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 Silverman 70.3 Pre Race

There's this incredible feeling you get when you approach the end of a fantastic season. It's a feeling that may be compared to the finishing of any major project in life and is almost unfitting for such a major event or achievement, I can describe it in one simple word.

Meh.

It bothers me that I feel this way, but I can't escape it. I'm like a student at the end of a school year just phoning it in until the last bell rings. Don't get me wrong, I'm doing all the training, and I think I'm prepared, but I'm not giving Ironman Silverman 70.3 the consideration it so rightly deserves. Due to the scale of this event, I should not be so careless. However, I am so ready for an off season, and have had such a tough recovery since Ironman Boulder that I can't help but be a little apathetic toward this race.

That said, I know that as we drive out toward Vegas, my attitude will change. It better, or I will be in for a heavy dose of ass handing by this potentially brutal course. One thing is for certain. No matter how much apathy I show toward this race going in, I'm going to be absolutely humbled by the time I cross the finish. I will need to have a lot more respect for this course. Here are the reasons.

1. This is a harsh landscape. Every time I have been to Vegas, when I would poke my head out of the comfort of whatever smoke filled casino I happened to be occupying, I would immediately be punched in the face with whatever weather extreme happened to be happening that day, whether it be extreme cold, extreme hot, etc. Get away from the strip, and I am guessing that those extremes are amplified. The temperature is for this weekend is supposed to peak at 95, feeling like 99. I haven't been mentally preparing myself enough for that.
2. This will likely be my first non-wetsuit swim. I'm okay with that, but I've never done it before, so I should be a little more considerate of that. Additionally, I don't do well in the cold. While the weather is going to be hot later in the day, We're looking at low 60's as we begin the race. I'm a wuss, so 76 degrees in the water is still not super warm for me. I'll be freezing my but off around the turn buoy, and trying to stay relaxed.
3. The bike course will be hilly. While not as hilly as the original Silverman, it's going to be at least as bad as Cabo, which was a constant up and down. I'll need to be solid on my bike in order to be fresh for the run, and there is a lot of potential to over-bike. Not to mention potential wind gusts in the desert along the course.
4. Did I mention that it will be hot? Well, it's going to be hot. Super hot. Especially on the run. My run has been suffering a bit lately, and this won't help.

Ok, just writing that out started to build up my anticipation a bit. Now I'm starting to have the respect for this thing! But alas, while I love racing, I can't wait for this one to be over so that I can begin to enjoy the off season. I am in desperate need of rest and recovery!

I hesitate to set any expectations for my race because there will be so many variables, including my first non-wetsuit swim, a hilly bike course, and questionable weather and wind. I will say that I hope to finish strong, healthy and uninjured. Unlike Boise, I hope to get off the bike with zero stomach issues. My nutrition plan seemed to work in Boulder, so I'm going to use that to get me to a place where I can get off the bike and run strong. Ideally, I want to finish this race ready to focus on recovery and off season fitness maintenance. I won't win any prizes at this one, except to say that I will have faced another fear (non-wetsuit open water swimming), and finished yet another 70.3. I'll be happy looking back on this race season, and looking forward to the next!

Ironman Boise 2014 Race Report, and a Search for Sushi Amongst the Strip Clubs

Let me just preface by saying that we visited neither a sushi restaurant or a strip club. But more on that later.

I didn't really know what to expect coming to Boise... Scratch that, I kinda did. My flight over which was filled with triathletes sitting next to large bearded men in suspenders and flannel pretty much confirmed my suspicions. However, what I DIDN'T know what to expect was with regard to the conditions come race day. Two years ago it was really cold. Last year it was really hot. Every year it is really windy. I was hoping for a Goldilocks effect of "just right".

This was the first time flying with my Ruster Sports Armored Hen House, and I have to say that I was tremendously nervous about flying with my trusty steed packed up and at the mercy of the TSA and baggage brutes. But after disassembling the bike and seeing how secure it seemed in the case, it was clear that unless the TSA or baggage brutes did anything malicious (gulp) it would be okay. Sure enough when I arrived in Boise, there it was waiting for me in one piece. Well, at least not in any more pieces than I had disassembled it into. I was very impressed with how it performed, and will write up a product feature on it soon.

The morning before the race I loaded my bike up and went down to the expo to check in and I thought I would have the on-site bike mechanic evaluate my bike reassembly skills. You see, I'm pretty confident I did okay, and likely would have foregone the professional bike check if it were a flat course. But considering that right out of T1 we would be going into a blazing fast descent, I thought it to be better safe than sorry, lest this happen to me.



