Ironman Vineman 2016 Race Report

2015 was a tough year of racing for me, and it showed in some of my racing results. Coming off of a great first year of Ironman racing, I seemed to have taken a step back, swimming a little slower despite improved pool times, and running (ahem, "walking") quite a bit slower as well. In all I just felt drained after putting in really heavy volume training for many weeks and not seeing performance gains made in training realized in races. It led me to reevaluate how I was training and racing to see how I could do things a little smarter for 2016.

Fast forward to 2016, which has so far been off to a great start. Two races and two top ten age group finishes (8th at 70.3 Oceanside, and 5th at the Orange County Triathlon). This after tweaking my training program by reducing overall volume, slowing down my "easy" days, and adding more quality workouts. I've also cut down on swimming to prevent fatigue and give myself some more time.

Most importantly, I've deliberately ended my obsession with chasing results. If I'm in this for fun, I'm damn well going to chase the fun. If fun is no longer a primary goal, then I shouldn't be doing this sport. Solely chasing time goals does not make for a fun experience. Yes, goals are good to have (I'll get into mine later), but with the number of variables that come into play during a long race like an Ironman, goals have to become moving targets. Also, progress comes gradually in this sport, and patience needs to be practiced.

The "pie in the sky" goal that I've been chasing for the last three years has been Kona. I'm not unique. There are many, many people in this sport that are chasing that same goal. Few realize it, many do not. I have not. In fact, I have not been close enough to even really sweat it. It's always just been a "what if" sort of dream for me. Yet I have obsessed about "eventually getting there since beginning in triathlon. When I first started training in 2013, I knew it was far-fetched, but I always had it as my primary goal (see my first post for a bit of history on this).

Relying too much on the singular goal of qualifying Kona can be a recipe for disappointment. With only 40 slots to allocate across a couple thousand people, there's too many variables that come into play, including who shows up to race. I had to revisit my goals and consider qualifying for Kona more of a "passive" goal - one which would be amazing if I achieved it, but not the pass line where I would put all my chips (is that an appropriate Craps reference? I suck at Craps).

Which leads me to Ironman Vineman. My primary goal this year has been simple. To once again have fun racing. Yes, I know that's the hokey sentimental goal that everyone says is their goal, so here are my more tangible goals, of which I ranked them from 1-3 (1 being the most unlikely but most amazing achievement I could hope for, and 3 being the goal that would consider a great day).

1. Break 10 hours
2. Run well off the bike (For me I would consider a sub-4 hour marathon "running well")
3. Finish

Hitting number 2 was going to be my primary focus in this race because that meant that I would have a shot at number 1, and that I would be forced to bike conservatively (something that has been challenging for me in the past).

Days Before the Race:

We drove up to Sonoma from San Clemente on the Wednesday before the race. We had rented a converted barn through Airbnb, but it burned down. Yes, you read that right. A barn... full of hay... burning down before a race. I knew it was a sign, but I didn't quite know what that sign was. So we scrambled and found a really small cottage right on River road between the race start and race finish. It ended up being... well... cozy for the four of us, but logistically perfect for getting to and from the race start and finish.

We spent the next couple days getting familiar with our surroundings, checking in, etc. The Russian River area is beautiful, but the concern of a lot of people was how to get 2,000 people into the river and onto the roads. In the past, this race had only a few hundred people. This year it would be 3 or 4 times that.

In the end, it all worked out perfectly due to the rolling start. It really helped to spread people out.

Gratuitous Speedo shot

Russian River

Practice swim with support

My mantra as far as nutrition is concerned hasn't changed; "keep it simple." The day before the race I had my usual morning shake, some oatmeal for mid morning, eggs, rice, and butter for mid afternoon, and eggs, rice, and butter for dinner. Our massage therapist was kind enough to lend us her rapid release massager, and that was a godsend. Marie worked on me the night before, and cleared up any tight spots that came about due to all the walking required to check in bike and run gear. Then it was into my Normatec boots for an hour and off to sleep. I had never felt more fresh before a race.

Race Morning:

I was up at 3 am after a decent night of sleep. Immediately I had a blended breakfast of one cup rolled oats, a banana, flaxseed, and a handful of almonds. I also had a cup of coffee and sat in my Normatec boots for about 20 minutes. Marie dropped me off at the race start at around 5 am and I had second breakfast of a cup of brown rice with butter and salt just outside of transition. Again, keeping it simple.

After checking out my bike, getting situated, and using the toilet, I headed down to find my family to say one last goodbye and pass off all my morning stuff to them. Then I did a quick swim before jumping in the swim corral.

I remembered at the last minute that I forgot to do my Wim Hof breathing. Anecdotally, I found that doing the Wim Hof breathing calms my nerves, floods me with oxygen, and provides me more energy. This, in turn, has seemed to improve performance. I sat down in the swim corral and did 3 rounds of breathing before getting in line.

Swim:

Knowing that the roads on the bike course would be narrow and crowded, I wanted to give myself as much of a cushion from the crowds as possible, so I lined up toward the front of the 1:00-1:10 self seeding area. I had no clue what my swim time would be due to my inconsistent Ironman swim times in the past, but based on recent pool times and 70.3 times, I figured around a 1:08 was in the cards. My plan was to swim a bit harder early on to stick with the faster swimmers and then back off to drift into clear water. Due to the narrow and shallow nature of the swim, I was expecting it to be insanely crowded.

As the horn sounded, I noticed that they were taking their time with getting people into the water, which was good. The race organizers did a hell of a job spreading out the masses. I finally got into the water probably 5 minutes after the actual race start and found open water almost immediately. That's not to say it didn't get crowded, since there were small packs of swimmers forming throughout the course, and it was hard to get around them.

Sighting on this course is super easy, since it's a narrow river. I only looked up occasionally to make sure I wasn't about to be kicked in the face. I kept my turnover really high, and found I was passing a lot of people, and not getting passed myself. Using the treeline as a guide, it appeared as though I was moving pretty fast. The swim out is against the very light current, so I figured it should be slow, but it certainly didn't seem slow to me. I tend to think that the mass of swimmers created a strong draft effect, especially at the front of the pack. If that's the case, it's a huge benefit to line up toward the front and get the benefit of the fast swimmers!

We had been warned that the river was shallow at parts, and that turned out to be absolutely true. I did my best to keep swimming, and it felt like swimming was faster than walking. The only times I had to put my feet down were when I ran into someone who was standing in front of me.

The swim out seemed to take no time at all, and as we rounded the turn buoy, I checked my watch to see about 33 minutes. I was very happy with this, since that had me on track to do a 1:06 if I could maintain pace, and the rest of the swim was downstream. I didn't get too excited though, since I had over a mile to swim, and I'd already been pushing pretty hard. I didn't want to wear myself out, and I didn't know how much the current would assist us back to the swim finish.

The rest of the swim was relatively uneventful aside from scraping my hands a few times on the shallow parts. A high elbow catch definitely helps!

I enjoyed the heck out of this swim. Not just because it felt fast, but also because it was just so beautiful. The water felt clean and the trees lining the water were just beautiful.

I came out of the water and checked my watch to see 1:03. I have absolutely no business swimming a 1:03 Ironman! Never in my wildest dreams would I have expected that. I figured that the swim must have been short*

*After reviewing my data, I found out that I swam just over 4,400 yards, so the swim was not short. I also placed better in my age group than I ever have in an iron distance swim, so I guess I swam well! It's so great to see hard work in the pool pay off!

After so much time feeling anxious about swimming, frustrated with not getting better, and just putting in so much time, it's so exciting to have had such a great swim!

