoy was, I told him green and he said,"yeah, that's it". The four in front of me headed on, but I made a hard right angle for the turn buoy. Half-way across the gap, I began to feel a little guilty, but I wasn't sure I could have alerted the others anyway. I made it to the turn first, but I was soon passed and left behind by a fast swimmer. I managed to maintain second place and exited the water in that position.
When I left T1 I heard someone yell "fist biker coming out!" Confusing. The lead swimmer must have been at least a minute in front of me out of the water. Where did he go? I jumped on to the bike and pedaled out, quickly settling into my goal wattage on my PowerTap. I was nervous though, my legs didn't feel good and I knew some strong cyclists weren't far behind. I wondered how long it would be before they caught me. At about six miles into the ride, I had my answer. A trio including Bryan Dunn and Brian Folts came past with a third in tow. They didn't linger but slowly crept out of site. Within a few miles I couldn't see them anymore. I refused to ditch my plan and kept my power steady. Near the first turn-around, I could see the lead three coming back, they'd opened a few minute gap and it was early. I wondered how large that gap would be by the end of the bike. My legs felt bad and I was already a ways back. I fought off discouragement and kept faith in my plan, focusing on having a good run.
I ended-up riding most of the day solo, save the overlap on the course with the Olympic distance racers. It's hard to maintain race effort solo. With a few miles left to go on the bike, I saw what looked like Brian Folts up ahead. I was surprised. I didn't think the group would fade much and I didn't expect to catch any of them on the ride. But, it was indeed Brian and with two miles to go, I passed him.
Riding into T2 I figured myself in third or fourth and, after a sloppy transition, I made my way out on to the course intent on taking the first couple of miles conservatively and building into it.
It's an odd run course. The fist two miles are relatively flat but mile three is all up hill, climbing nearly 1000', then, about a half mile out-and-back section at the top of the hill, back down the hill, and finally about a nine mile total out-and-back to the finish. I held a good pace heading up the hill but kept my heart rate fairly low. Just as I neared the top, I saw the race leader, Dan Springborn, about to head down. I checked my watch. About a minute later, I saw Bryan Dunn chasing, I checked my watch again. By the time I hit the turn-around, 3:30 had passed to the leader. So, I was somewhere around 7 minutes back. I barely entertained the thought that I might have a chance in hell of catching them. They must have smoked that bike course.
I flew down the hill at a five-something pace. When I got to the bottom, I thought I might see the runners up ahead, but nothing. I headed for the far run turn. I kept my cadence high, counting steps. My mouth was dry and I took lots of water at the aid stations. As I neared the turn, I was surprised that I had not seen the leaders coming back yet. With about half a mile to the turn, I saw Dan and checked my watch again. As before, about a minute later, I saw Bryan. When I hit the turn, I calculated the deficit at 4 minutes with just over 5 miles to go. "I can't catch them, no way" I thought. Then immediately after "Just keep going, keep working, see what happens." The argument in my head went back and forth for a mile. Bryan didn't seem to be getting any closer. With time running out, I pushed it up a bit and still felt good. With a little over two miles to go, I caught Bryan. I was hesitant to pass. I didn't want a shoulder-to-shoulder battle on my hands for the remainder of the race. I decided to go anyway, but pushed it up a bit more in hopes of deterring a chase. I was surprised to find that I was OK with this higher pace.
I could see Dan up ahead, but at least half a mile away. "What am I doing?" I thought. A small little wide-eyed voice in my head said, "You're not going to try to catch him too, are you? It's madness" I listened, but ignored it and I clawed my way closer. I was pushing the limits of my sustainable effort but with about a mile to go, I'd closed the gap to about 50 yards. Dan turned and looked back for the first time and he saw me. He surged. I could see the gap widen. "Damn", I thought. "He's got another gear, and I'm maxed-out." But, soon after, the gap began to close again. "What? No way. Still, he's so far away and there's so little time left." The gap widened some again, but not for long and with 200 yards to go, the gap was just feet. With about 100 yards to the finish, I passed and did my best interpretation of a sprint to the line without looking back.
I was sure Dan was chasing. Full of adrenaline and disbelief, I crossed the line in first. The race director was there to congratulate me and after a few moments I turned to see that Dan still hadn't crossed the line. I waited to congratulate him, but after crossing the finish, he just sort of wobbled and stumbled a bit, tapped-out.
In the end, the margin was only 32 seconds. Where was that gained and lost? Who knows. I was and am happy for the win, but felt bad for Dan. It must have been heartbreaking to lose it at the end like that.
Thanks to Sarah for her support and encouragement. Also, thanks to my Coach, Brian Grasky. And, thanks to all of my friends for the congratulations and kind words, it's very appreciated.