All systems were go, and I dropped off my bike at Lucky Peak in T1 for a slumber party with 1400 of its friends. Then my wife and I were off to enjoy our pre-race dinner ritual, sushi! Now, sushi in Boise. Our first mistake was to try to make that combination work. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure that there are plenty of good sushi places in Boise. But at 6 pm on a Friday night without knowing the area, this is a decision you do not want to rush. So we honed our Yelping skills and drove by a number of supposedly "decent" places only to find they were all in less than stellar areas. The last one we went to was across the street from two strip clubs, and adjacent to a used car lot called "Fairly Reliable Bob's" (no joke). We decided to skip sushi this time around. We ate elsewhere and went back to the hotel to sleep.

This was the first time I was able to wake up with the sun shining on race morning. All other races tend to start around first hint of corona over the horizon, but this race starts at high noon. And being a wave start, I wouldn't go off until high noon thirty. Many people praise the late start as a way to get a full night sleep, sleep in, and eat a full breakfast. I couldn't disagree more. First off, I like to get my suffering going as early as possible. It adds to the experience. Second, I don't find it wise to go into a race with a full belly of complete breakfast. I opted to go with my usual, and have a shake for breakfast and some quinoa and oatmeal a couple hours before the start. 

My goal for this race? I wanted to go under 5 hours, specifically do about a 2:30 bike split and maintain a run pace of about 7:15-7:20. This would have proven for me some significant fitness gains since my last half. Since this was a hillier bike course than Palm Springs, even if I had the same bike split I would have considered that an improvement. Additionally, I wanted to see how I fared with a little altitude (Boise being at about 3,000 ft). The course would likely be a good practice for Boulder.

We were bussed up to Lucky Peak Reservoir for the swim start. 

It was a beautiful view as the pictures will demonstrate below.

This is where we bike out of T1, scream down the hill and into the plains of South Boise

Lucky Peak Reservoir, a bit calm, but the winds picked up just in time for our wave

Swim: 38:41, 58/194 in AG, 399/1435 Overall - Man, I need a swim coach!

Our wave, the 35-39 male age group, was the 8th wave to go off, so there would be plenty of traffic on the course by the time we got out there. Unfortunately, we had no time for a warm up, so immediately when we got in the water I started bobbing my head in and out to get my face used to the water and through the panic of the cold. Fortunately it wasn't as cold as it was in previous years, only about 60 degrees (I'd heard stories of it being in the low 50's).

The gun went off and we all started swimming, and I started feeling relatively comfortable pretty quickly. I began to feel a good rhythm, and fell into a pack of swimmers I felt was going a comfortable speed. Tempo still felt high, so I thought I was pushing the effort pretty well. I also took this opportunity to practice my drafting skills. I would find a swimmer that would pass me and jump in behind him and lighten my effort. It seemed to work pretty well over the course of the swim.

Rounding the first turn buoy, it became harder to swim with forward progress. It felt like the current was against us, which was probably correct, since the wind was pushing at our faces. I began to swallow a lot of water because I was breathing out of my right side, which was where the wind was coming from. At about the third turn buoy, I began to get pretty bad cramps in my calves. This had never happened to me in the water before and was quite unnerving, since I could no longer straighten or bend my foot. It just sat there like a painful brick in the water. I did my best to try to work it out and swim on, but it continued to persist. Right as we hit the dock, with about 20 meters to go, it seized up really bad and I sat there floating right at the end of the swim, unable to move, while trying to stretch out my calf. I dog paddled the rest of the way to the swim exit, and stood up, fully expecting to fall down again in a heap of uselessness. To my surprise, all systems were working properly, albeit a bit sore. Despite the hiccups, I was expecting to see a swim time of 38 minutes, and that is exactly what I got. Still a little disappointed that I haven't had any improvement since my last half in December (hence the comment above - I really need a swim coach!).

Transition 1: 3:16

There was a bit of a hill running from the swim exit to transition, and naturally my heart rate reflected the shock of moving from upper body to lower body activity. I bypassed the wetsuit strippers, as I couldn't justify them saving me any time, and continued on to my bike. I'm sure I could have gone faster, but I still haven't mastered the art of the "clean transition". This requires that all swim items be put into the bike bag, and I am still pretty slow at that task. But, I grabbed my bike and headed out.