1:03:27, 24th in 35-39, 196 overall - Strava Data

Bike:

I had a pretty slow transition. I don't know what it is about the transition setup at Ironman events, but I have an easier time transitioning when all of my equipment is next to my bike. In the tents I usually just find myself dumping my bag onto the ground and staring at the contents for a few seconds before figuring out what I need to do.

I finally got it all settled and ran out of the transition toward my bike. I chose to run my bike up the short hill just after the dismount, and it looked like I was the only one who did so. Once to the top, I mounted and went on my way.

The goal for the bike was to back way the hell off. I "could" ride the whole bike leg with my heart rate in the high 140s, but I chose instead to keep it in the 130s. It felt very light and easy, and it also gave me some cushion to make surges to pass large groups of people.

The first two hours I was very cold. Taking it easy probably didn't help this. It made my shoulders and neck very tense and I became sore. I tried to enjoy the cool air because I knew it would get very warm later in the day.

I could see how this could be a deceptive bike course that would urge a person to push the pace. The first loop felt very easy, with rolling hills easy enough to get over without much effort, and only a few short climbs. The flat section before Chalk Hill seemed very fast with no wind.

On the second loop, the course seemed to change. As the air temperatures increased and the wind picked up slightly, the hills seemed to pack a bit more punch, the roads seemed a bit stickier, and the flat section was a lot slower. With the headwind, on a section where I was averaging 23-25 mph on the first loop, I was now averaging about 18-20. I actually got off my bike for a second to see if my rear wheel was rubbing, because it felt like I just wasn't moving as fast as I should have.

Despite that, I stayed true to my goal of taking it easier on the bike. While my head was telling me to go faster and break 5 hours, I held true to better judgement, and finished the bike well, happily just over 5 hours, and still with the 4th fastest bike split in my age group.

5:07:03, 5th in 35-39, 42nd overall - Strava Data

Run:

Getting off the bike, I was very nervous. After spiking my heart rate to get up Chalk Hill the second time, I tried to coast the remaining 10 miles into transition at a very easy pace. The bike handoff was quick and painless and before I knew it I was once again staring at the contents of my transition bag. Snapping out of it, I put on my shoes, race belt, and headband that my daughter had made for me. It's a new tradition we're starting to help get my kids more involved, and it seems to be a good luck charm for me.

"Extra Life" headband made by my daughter. I needed all the lives I could get!

Running out of the tent, it was time to see if holding back was going to work for me. System's check showed that everything so far was good. Pace was easy, stomach felt okay, no cramping, breathing felt fine. Checking the heart rate I was in the low 150s. Quite a bit higher than I wanted it, but I was feeling okay, so I just decided to keep an eye on it.

I deliberately avoided watching my pace because I did not want to chase the time. In training, I had practiced taking it really easy, and had found that my pace was faster than I would expect, so I kept faith that everything was working out fine, and I would find out my splits at every mile.

Mile 1: 8:03. Okay. So far so good. Now the key will be to delay slowing down for as long as possible.

Now that I had a pace dialed in, I continued out onto the first loop committed to keep the first loop steady and easy, easy enough that I wouldn't be tempted to walk at any point, and easy enough that I could get water and Gatorade in.

About a mile into the run, there is a relatively steep downhill section for about a quarter mile (we also have to run up that hill on the return trip each time). I stifled myself from charging down the hill too hard, and kept the pace steady. As I got to the bottom of the hill I saw my second mile split at 7:45. Excellent.

The next 6 miles or so are out and back into the vinyards on a relatively flat course exposed to the sun. On this first loop, there weren't many people out, just a few age groupers and the pros. It was quite nice actually. Those miles clicked off pretty nicely, a few sub 8 minute miles, and a few 8+ minute miles until I got back to the big climb.

I once again held true to the mantra of taking it easy as I approached the hill for the first time, not wanting to burn out my legs. The hill felt surprisingly "not hard", and I kept running toward the first turn around. I saw my wife and kids there, which gave me a quick burst of energy, and I told them I was feeling good as I headed out for my second loop.

I continued to monitor my heart rate as I ran, and surprisingly (fortunately) it was only rising very gradually. I maintained a 1:3 breath to foot strike and that felt good at the time. I was also focused on form and high cadence, which seemed very comfortable. Aside from getting to be a little more crowded, the second lap was relatively uneventful. The second time up the hill was tougher than the first, but I still made it up and continued running. Aside from a couple porta potty stops, I hadn't walked yet, which was an Ironman first for me!

After getting up the hill for the second time, I was definitely starting to feel the pain and fatigue, and new that the last 9 miles were going to be tough. I once again passed by my family at the turn around and told them that the last loop would be hard, but I would see them at the finish line. I decided that once I got down the hill on the third loop, I would up the effort and change my breathing pattern to 1:2 breath to foot strike ratio to get more oxygen. This would increase my heart rate and energy output, but would also be more comfortable. With 10k to go, this was the time to do it so that I could maintain pace.

On the third loop, since I was breathing more, I briefly walked each aid station to make sure I got in Coke and water without choking or gulping a bunch of air.

By now the course was pretty crowded, and I was trying to politely run around other racers (though some were making it very hard to do so). My pace was slowing a bit, but I was still running between 8-8:30 minute miles with a few 9s sprinkled in. It became apparent that I would achieve my goal of breaking a 4 hour marathon, but it was also starting to dawn on me that I could break 10 hours. The calculus going on in my head was pretty intense, but all of my calculations seemed to imply that it was going to be a close call!

I climbed the hill one last time, knowing that once I crested I would only less than 2 miles to the finish. I briefly walked up the hill just so I could have the energy to run the last leg. It was hard to start running again, so I knew that I couldn't stop anymore.

My mind was focused on finishing and running strong. I heard a few people shout encouraging words about how great my pace was. As I got to the curvy section of the park, I knew I was close, and had to dodge a lot of crowds to get through.

And then comes the magical moment as you hit the fork in the road. To the right is another loop on the course. Straight ahead is the finish line. As the crowd recognizes that you are going straight instead of right, they begin to cheer wildly, and the overwhelming sense of relief, euphoria, adrenaline, and pure joy overtake you.

As I entered the finishing chute, I recognized that it wrapped around half of the high school. This was the longest finisher's chute ever. Finally, I took a right turn and saw the finish arch before me, and I let out a wild scream as I passed over the finish line. Unclear of my finishing time, but seeing 10:22 on the arch (factoring in that the clock time included the pros, who started about a half hour before the amateurs, breaking 10 hours was going to be close). I collapsed on the grass and laid there for a few minutes. I could not walk very well.

When my wife found me, she was able to tell me my finish time.

9:55.

With all of the exhaustion and emotion I was feeling, I teared up at the knowledge that I had achieved my ideal goal.

Run time 3:37:11, 6th in 35-39, 34th Overall, 23rd Overall Amateur - Strava Data

Post Race:

My wife went on to tell me that I was 6th in my age group. I thought surely that it was a mistake, or that it was too early to tell, and that more people in my age group would finish with faster times (since the swim was a rolling start). That never happened. I was in 6th place, and when the realization hit me that that's where I would stay, a nervous feeling began to form in the pit of my stomach.

I had the sudden realization that for the first time I was actually in contention for a Hawaii World Championship slot.

Oh shit... This is what it feels like!

All of those race reports that I had read over the years about lucky age groupers, who had punched their tickets to Kona after tons of hard work, and now there was a chance that I could be that guy. This pipe dream that once seemed so unattainable was now actually in sight.