As Sarah and I drove to the race venue on Sunday morning, we were happy that the heavy rain of the day before had stopped and it looked like clear sky's. But, we drove through several heavy fog banks on the way. As dawn broke, we could see Lake Mary was quite covered in fog. For some time, one couldn't see any of the buoys marking the swim course. As start time approached, some of the fog cleared, and from the bank I could see all three of the buoys (yes, three buoys for a 1.2 mile swim).
The swim start was mostly uneventful and first buoy was pretty close, almost straight across the narrow lake, and the whole pack seemed to swim straight for it. However, as we turned to head towards the far buoy, on the far side of the lake lengthwise, we could see nothing but fog. We swam on for what seemed like too long, but I was comfortably following the four lead swimmers and along side a kid in a kayak. I gotta say it again, I love that Zoot Zenith wetsuit! It's just a joy to swim in.
All of us at the front stopped several times and looked hard for the the far buoy, but all we could see was fog. Eventually though, I stopped looked far to the right and I saw a green buoy. I yelled to the kid in the Kayak, "hey, is that our buoy?!" he asked what color our turn buoy was, I told him green and he said,"yeah, that's it". The four in front of me headed on, but I made a hard right angle for the turn buoy. Half-way across the gap, I began to feel a little guilty, but I wasn't sure I could have alerted the others anyway. I made it to the turn first, but I was soon passed and left behind by a fast swimmer. I managed to maintain second place and exited the water in that position.
When I left T1 I heard someone yell "fist biker coming out!" Confusing. The lead swimmer must have been at least a minute in front of me out of the water. Where did he go? I jumped on to the bike and pedaled out, quickly settling into my goal wattage on my PowerTap. I was nervous though, my legs didn't feel good and I knew some strong cyclists weren't far behind. I wondered how long it would be before they caught me. At about six miles into the ride, I had my answer. A trio including Bryan Dunn and Brian Folts came past with a third in tow. They didn't linger but slowly crept out of site. Within a few miles I couldn't see them anymore. I refused to ditch my plan and kept my power steady. Near the first turn-around, I could see the lead three coming back, they'd opened a few minute gap and it was early. I wondered how large that gap would be by the end of the bike. My legs felt bad and I was already a ways back. I fought off discouragement and kept faith in my plan, focusing on having a good run.
I ended-up riding most of the day solo, save the overlap on the course with the Olympic distance racers. It's hard to maintain race effort solo. With a few miles left to go on the bike, I saw what looked like Brian Folts up ahead. I was surprised. I didn't think the group would fade much and I didn't expect to catch any of them on the ride. But, it was indeed Brian and with two miles to go, I passed him.
Riding into T2 I figured myself in third or fourth and, after a sloppy transition, I made my way out on to the course intent on taking the first couple of miles conservatively and building into it.
It's an odd run course. The fist two miles are relatively flat but mile three is all up hill, climbing nearly 1000', then, about a half mile out-and-back section at the top of the hill, back down the hill, and finally about a nine mile total out-and-back to the finish. I held a good pace heading up the hill but kept my heart rate fairly low. Just as I neared the top, I saw the race leader, Dan Springborn, about to head down. I checked my watch. About a minute later, I saw Bryan Dunn chasing, I checked my watch again. By the time I hit the turn-around, 3:30 had passed to the leader. So, I was somewhere around 7 minutes back. I barely entertained the thought that I might have a chance in hell of catching them. They must have smoked that bike course.
I flew down the hill at a five-something pace. When I got to the bottom, I thought I might see the runners up ahead, but nothing. I headed for the far run turn. I kept my cadence high, counting steps. My mouth was dry and I took lots of water at the aid stations. As I neared the turn, I was surprised that I had not seen the leaders coming back yet. With about half a mile to the turn, I saw Dan and checked my watch again. As before, about a minute later, I saw Bryan. When I hit the turn, I calculated the deficit at 4 minutes with just over 5 miles to go. "I can't catch them, no way" I thought. Then immediately after "Just keep going, keep working, see what happens." The argument in my head went back and forth for a mile. Bryan didn't seem to be getting any closer. With time running out, I pushed it up a bit and still felt good. With a little over two miles to go, I caught Bryan. I was hesitant to pass. I didn't want a shoulder-to-shoulder battle on my hands for the remainder of the race. I decided to go anyway, but pushed it up a bit more in hopes of deterring a chase. I was surprised to find that I was OK with this higher pace.
I could see Dan up ahead, but at least half a mile away. "What am I doing?" I thought. A small little wide-eyed voice in my head said, "You're not going to try to catch him too, are you? It's madness" I listened, but ignored it and I clawed my way closer. I was pushing the limits of my sustainable effort but with about a mile to go, I'd closed the gap to about 50 yards. Dan turned and looked back for the first time and he saw me. He surged. I could see the gap widen. "Damn", I thought. "He's got another gear, and I'm maxed-out." But, soon after, the gap began to close again. "What? No way. Still, he's so far away and there's so little time left." The gap widened some again, but not for long and with 200 yards to go, the gap was just feet. With about 100 yards to the finish, I passed and did my best interpretation of a sprint to the line without looking back.
I was sure Dan was chasing. Full of adrenaline and disbelief, I crossed the line in first. The race director was there to congratulate me and after a few moments I turned to see that Dan still hadn't crossed the line. I waited to congratulate him, but after crossing the finish, he just sort of wobbled and stumbled a bit, tapped-out.
In the end, the margin was only 32 seconds. Where was that gained and lost? Who knows. I was and am happy for the win, but felt bad for Dan. It must have been heartbreaking to lose it at the end like that.
Thanks to Sarah for her support and encouragement. Also, thanks to my Coach, Brian Grasky. And, thanks to all of my friends for the congratulations and kind words, it's very appreciated.
Bouder Peak Triathlon
OK, I'll be honest, what I really want to do is get to my Mountain Man race report. But, I can't really pretend that the Boulder Peak Triathlon didn't happen. So, lets talk about it.
I did feel good going into this race. And, it's not like I did badly, but just not great. Below expectations let's say. Perhaps the biggest factor was my travel arrangements. It's generally accepted that if you don't live at altitude and your going to race someplace with a significantly higher altitude, the best thing to do is to arrive within 24 hours of the race. The later the better, all things considered. Well, I live at about 1300'. Boulder is around 6000'. My place of lodging, nearly 9000'. And I slept at nearly 9000' for two nights before the race. Not ideal. I think I really paid for it.
The Boulder Peak is a great race. And it's held in one of Triathlon's Meccas. So, the competition was definitely there. I was excited about it. I swam well, the bike was far more painful than I remember, but I feel like I held my own. The run? Stunk. I was redlined and just could not hold the pace I should be able to for that distance. Disappointing. I ended-up 6th in my agegroup and 22nd overall.
I did feel good going into this race. And, it's not like I did badly, but just not great. Below expectations let's say. Perhaps the biggest factor was my travel arrangements. It's generally accepted that if you don't live at altitude and your going to race someplace with a significantly higher altitude, the best thing to do is to arrive within 24 hours of the race. The later the better, all things considered. Well, I live at about 1300'. Boulder is around 6000'. My place of lodging, nearly 9000'. And I slept at nearly 9000' for two nights before the race. Not ideal. I think I really paid for it.
The Boulder Peak is a great race. And it's held in one of Triathlon's Meccas. So, the competition was definitely there. I was excited about it. I swam well, the bike was far more painful than I remember, but I feel like I held my own. The run? Stunk. I was redlined and just could not hold the pace I should be able to for that distance. Disappointing. I ended-up 6th in my agegroup and 22nd overall.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Boulder Peak Triathlon - Prologue
Sitting here at Phoenix Sky Harbor airport waiting to board my flight
to Denver. I just said goodbye to my bike a few minutes ago. Man I
hate flying with my bike. A fortune of gear, blood, sweat, and tears,
packed-up and on wheels, carted-off by some stranger. Ugh. Pray to
the baggage-handler gods that they'll be gentle.
to Denver. I just said goodbye to my bike a few minutes ago. Man I
hate flying with my bike. A fortune of gear, blood, sweat, and tears,
packed-up and on wheels, carted-off by some stranger. Ugh. Pray to
the baggage-handler gods that they'll be gentle.
Just had some not-so-healthy dinner at the Fox Sports Grill here in
the terminal. I choose to keep the exact meal a secret, lest my coach
reads this. I'm re-watching the end of today's Tour de France stage.
Man it's been a good Tour so far and the mountains are on the horizon.
Sunday is the Boulder Peak Triathon in Boulder, Colorado. I've done
this race a couple of times before, so, I basically know what I'm in
for. I've trained hard for this race. I feel like I've spent the
last month at lactate threshold. It's been painful. Although this
last week has been less-than-ideal, I'm still feeling pretty good and
my hopes are high. Wish me luck.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Discipline, patience, and a good run.
Some days you just have one of those runs. It's effortless. You float along and there's no pounding, jarring, aching, and the little niggles are silent. The pace comes easy. I haven't had a run like that in a long time. I've run three of the last four days and yesterday was intense. So, I wasn't expecting today to be easy. But it was. Well, relatively. The point is, I felt good and I just wanted to run longer and faster.