This would lead way to obsessive Iron-stalking later that night. I was checking Ironman.com for previous race results of each of the 5 people who finished before me in my age group, hoping to find that they had already qualified at an earlier Ironman. Unfortunately, I couldn't find any relevant results for any of them. I had to wait until the morning to find out. Damn you, Ironman cliffhangers!

That was okay, though. I was still on cloud nine for the amazing race that I had just achieved. Even if I did not qualify for Kona, I could not have given any more in my race, and I was over the moon with how it had went. Surprisingly I wasn't nervous, nor did I have any expectations. If anything, I expected I would not qualify, but I was happy enough just to be close.

Besides, I had more important things to think about. Like having a giant Cheeseburger... and cake... and M&Ms. Okay, all the junk food.

Awards and Roll Down:

After frantically packing up the car to get out of our Airbnb and on the road, we headed to Windsor High School to attend the awards and roll down ceremony. Okay, I won't lie, we had another detour to the donut shop.

Hell... Yes...

Watching the awards was pretty great. I had a chance to watch all of the amazing athletes that finished best in their field of hundreds of athletes. When they announced the 35-39 age group, I looked at all 5 of the people on stage and had the realization that those were the only folks in my age group that came in faster than me. For someone who traditionally comes in higher than 20th in an Ironman event, it was a pretty amazing and humbling feeling.

The third place male in my age group came by and sat next to me. I gave him my hand and congratulated him on an amazing race and his soon-to-be Kona slot (obviously fishing). After talking, he mentioned to me that he thought that first and second place had already taken slots, and thus they would roll down at least to 5th.

My stomach dropped at the thought. If he was correct, I was two steps closer to Kona. Now the wild card was 5th place. Would he take his slot? Things were getting really, really, really, real.

I began to tear up thinking about all of the hard work I put in. Overcoming depression and anxiety, achieving sobriety, getting healthy, becoming a joyful and optimistic person, committing to setting a positive and healthy example, becoming an Ironman. All of these things led to where I was at right now; in a ceremony celebrating my 5th Ironman finish, a PR of under 10 hours, so close to a ticket to Kona.

And now the moment was here.

It was inspiring, but painful at the same time, listening to all of the older age groups take their Kona slots. I was happy for them, but it also meant that no more slots than 3 would be allocated to our age group (if an age group doesn't claim a slot, it goes to the most populated age group). Waiting for the announcer to get to male 35-39 was an exercise in extreme patience.

I still felt that it was a longshot when they finally got to my age group, even if it happened to roll down to 5th. I was determined not to get my hopes up. As they announced the first place finisher, he got up and accepted his ticket. It turns out the third place finisher was mistaken, and he hadn't taken a slot yet.

Bummer.

Second place declined his slot.

Still hope!

Third place took his slot.

Well, I knew that was going to happen. Just two more have to decline and I've got it...

The announcer called the fourth place finisher. He raised his hand enthusiastically and accepted the 3rd and final slot in the 35-39 age group.

Missed it by two...

I can't say I was disappointed by this. There's a reason why it is so hard to get into Kona through qualification. It's because the field of competitors is incredibly talented, and there is only so much room on the pier. If it were easier, it just might not be worth it. Getting this close and missing it just made me hungrier, more confident, and more inspired to go out and work for it. It will also make the accomplishment sweeter when I get there. After this experience, I know that I'm doing things right. The training, the consistency, the recovery, the nutrition, the discipline is all paying off... gradually.

That's how it works. Results do not come immediately, they come over time. And the goal is to strive for continuous improvement, not continuous perfection. I came really close this race, closer than I thought I ever would. I learned a lot through this experience, and gained a ton of confidence, and that is a priceless result. Qualifying for Kona may happen next year, or it may not happen for 10 years. It may never happen. But as long as I continue to improve and enjoy this sport, I'll continue to be a part of it.

I achieved every goal I set out to achieve at Vineman this year, and nearly one that wasn't on my radar. To me that is a huge win.

I can't say enough for the volunteers and the community of people that make this sport possible. I know of no other sport where competitors encourage one another to the extent that they do in triathlon. As a perpetual optimist, it makes me proud to be a part of this community and to be encouraging to others working toward their own individual goals.

A new fire has been lit within me, and I really can't wait to start training for Ironman Arizona! But first, more rest... and donuts...

Ironman 70.3 Oceanside 2016 Race Report

The 2016 race season has officially kicked off for me. It has been a long offseason, since I haven't raced since August at Ironman Boulder. I had planned to take an extended break to work on my run, since it was what I struggled with in my races last year.

Unfortunately, I didn't quite get the consistency of running down due to illnesses. I was hit pretty hard early in the year with sickness. First a respiratory cold, then a stomach bug, then the respiratory cold again, then the stomach bug again. This took me out for much of January and early February. Any run gains I had made seemed to have been lost when I started to train consistently again.

I had to expedite my training leading up to Oceanside due to the weeks of illness, so I accepted the base of fitness I had and focused on long endurance at the high aerobic levels. Then I would go into a short two week taper leading to Oceanside. Not ideal, but at least it would kick start my season.

I had a lot of emotions coming into this race. It takes place in my backyard where I do all my training. It would be the first time I would repeat a 70.3, and last year's performance was by far a personal best for me, finishing in 4:44 and 12th in my age group. While I tried to tell myself not to focus on the results, just to have fun and make it a training day (after all, with all of the sickness I didn't have the fitness I had last year), it's hard to not want to compete against your previous results!

Since this was the first race in a long time, and because of the reasons above, I was more nervous for this race than many of my previous races. But when I got nervous, I was able to calm myself by reinforcing that the goal of this race was to focus on strategy and pacing. My tendency last year was to overbike and then blow up on the run. I wanted to see how it felt to UNDER bike and feel good on the run.

The goal was to swim out hard and try to stay with a lead group at least for a while. Then I would cycle at about Ironman pace or a little higher and set up a strong run, which I would feel out as I went.

This year I was really looking forward to starting in one of the earliest waves. In 2015, I started in the last wave, which led to a lot of congestion on the swim, a lot of passing on the bike (which caused a lot of energy to be wasted). Starting in an earlier wave meant a cleaner swim, and a lonely bike (just the way I like it).

Here's how it went:

Swim - 33:51 - New PR

By the time I got to the water's edge, my nerves were calmed. This was pretty typical for me, since most of my nerves are centered around just wanting to start. Now that time was coming. The water was cold, but I had prepared for that, so it wasn't shockingly so. As we sat by the buoy line waiting to start, there was a relatively strong current that seemed to be pulling us out a bit. We had to work a little to stay behind the start line.

It's always an interesting dynamic at the start of these races. Our heads above water, we are all very encouraging of one another, shouting to each other to have a great race, or laughing with each other. But the second that blow horn goes off, it's every man for himself with lots of contact and fighting for space.

I lined up to the far right of the buoy expecting to swim a little wide to avoid the contact, and settle into the buoy line once it thinned out. Once the horn sounded, I gave a quick sprint to stay with the feet of the first row of swimmers. I happened to end up right between a large gentleman on my left, and a very thin gentleman on my right. The man on my right had me a bit worried, as his stroke was very aggressive and wide. More of a scrappy swinging motion. One of those swinging arms to the face would likely break my nose! Since I breathed to the right, I was able to keep an eye on this guy as his sledgehammer hands splashed within inches of my face.

The gap began to narrow and I felt now would be the time to try to serge to the front of this group. Having this instinct makes me happy, since it shows that my confidence is building with regard to my swim. Previously, I would have resigned my position and stopped for a second to find another path behind them.

The surge worked, and I was now in open water as we approached the first turn buoy. The current assist seemed to be significant, since we got to that first turn buoy in no time at all.

Heading into the open water of the channel, we began to feel the swells of the large waves entering the harbor. It made swimming smooth a little more difficult, so that was a cue to increase the turnover and get more strokes in. I was starting to get into the mix with previous waves at this point, and I didn't see many people with light blue caps anymore (my wave). As we rounded the final turn buoy, the fastest guys in the next wave started to catch me. I tried to stick with their pace. No dice.

As we hit the boat launch area for the swim exit, I stood up very easily and was able to find my legs with no problem. I had a solid pace running through transition passing a lot of the people in front of me. I still felt energized, which was a new feeling for me after the swim. This was by far the most comfortable swim I have had in a race to date. Maybe I'm turning over a new leaf.

Bike: 2:29:17 - 4th fastest bike split in Age Group. Moved up to 5th place in 35-39, the highest place I have been in to date

An uneventful transition had led to the start of the bike. I had thought it would be cold for the first part, but it turned out to be rather comfortable. I took the pace really easy getting out to Pendleton, with all of the twists and turns and uneven surfaces. Again, I was really stoked to be in an early wave. Instead of hundreds of people in front of me which I had a chance of passing, I only had about 40-50 (obviously not counting pros!). This made for a very clean and uneventful ride.

Through the campground, I was caught by a couple of guys "working together". Once they passed, I was able to stay at legal distance from them while watching them drafting for most of that section. I noticed that my heart rate was on the very low side, so I was faced with the choice of staying there and giving up speed, or making a huge surge, enough to drop them (I didn't want them to start drafting off of me). I decided to surge, which I did for about 5-10 minutes or so until I was clear again.

Much of the rest of the first half of the ride was paced very conservatively. When I reached the gate at Christianitos, I did a self check. I was feeling great, and decided to be a bit more aggressive on the backside where the hills were located. The climb up the first large hill on was much easier than last year, again attributed to the lack of congestion. Being somewhat alone, I could pace myself up the hill and not have to surge around other people.

The downhills were fun and fast, aside from the 25 mph zone, where I rode the brakes to about 22 mph, just to be safe. Around this time, I started to catch some of the female pros. Another cool side effect of starting in an earlier wave!

Riding down Vandegrift back toward Oceanside, I backed off the power once again to recover a bit from the hills. I was caught by a couple of other people, including a fellow Dimond owner, who shouted "nice bike" as he flew by me. Into transition with a time about 5 minutes slower than last year. However, this seemed to be consistent with the other bike times in my age group. Both years, I had the 4th fastest bike split, but this year was a bit slower. The conditions didn't seem too much different, but I have a theory that perhaps it has something to do with the congestion on the course. Since our age group spent more effort surging to make passes last year, perhaps that is the reason we were faster. Who knows!

Run: 1:36:44 - Run PR

Transition was once again a breeze, aside from shoving Vaseline down my pants in front of a large crowd of people. But I've experienced the alternative and it isn't pretty. It's been my experience that if you're standing around the area of transition, you're bound to see something pretty gross. As a spectator, that's to be expected!

Running out of transition I felt in control of my run. A dialed back pace from what I felt I could run. Visions of mile 3 last year rushed through my head. It was at that time that I experienced painful side stitches that reduced me to walking for a few minutes. I had attributed that to too much nutrition in the early part of the race combined with too fast a pace. I didn't want to repeat that experience.

Again, I was all alone, which was an interesting experience on the run. The only people that were with me were the pros that zoomed by me every once and a while, which was really cool. It's a strange feeling running without seeing anyone in front of you. I had a constant feeling like I had to ask someone if I was going the right direction.

Through the first aid station, I grabbed only water and kept going. Still felt good an in control. I was trying to maintain a 7:15 pace, not too fast and pretty easy to sustain. Sure enough, as I approached mile 3-4, I started getting the stitches again. I backed off the pace a bit and was able to keep moving, but it was still frustrating knowing that I could run faster if it weren't for the side pains. They stuck with me even after the turnaround, and intensified as I passed through mile 5. I had to walk down the hill to get my heart rate down and get them to go away. Finally, they subsided, only sticking around intensely enough to remind me that they would destroy me if I attempted to pick up the pace.

At the halfway point, I started to feel much better, so the goal was going to become "don't slow down". In fact, just as an experiment, I wanted to see if I could push the pace a bit more and then walk the aid stations. The goal was to still average the 7:15-7:30 pace overall, but through a combination of 7 minute miles and walking through aid stations. This worked really well as I continued to feel totally in control.

Much of the rest of the run was uneventful, just trying to keep a controlled run without it getting ugly. Sure enough, I went through the finish line with a 3:30 PR over last year's half marathon, fully 10 minutes faster than the half marathon at Boulder 70.3, and even a few seconds faster than my half marathon PR (which was run while I was sick with one of those stomach bugs). Overall time was 4:47:23, which I was very pleased with, considering the tough start to the training year. It was good enough for 8th place in my age group, which was shocking to me. This was my first time in an Ironman branded race breaking the top 10. Especially at a race that boasts itself as one of the more competitive races, I am tremendously grateful.

From what I understand, even though I didn't stick around for the World Championship roll down ceremony (I can't really afford the trip to Australia in September), I heard that the slots rolled down well past my placing, which means if I were to have chosen to, I could have raced in the 70.3 World Championship this year. That's pretty awesome!

Now as I spend a week off before starting my build toward Ironman Vineman, I have a renewed drive to train well this season and to train smart, with goals to challenge myself and simply give the best of myself. I'm looking forward to what the rest of the year holds.

The Longest “Short” Race Report in History: Carlsbad Triathlon 2015

“Short” because I DNF’d right as I took my first pedal stroke on the bike.

“Long” because, as with every race I have run, I have taken away a tremendous lesson which can be applied to life in general. So I provide some… ahem... detail.

One year ago, I posted a quick recap on Facebook summarizing my experience in the 2014 Carlsbad Triathlon:

“Great race today in Carlsbad! Finished 6th in my age group, beating last year’s time by 10 minutes. Vast improvements on the bike and run. I had the fastest bike split in my age group! Zero improvement on the swim. I know what I’m working on this off-season.”

For those of you who know me and have read this blog, you know that in my short triathlon career, I have historically been a worse than average swimmer. As was implied in the bold section of the Facebook post above, I had trouble improving on it, and it was a point of frustration last season.

Last off season I did, in fact, work on my swim and made tremendous improvements in the pool. It was hard, it was boring, but I put in the work and I improved.

When I stood at the starting line yesterday, right behind the band of seasoned swimmers which would shortly be jockeying for position at the front of the swim pack, I had something with me that I didn’t last year. Confidence.

Well, technically, two things. Confidence and a Roka sleeveless wetsuit.

I hadn’t planned on trying to keep up with the lead pack on the swim. In fact, I had resigned myself to simply following safely behind and finding my own rhythm. But as I stood at the line 15 seconds before the horn sounded and saw the formations of a small set of waves coming in to greet us at the shoreline, my mind changed.

The swells were relatively large yesterday, basically a yellow flag kind of day which would imply possibly rip currents and larger, more powerful waves. Having grown up around the ocean, I am used to maneuvering through these waves - a situation you don’t often find in the calmer waters of the local YMCA pool or open water swim.