My running has been suffering for some time. I just haven't been able to muster the paces I'd become accustomed to. I've been starting to think that I've passed my peak and this is just how it's going to be. A long, slow, descent of ever-slower runs as I age. Yes, yes, I know that will happen. But maybe not yet.
Anyway, the title of this post. I've been extra disciplined this last two weeks. Performing every training session to the letter and logging every workout. It's been focused and goal oriented and good. So, perhaps with some discipline and patience, I'll have a few more good runs.
My running has been suffering for some time. I just haven't been able to muster the paces I'd become accustomed to. I've been starting to think that I've passed my peak and this is just how it's going to be. A long, slow, descent of ever-slower runs as I age. Yes, yes, I know that will happen. But maybe not yet.
Anyway, the title of this post. I've been extra disciplined this last two weeks. Performing every training session to the letter and logging every workout. It's been focused and goal oriented and good. So, perhaps with some discipline and patience, I'll have a few more good runs.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Catching up
Well, it's been a long time since I've written in the old blog. Too many blog posts start this way, but hey, I have to acknowledge it. After the intensity of the build-up to and actual Ironman competition, I had to back-off a bit on triathlon. In addition, "real life" has been putting the squeeze on my training and all outside activities for that matter. Strange how I/we consider work to be our main purpose and other thing to be extra, or outside. So, time to catch-up.
Quite soon after Ironman I came down with a, still not positively identified, illness that kept me from any serious training for a few months. Best I can tell, after an endless list of tests and medications, is that I had multiple sinus / lung infections. Also, my foot issues linger. I seem to be able to run for the most part, but it's often sore.
Through all of that, I still managed to make it to the start line of the Tempe International Triathlon in May. One of the highlights, aside from a 8th overall and 2nd place age-group finish, was a chance to try-out my new Zoot Zenith 2.0 wetsuit. Even after only trying it on I knew it was a major improvement over my old suit. But, soon after the swim start, I realized just how much better. The mobility in the shoulders and the the way it just propped my hips up in the water were astonishing. And, it came off much easier as well. Thank you Zoot!
I should back-up, earlier in the year, I ran a small local 5k to try to put up a qualifying time for the Bolder Boulder 10k in Boulder Colorado. It's now the largest road race in the country with 50,000+ finishers this year. In order to qualify to race in the very first wave, I had to run the 5k in under 18:20 and I ran 18:04 and finished 2nd overall.
So, two weeks after Tempe International, I was on the starting line of the largest road the country, nervous as can be! The elevation (5,430') and my inconsistent run training could have been a factor. But, mostly I was anxious because I wanted to place high enough to get an age-group award. Each age is it's own group and awards go 15 deep. Still, I'd have to run close to a 6 minute per mile pace to do it. I ran my guts out and it hurt as bad as anything. I managed a 37:38 and 11th in the 37 year-old division (352 nd overall). So, I'm waiting for my Bolder Boulder medal in the mail!
Most recently I raced the Deuceman 1/2 Iron distance triathlon at the Trisports.com Deuces Wild Triathlon festival in Show Low Arizona. Another high race at 6,500'. I love this race and this would be my third time for the half and my fourth participation overall. Again I had an almost enjoyable swim in the Zoot Zenith 2.0 and managed to swim over a minute faster than last year. I really can't say enough about that suit, I'm really loving it.
I manged 4th out of the water (though I didn't know it) and ended up trading places for second and third for 50 miles of the bike until the eventual second place finisher passed by.
My legs were toast by then and I had nothing more to give. I couldn't chase. When I came in to T2 I only saw a few bikes on the racks, but didn't really make the connection. Nor did I realize how hot it had become. I hoped my legs would come around on the run, but they never really did. My run pace was nearly 1 minute per mile slower than last year and I thought surely I was out of contention.
The first of two loops of the run was AWFUL, I felt totally lifeless, just trudging along, completely unable and unwilling to chase. I took tons of water and even walked for nearly a full minute. During a half I walked! It felt more like a bad Ironman run instead of a half. Things started to come around on the second loop and I felt like I was running, but I still couldn't manage a very good pace. I ended-up fourth overall and actually had the second fastest run-split of the day. The heat got to everyone. I learned some lessons about assumptions during races and never giving-up.
So, now, I'm gearing-up to head back to Boulder next month to race the Boulder Peak Triathlon. This is another favorite and this will be my third time at this race. However, I plan to really focus and give it a good, full effort and see where I end-up. It's a big race in a triathlon Mecca. I'm excited about the challenge.
Thats all for now. I'm going to try to get more regular here. (famous last blog words)
Friday, December 4, 2009
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.)
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!
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
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.
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.
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).
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!
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