As the horn sounded, I kept my distance behind the “front line”, who charged the water as if a pinata had burst open over the ocean. As they hit the water, battled the incoming wave, I hesitated and dove as the water retreated. I was streamlined as everyone else was hacking the water.

Once clear, I began sprinting to stay with the lead swimmers and found a pair of feet aggressively kicking in front of me. This was a new experience for me, as the pace around me was fast, and I was caught up in it. I just wanted to make sure those feet didn't hit me!

I stayed with the bubbles of the frantic kicker until the first turn buoy, where he had taken a wider turn, and I was on the inside. I found myself in unfamiliar territory as I was now leading a group of swimmers. I sighted forward and saw another group off ahead. This was to be expected, as there were certainly super-swimmers in the bunch.

Things were going well. I was swimming a straight line, I was in front of all the racers I could see, and I wasn't tired or fearful.

My relative position, and inspired confidence helped me to keep a very high tempo, and keep me moving forward at a good pace. At the final turn we headed toward shore, and I again worked on timing my surges. I would take some relaxed strokes while looking behind me for incoming waves, and then increase my rate of turnover as the wave caught me. This served to speed me up, and save my energy.

Running up to transition, I was still relatively alone, but not sure what place I was in. The bike racks give an indication, however. I found a lot of bikes were left in the racks, which meant that I was toward the front. Time to go to work on the bike!

... Or so I thought. The second I got to the top of the hill, I tried to shift into a higher gear and nothing happened. I got off my bike and tried to see what the issue was, but everything was connected properly.

Meanwhile, all of the racers I had led out of the water began to pass me one by one.

I couldn’t immediately identify the problem, and since I couldn’t spin my way in the lowest gear through the whole bike leg, I decided to do the walk of shame back into transition.

It turns out that a connection inside the frame had become unplugged at some point between when I had racked the bike in transition and when I had finished my swim. Since I had shifted through the gears to test everything prior to heading to the swim start, I knew it was working then. How it became disconnected will remain a mystery, but the fault is on me for not being more thorough in checking the connections before the race.

I hate to not finish a race, and would do everything I can to finish regardless of how I am doing, save for injury and mechanical failure. Unfortunately this issue was out of my control.

Where this race was a victory was in the management of things I could control. My confidence, my swim training, my sighting, playing to my strengths. While things outside of our control can ruin a race, it is useless to dwell on them because there is absolutely nothing we can do about it!

Such is life. We control what we can, and accept what we can't. Sounds simple, but for complex beings, we often need to create complex answers. Not always the right path.

I later learned that I was 6th out of the water in my age group out of 37 people. I also learned, after seeing the results, that if I had biked and run the same splits as I did last year (which was entirely likely) that I would have won my age group.

For all intents and purposes, I should be disappointed. But how can I be when I set out a year ago to make a specific improvement, and I achieved that goal? I am stoked to have swam so well one year after committing to work on improving in that area, an area which had caused me frustration in the past.

Once again this sport has, even in the smallest instances, taught me about perspective, persistence, and acceptance. I am exceptionally grateful for having the opportunity to swim the way I did, and to learn to accept the “uncontrollables” as well. There’s always next year, and new lessons to learn.

Ironman Texas Race Report - Making the Best out of a Very Tough Day

I didn't respect the race. That's the bottom line. The first two Ironmen I raced I stayed within myself and accepted the fitness I had. I therefore executed great races. For Texas I did a few things wrong which led to a very painful day.

This is the nature of the race. It's a long day, and if you don't have respect for it, if you try to outrace yourself, if you try to control what you can't, it will tear you down. I learned some valuable lessons this past weekend that I won't soon forget.

What's funny is that I thought I already knew these lessons. In my mind I would tell myself to "race my race", or "stay within myself", but deep down I had certain expectations that I wanted to achieve. It's dangerous to set expectations on a race like this, because so often uncontrollable variables dictate how we will perform. Thus it is better to go in with an open mind to the "uncontrollables", and to control what you can. I tried to control too much.

For one, I was fixated on trying to qualify for Kona. I had specific time expectations for each leg of the race that I felt I had to meet in order to be in contention. My hope was to do a sub-1:10 swim, a 4:50 bike, and a 3:30 run. I felt that this would get me close based on results from previous years. Again, this was a mistake to think this way because of the "uncontrollables". My attitude should have been, and should always be, to race the best race I can on any given day. To execute my best swim, my best bike, and my best run without setting expectations. And if my best happens to be good enough on any given race day, then I will be fortunate enough to join the best athletes in Kona.

In a race like Ironman, it's important to focus on the positive aspects of the race, and at this race there were many, despite my inappropriately high expectations. And now that the race is over, that's what I choose to focus on. If I get down about what could have been, or what I missed out on, then I am not honoring the nature of this sport - that we can transcend doubt in ourselves and overcome significant challenges. It is not about finishing in a certain time, or qualifying for Kona. It is about finding out what we are capable of, and being the best we can be.

I crossed the line on Saturday, so I too was victorious. I am fortunate to have coaches with Smart Triathlon Training that can help me to be my best, and to regain my perspective after a race. Thanks to Luis, Diana, and Kelly for getting me to the finish line!

Pre Race

I flew into Houston on Wednesday before the race and got my Dimond all unpacked and put together. Once again, the Hen House got my bike to the destination without bike fees. If I fly enough, not only will the bags be paid for in saved baggage fees, but so will my Dimond!

The weather in Texas was pretty wet leading up to the race. Very rainy in the afternoon, but overall the air felt comfortable. I knew that I was well prepared for the heat of Texas. 

At this race we would have the opportunity to do a practice swim on the Friday before the race. This was absolutely necessary for me, since it would be my first non-wetsuit race. I had convinced myself that I was confident in my swim, but in my heart I was still very anxious. It was still a big fear of mine to be out in the water swimming with hundreds of other people without the security of neoprene. 

The water was very murky to the point of not being able to see much beyond the goggles. This meant that being aware of other people around me would be difficult, so I would be getting to know strangers very personally. So personally, in fact that, without the relative anonymity of the swim, would have me arrested for indecent activity. My apologies to all the people I inadvertently violated. 

Within about 200 yards of the swim I had a minor panic attack that left my trying to float on my back and failing. I realized that with the chop, I wouldn't be able to go to my back and relax. I would have to keep swimming and relax that way. Sure enough, after a few hundred yards I felt relaxed and in control of my swim. After the swim, I checked my watch to see how I did and was very disappointed to see that I was swimming about 1:57/100. How was this possible? It really weighed heavily on me, and I wasn't sure how I could have possibly swam this slow. My average pace in the pool is about 25 seconds faster per hundred for a similar distance. I chalked it up to a glitch with the Garmin and moved on to check my bike and gear in.

Racked and ready. Always bring protection!

The night before the race I slept surprisingly well, and wasn't really too nervous when I got up. I had my typical breakfast of blended oatmeal with a banana, flaxseed, and a bit of almond butter (one at about 3:30, and another at 4:45), and headed out to the race site. 

Parking was easy, as I think I was one of the first ones there. I parked in a lot right next to the finish line, which was one of the smartest things I did all day. I hiked to the transition area, got my tires pumped up, made sure all systems were go on the bike, and trekked out to the swim start, about a mile away. 

Ironman Texas has the best toilet situation out of any race I've been to. There were plenty of porta potties, and very short lines. It was easy to flush out my nervous stomach. 

As I was getting body marked, the man marking me asked if I was going to wear a wetsuit, and I hesitated for a moment. If I were to wear a wetsuit, I would be forfeiting any chance at a Kona slot or awards. Also, if I did wear a wetsuit, what message would I be telling myself? That it was somehow okay to take the easy way out? That I was going to let fear win? That I didn't trust my training? "No wetsuit", I said to the guy.

I got into the corral, standing behind the 1:00 to 1:10 seed (as I was expecting - read "hoping" - to finish in under 1:10. Surprisingly, the corral was very empty in the minutes leading up to the race. I had thought we would be packed in like sardines, but that was not the case. The minor panic attack from the day before began to get to me again, but I suppressed those thoughts as I looked around at all the people racing today. Each of them had stories, fears, and anxieties. Certainly I could manage mine. When the cannon fired, the age groupers went off. It probably took about 5 minutes before I was in the water and starting to swim, sans wetsuit.

Swim:

Immediately, the visions of the practice swim returned to me and I lost my confidence. At about the same point as in the practice swim, I had a panic attack and turned to my back. It probably lasted about 30 seconds, but it was an overwhelming feeling of anxiety. I had just struggled through 200 meters, and I was now very aware that I had 3600 to go, and it wouldn't get easier. After 15-20,000 yards per week of swimming, this should be second nature to me by now. Why couldn't I just put one arm in front of the other and crawl through this? I've done this plenty of times! It's pretty demoralizing that I have been doing this for a few years now and I still let this fear get the best of me.

And with that, I got angry at myself. I told myself to sack up and start swimming again. I would not let the fear take over. I would let go and release this fear to my higher power. And that I did, and I immediately began to feel comfortable again. Any time I began to feel anxious, I would say a quick prayer of gratitude and get back to swimming. 

My little diva moment probably cost me a couple minutes, but it wasn't much. After that, I was turning over well, and very focused on my form. I "thought" I was swimming nice and strong, if not a little off course a few times. For most of the swim, I hugged the shoreline quite a bit to stay out of the crowds. Since I breathe to my right (the direction of the shore) I tended to drift into the little inlets and had to correct pretty often. In retrospect, this probably cost me quite a bit of time.

As we entered the canal, I was amazed to see that I was alone in my own little pocket of solitude. I had expected that once the swim funneled into the 10 meter wide canal that it would naturally become more crowded. But I couldn't have been more wrong. Add to that that the flow of athletes swimming down the canal created somewhat of a "lazy river" feel, where we seemed to have been helped along by a current. 

As I got out of the water, I was resigned to the fact that I probably did not meet my goal because I had a little meltdown. I had probably swam a 1:15 or so. Looking at my watch, I was thoroughly demoralized to see 1:22. My worst Ironman swim to date. 

With all the progress I had made in the pool, that swim time was tough to swallow. My swim times were getting progressively worse at each race. At that moment, I pretty much knew my chances at a Kona slot were gone. My attitude should have been to say "it is what it is" and then move on with my race, but instead I resolved to make it up on the bike.

I will say before I go any further that while I was disappointed at the time, I have since corrected my perspective. I had conquered another big fear, and swam the iron distance without a wetsuit. A few short years ago I wouldn't have even dreamed I would be able to do that. My swim will come around, but for now I have to focus on the victories. I faced a fear, and I didn't give up. 

Swim Time: 1:22, 165th in 35-39

Bike:

Into transition, and it was a muddy mess. Still frustrated over my swim, I arrived at my bike, which wasn't hard to find since it was the only one left on the rack. If there was any place I was going to make up time it would be on the bike. 

I left T2 in a very familiar position, trailing half the field of athletes and needing to put in some work to pass them all. I had deliberately started the swim in the earlier part of the corral so that I could get out of the water and not have to constantly pass people. Unfortunately it didn't quite go as planned. Fortunately, the course was wide enough that passing wasn't too much of a challenge.

Great action shot taken by the Dimond Bike guys. Such a fun bike!

Immediately on the bike I felt great. I checked my heart rate and it was in the high 130's, which was pleasantly surprising. Usually at this point in a race, it was spiking as I got my racing legs going. With a renewed focus, I drove on, committed to pushing the pace. I went through the first 25 miles in 1 hour. Then through mile 56 at 2:18. That was 6 minutes faster than my Oceanside bike split. The Dimond was performing brilliantly, and I was feeling very strong. 

It was this boost of confidence that led to my next mistake. I got cocky and let my pride get the best of me. Seeing my half split, I knew I was on track to a rocking bike split. With a little luck, I could save my race. At around mile 60, I was passed for the first time. What I should have done was settle in legally behind him for a while and save some energy. What I did instead, once it was legal, was to proceed to pass him and start "racing". Yes, I pulled away from him, but it would cost me later. I was now pushing my heart rate well above my aerobic threshold. It was way to early to do this. 

As I continued on the second half of the bike, I continued to burn a bunch of matches making passes as the riders became increasingly stronger cyclists. I was beginning to feel it as we headed into the headwind on the chip seal roads. For the next 30 miles or so, the road would be bumpy and windy. 

With about 10 miles left on the bike, I decided that it was best to back it off and get my heart rate back down into my aerobic zone. But by this time it was too late. My body was already firmly established in an anaerobic state, and there was no getting it back. 

Into T2, and my bike split was 4:51, pretty close to my 4:50 goal, but it cost me a lot of energy to get there. The Dimond had performed superbly, and had helped me to achieve a 21 minute PR for a Ironman bike. Now onto the run. 

Bike time: 4:51, 38th in 35-39, 12th best AG bike split

Run:

Once out of T2 and onto the run, I felt good and focused on my breathing, which had worked well for me in training. Looking at my heart rate, it was already going well into the 160s, which was too high to start a marathon. I tried to slow it down and keep it below 150, but it wasn't happening. I struggled with this for the first few miles, until I decided to walk a section to try to get it down. 

I took an inventory of my physical state to see where I was at. The only place that I was having trouble was that I couldn't summon the strength to run for any significant distance. My legs were fatigued. Additionally, my heart rate would spike when I started running, so I would tire fairly soon after running. The good news was that my nutrition was spot on. I consumed 300 calories per hour, and I experienced no GI issues. I was well hydrated, and my mental capacities were in good shape (in other words, I didn't seem to be at risk of heat stroke). So the game became run as far as I could before I had to walk. 

At this point in the race, this became an effective strategy for me. I would run between the aid stations, walk the aid station to get my heart rate down, and start running again. I would also have to occasionally walk at other times as well. It was hot and humid, but I didn't feel like that was affecting me too much. I had acclimated well, and didn't feel uncomfortable from a heat standpoint.

In my first lap, I had the fortune of being passed by the lead female, a world champion, and a world champion runner up. The first was Angela Naeth, who I paced for a few seconds. Second came a while later when Leanda Cave passed me. Then shortly after was Rachel Joyce. As these women passed, I recognized why these women were pros. They were so incredibly strong, and their form was amazing. It is why I love this sport, because a guy like me can run side by side with the pros (for at least a brief amount of time). Throughout the course of the run, I would be passed by many more of the pro women as they finished their final laps, including Kelly Williamson and Heather Wertle. 

Lap 2 was very similar to lap 1, and I think I even maintained a similar pace. If I was going slow, at least I was consistent. When I passed mile 13.1, I was still under 2 hours, so I had a faint glimmer of hope that I could complete the marathon in under 4:00. I quickly threw that thought out of my head as I remembered that that thinking on the bike had put me in the position I was in now. I then resolved to not look at my watch, and not follow my heart rate or pace, lest I get discouraged. I was going completely by feel.

I passed by a few of my Smart Triathlon Training teammates who looked very good. They all had a good day, with two top 5 finishes for Roger Wacker and Rusty Robertson. 

It's easy to recognize on this course how the crowd support can fuel you. I found myself running much faster and cleaner going through the massive crowds around the canal, but I suffered more on the outskirts where there wasn't much support. On lap 3, the run course was starting to get crowded, and I started to get a new source of inspiration, as I was running with people who had stories to tell. These were the people that were going to finish late into the night, and would have been on the course for 15+ hours. For me, it's hard to imagine being on the course for that long. These people truly have the "never quit" mentality. 

When I ran into the canal section and got back to the crowds, I had a renewed energy from the crowd support. I ran through miles 22-24 only to walk during 25 again in the last aid station. After I got out of the aid station, I started running again and didn't stop until I approached the fork in the road which led athletes onto the second and third lap. I pulled right into the finisher section and was greeted by tons of people lining the street to cheer on finishers. I looked back and saw that I was once again alone to enjoy  the finish line on my own. I've been lucky for the last three races to do so. 

As I ran through the finish chute, I was greeted by the catcher who brought me toward pizza and burritos. Surprisingly, both of those options sounded appetizing to me.

Run Time: 4:04, 31st in 35-39

Overall: 10:27:58, 31st in 35-39, 150/2587 overall

Post Race:

At the Kona rolldown, I knew that the slots would not go 31 deep in my age group, but I wanted to stick around to see how deep they did go. For my age group it rolled down as far as 11th place, with a time of 9:47. This was a far cry from the 9:30 I thought I needed. It goes to show that time goals are arbitrary, and anything is possible. I don't have any resentments about this, as I still came through on a personally challenging day. Furthermore, I found that Kona is still on my radar, when it so happens that I have the race that gets me there. This race wasn't my race to get there.

I learned a lot from this race, and I am taking away some valuable lessons. The first is to race within myself, and to accept the fitness I have. I could have had a better race if I had done this. The second is to do more open water swims. I really need to focus on how to translate my pool swim fitness to the open water.

Finally, I learned not to get discouraged, but to focus on the positive aspects of the race. A lot went well in this race, despite my best efforts to self sabotage. I swam a full Ironman swim without a wetsuit, a first for me and another fear conquered. I had a 21 minute PR on the bike, thanks to my new Dimond superbike. I had an Ironman PR despite a very tough day. And of course, I crossed the finish line, something everyone should be proud of. If I can continue to focus my attention on the positive, I can have much better races in the future.

A few days after the race, and I am already prepared to start training for Boulder, and to apply these principles to my race there. I am looking forward to staying within myself on the bike and actually running the marathon.

I am grateful for the lessons I learned in Texas. I'm grateful that I didn't quit. I'm grateful that I was there to see some inspiring people finish the race. I'm grateful that I can look back and focus on another successful race. Ironman Texas may not have been the race I wanted to have, but it was the race I needed to have.

Ironman 70.3 California 2015 Race Report -

One of the defining images of California iconography, aside from the beaches and surfers, is certainly the insane amounts of traffic flowing into and out of our overcrowded cities. It's an accurate portrayal of most of the populated areas of California, from San Diego through Los Angeles if you ask me, and if anyone wishes to experience a simulation of the overcrowded state of California in race form, then Ironman California 70.3 is your venue.

My hometown race was the most crowded race I have yet experienced. I mean scary crowded. From the start of the swim to the finish line, piles upon piles of racers. This had a lot to do with the fact that there were upwards of 3,000 registrants. It also had to do with where I started in the race. I was in the very last wave.

Fortunately, I have a Supersonic Speed Cycle.

My first race with the Dimond and it performed beautifully, navigating the technical course and dodging throngs of other racers. It was in it's element, and appeared willing and happy to find its path through the masses. But more on that later.

As much as I hate crowds, I have to say that I love this venue. I get to sleep in my own bed, it's only a 30 minute drive down the coast from my house, half of the course is along the bike route I typically ride for training rides, and we get to see a part of California that not a lot of civilians get to see - the backside of Camp Pendleton. Plus, you just can't beat the weather, which this year was absolutely perfect for racing.

This would be my first race of the season, which is loosely packed with two half Ironmans and two fulls. In the offseason, I worked on my swim... a lot. I also worked on my bike... a lot. I suppose I worked on everything a lot because in the weeks leading up to the race I was logging 50+ mile running weeks as well. In the pool I was doing a lot of short intervals with short rest to try to increase my speed. I had a lot of success in increasing my paces in the pool, but I wasn't sure how it would translate in open water.

My goals in this race were to a) swim close to a 1:30/100 yd pace for the 1.2 mile swim (about a 31-32 min swim), and b) hammer the hell out of the bike to see how fast I could go. In other words I wanted to try to blow myself up on the run to see what it would take. If I could blast out on the bike and still have a respectable run time, I would therefore increase my tolerance on the bike. I had hoped this would translate into about a 2:25 bike split. A large part of me just wanted to see what this bike could do though.

Dimond Racked and Race Ready

For the run I didn't have many expectations, except that I hoped to do a 1:35 or under. I have a lot of trouble running "fast" and was hoping for a bit of a breakthrough. In 2 of my previous 3 70.3's I had done a 1:40 half marathon. I had hoped to beat that to give me a bit more confidence that I could run a 3:30 or faster IM marathon come May.

From a nutrition standpoint I wanted to go a bit minimal. I packed a concentrated bottle of 700 calories of glucose formula with about 1400 mg sodium (planned for 2.5 hours) along with a 7 oz bottle of Red Bull for the bike. On the run I would live off the Gatorade and Red Bull on course. 

Swim: 34:01

The pre race routine was uneventful. A little fog, a little breeze, a lot crowded, but nothing special. As I mentioned, I was in the last wave, which started about an hour after the race start so I had a lot of time to just hang around and watch the pros start. Being last does have its perks, though. Porta potty lines were empty for the first time in my triathlon history (if not "slightly" used).

I had a lot of nerves about the swim, but not because I feared the swim necessarily, but more so because I really wanted my improvement to translate in the open water. Nothing would have disheartened me more than to look at the clock after the swim and see 38:XX again showing no improvement. 

The waves of racers slowly made their way onto the course, until the 35-39 year old male age group started to wade knee deep in the water at the swim start. As we got ready to start, the fog lifted, which was a nice sign of things to come.

Weather before our wave start...

Weather during our wave start!

I positioned myself at the front of the line on the far right side, wanting to avoid being caught behind people as much as possible and avoiding the notion that I was going to draft some people. I recognize now, after a number of races, that the draft effect in swimming is really only effective if you can go out hard and stay with the fast swimmers. I'm not a sprinter, so I couldn't possibly hang with the fast guys, even at the beginning. So the best thing that drafting would do for me is get me behind someone is is about as fast (slow) as me, but possibly keep me with a much slower pack. I decided to just do my own race.

When we went out I went out hard (for me) and still recognized that the lead pack of people was moving away quickly. But I wasn't getting passed, which led me to believe that I positioned myself well. I stayed on the right hand side of the group, following the hypotenuse to the first turn buoy. I had no contact all the way out to that first buoy and then made the turn toward the breakwater.

It was at this point that it started getting crowded. Unfortunately, I had just found my rhythm when I started running into a wall of people in the form of the previous waves mixed with faster people from our wave. I began to get kicked and punched a bit, and even had somebody grab my ankle (I STILL don't understand the reasoning behind people doing this. It is simply a jerk move shielded by the anonymity of the crowded swim). 

A few times at this point I had to stop and regroup to find an open space. I figured it would only waste more energy fighting under the water for position when I could more quickly find a better line. As we left the relative protection of the harbor and entered into the channel, it started to get a bit bumpier, which caused a number or people to get panicky. I ran into a few people stopped in the middle of the swim, floating on their backs, or swimming sideways to get to a paddle boarder. Once to the turnaround buoy's, I took the outermost line against the jetty to get some protection from the chop, get away from people, and find the shortest line. Fortunately at this point I was alone and it felt faster on the way back in. 

I focused on my turnover rate, making sure that I was between 60-70 strokes/min, vs. 40-50 in previous races. As I approached the swim exit, I saw a wall of racers just standing and blocking the exit. I believe they were waiting for the "unzippers" to unzip their wetsuits. As I maneuvered my way through the people, I felt my wetsuit get unzipped. Whoever did that had an amazing grab! As I looked at the clock I saw 37:xx and got a little discouraged. As I ran through the chute, I realized that the clock started 1 hour and 4 minutes before my wave start. So the real swim time was around 33:xx (officially 34:01). Considering the traffic on the swim, I'm happy with the progress. A 4 minute PR!

I ran hard into T1 and felt surprisingly fresh. Nothing significant here, just that it was a really long run. Then off on the bike.

Bike: 2:24 - 23.33 Mph

The plan was to bike hard and see what I could do, but I would have to wait before I could hammer down. It would be at least a few miles before I would have room enough to make any sort of move. Most of the beginning of the course is pretty technical, curving around greater than 90 degree turns to get onto Camp Pendleton. With the heavy traffic it would have made things extremely dangerous for everyone if I went into hero mode this early. Instead I sat back and let my legs get used to spinning.

Once onto the base I could finally start making passes, but the crowds didn't really ever let up on the bike. Fortunately, this was my home course, and I was riding a Dimond. This bike handles so amazingly well I can't even describe it. It just made putting a little extra power in that much easier. With control being much simpler, I could focus more on keeping the tempo high and maintaining a solid pace.

I didn't know what to expect on the second half of the course, since it went through a restricted area of the base, but I knew the first half very well, which was advantageous, since I could anticipate the false flats, the punchy climbs, the faster areas, and even the potholes. This led to a pretty fast bike split through this area. Going through San Onofre was a blast as it was fast and flat, with plenty of room to flex some bike muscles. I knew that I could put down some high power here because the return on the effort is huge on these flat sections. I made a lot of passes here.

One of the many no passing zones came at the end of the San Onofre section before we turned onto Christianitos. As I settled in behind a rider, who was going pretty slow, we were passed by two other racers. The first time I was passed in the race and it was illegally. Once past this short no passing zone I was able to open it back up get back into my pacing. God I love this bike. Did I mention I love this bike?

Above photos by David Petty Photography - www.davidpettyphotography.com

Here's where the course became unknown to me. I was racing literally in my backyard, but I could have been racing in Nashville. Everything from here on out would be new to me. It started out rolling as we went through Christianitos, and then made a sharp right to start climbing up Basilone. This was an amazing scenery, and for those moments on the course I wished I could be among the pros so that I could enjoy this course without the crowds. The untouched foothills of California are absolutely gorgeous, and it makes me sad to think of how much this has been destroyed over the rest of the state to add more condos, office buildings, outlet malls (I'm talking to you, San Clemente!), and freeways. Alright, off my soap box.

The hills were killer, and I wasn't prepared for the two massive climbs we would have to take on. Regardless, I mashed through them and made it to the downhill sections where I could make up some of that lost speed.

After the second big climb, there was a no passing zone where a 25 mph speed limit was enforced through radar and timing mats. Everyone was well aware of this zone, as someone was killed here in 2001. Despite this, I was passed yet again by two racers (only the second time I was passed, and again illegally and dangerously). Once through this zone, it was essentially downhill for the remainder of the race with a bit of a headwind. But I put my head down and hammered through to the end.

For the last few miles, we faced the same meandering course that we did at the beginning, so I settled my heart rate a bit and was able to recover for a little while before getting to T2. Since we entered transition in a no passing zone, it was a perfect opportunity to bring the heart rate down and get fresh for the run.

Transition 2 was uneventful as well, and I was able to quickly get onto the run course.

 Run: 1:40, 7:38 min/mile

I had left T1 in 53rd place in my age group and entered T2 in 8th. As I ran out of T2 I noticed how great I felt and looked at my pace. It showed about a 6:50 min/mile. I reassessed how I felt and realized that this pace felt really good, but decided to settle into a 7-7:15 pace instead so I didn't burn my matches too early. I had a really good shot at a top 10 performance in a really competitive race, and I didn't want to squander that by being too aggressive. In retrospect, I probably should have maintained the momentum and kept the pace strong. After all, the aggressive bike seemed to work this time, and I felt good on the run.

At mile 1 I grabbed some Gatorade and continued to dig, over and above the pier and on through miles 2 and 3. At mile 3 I decided to grab some Red Bull and immediately cramped up in my side. I tried to run through it, but it was one of those stabbing pains which I couldn't tolerate. I had to walk, which was demoralizing since I was only at mile 3. I thought of solutions as I was being passed by concerned athletes asking if I was ok. I decided to take a salt pill. Unfortunately, I wouldn't know if this was going to work for a while since it had to work its way through my system.

I'm still not sure what happened, but I have a feeling that I took in too much nutrition too early. I grabbed Gatorade at miles one and two, and I think I overdid it. Less is more, and I need to follow that mantra more often. Taking in too much in these races can often do more harm than good.

After about a half mile I was able to run again, but my pace never really recovered to my original awesome pace. I had to fight through the rest of the half marathon to maintain about a 7:30 pace. Doing the math, it wasn't likely that I was going to hit m goal for a 1:35. I was constantly self-assessing, making sure that I was not dehydrated, calorie deficient, or about to cramp. As I ran through the last two miles I was able to steadily increase my pace until the final few hundred yards, where I saw two other racers ahead of me. The first one I knew was in my age group. The other I wasn't so sure, but I decided that I wanted to make it a sprint finish and try to pass them both.

I succeeded in passing the guy who was in my age group and then increased my pace even more. I was able to pass the next guy just before the finish. Even though I didn't meet my time goal on the run, the fact that I was able to sprint out the finish and pass two other people was very redeeming.

I ended up running a 1:40 half marathon, which is the very same time that I ran on 2 of my previous 3 half Ironmans. While I didn't necessarily improve on my run, I was proud of this finish considering my strong bike leg.

More photos by David Petty Photography (www.davidpettyphotography.com)

My total race time was 4:44, good enough for 12th place out of 300+ athletes in my age group, and 107th overall out of about 3000 athletes overall. My best finish for a 70.3 to date, and a PR by 13 minutes. I really enjoy this distance, and want to commit myself to doing a lot more of these races next year while trying to get faster.

I have a lot of thanks to go out, especially to my wife and family for always supporting me. I want to thank Smart Triathlon Training for their guidance and effective training programs (my improvements would not be possible without them!). Thanks to Dimond Bikes for making the longest middle portion of this race so dang enjoyable. Their service and support is as amazing as their bike.

 And a big thanks to David Petty Photography for taking some awesome pictures along the course. He took some great shots of a lot of athletes, and if you're looking for shots of you, you may find them at his website. In my opinion, these are much better than the FinisherPix shots.

Next on the schedule will be Ironman Texas on May 16. I'm jumping right into my first full of the season, and it should be a hot and humid one. Hopefully by then I will have my nutrition dialed in! Until next time.