Bike: 2:32:17, 22.06 mph avg., 20/194 in AG, 114/1435 Overall

On to the bike, and I was all set to enjoy a fast descent. However, because I am a slow swimmer, I was met with a ton of congestion on the bike immediately, which consequently meant that people were riding side by side (which would be considered a blocking penalty, but nobody seemed to care too much). Thus, no fast descent for me. 

There were only a couple climbs on this course, and the first began about 3 miles in. The course was still congested here, but the slow and safe pace provided a good opportunity to pass a lot of people. My heart rate during this climb was at the high 150's, which is too high for a half Ironman, but I figured I would take it back once I got to the flats. I did that and averaged a heart rate of 151 over the course of the ride. 

The course was a point to point, which  basically resembled a giant fork (if that fork had spent significant amounts of time in the garbage disposal), The majority of the ride, from T1 out to the first turnaround, and the turnout toward T2, was westbound, which consequently was into the wind (coming out of the NW at about 15 mph). The conditions, combined with a relatively false flat course, provided a prime opportunity to overdo it on the bike, which I (and apparently Apolo Ohno), delivered on.

If I failed to mention it already, Apolo Anton Ohno, Olympic speed skater, was doing his first triathlon in Boise. I was curious to know how well his fitness would transfer over into triathlon, and if I would catch him on the bike or run (his wave started about 15 minutes before mine). Around mile 20 of the bike, I had my answer. He was flying, and still about 5 miles ahead of me. He had to be matching me or even going slightly faster. Dude was flying, even with his camera crew in toe.

One of the things I found challenging on this race was staying well hydrated enough. I used the same setup I had in Mexico, which included a cage on my aero bars, and one in my seat tube. I would use my nutrition in one and water in the other. I was fully expecting that they would hand out nice water bottles like they did in Mexico. In fact, I started with my "Ironman Los Cabos" water bottle, which I planned to discard at the first aid station and replace with a nice, new "Ironman Boise" water bottle. Unfortunately, they chose to go with the cheap plastic Arrowhead bottles, which did not fit in either cage. Reluctantly, at the first aid station, I traded in my nice Cabo souvenir for a $1.00 generic Arrowhead light plastic bottle. The aid stations were spread out farther than Cabo as well, which meant I had to make the water go farther. Throughout the whole bike I felt like I wasn't hydrating well enough. This was certainly a learning experience for Boulder, which will likely have the same spread of aid stations. This, along with the cramping calves, would haunt me on the run.

Fun little descent into T2, and I was off on the run.

Garmin File

Transition 2: 2:36

Nothing really to report here. Just have to give props to the volunteers. In this case they saw me dismount my bike, shouted out my number, and ran too my gear and pointed it out to me. It was amazingly coordinated, and surprising that it is something they do only once a year (and for free). I heard that there was 1,200 volunteers for the 1,400 athletes, almost a 1:1 ratio. 

Also had a quick pee break, since I didn't pee at all on the bike. I could tell now that I was clearly dehydrated, and my stomach was cramping pretty badly (not due to nutrition this time, but due to lack of hydration I believe). I would only be getting water from the aid stations, and taking eating gels and salt individually during the run. This was also a test run for Boulder. In Cabo I had a fuel belt with all of these items mixed together for easy consumption. Only problem was I had to lug around a Batman-esque utility belt for 26 miles. I wanted to see if I could get away without the belt this time around.

Run: 1:40:19, 7:39/mile, 20th in AG, 102 Overall

Immediately a few things began occurring to me as I went out on my run. First, my legs were already jello and my calves were screaming with every footstrike (leftover trauma from the cramping on the swim). Second, my stomach was not liking me. It didn't seem to be the nutrition this time, but likely the dehydration combined with the new position of being straight up vs. hunched over. With these things already bothering me, I had an increased lack of focus due to the fact that I had to fiddle with a sandwich bag of 6 gels and salt pills. I tried desperately to stuff these in my pockets, while running, while tired, and I was having a really hard time of it. This experience taught me that at the very beginning of the run, you want to do nothing else except for focus on getting your legs under you. Every other little thing you do just magnifies the suffering. 

Beginning my run, way in the background

It took me a long time to find my rhythm. Based on my training, I had hoped to get onto the run and tick off 7:15-7:20 miles. But I was in the high 7:30's, and I had to struggle to maintain that. By the second mile, I decided to walk the aid station, get some fluids in, and collect myself. I did so and I started feeling a little better, but not much. I felt good enough to maintain my high 7 minute pace. I had a chance to pass a number of other runners, and the common theme was that nobody looked exceedingly strong. Actually, everyone looked pretty beat up, which told me that I was not alone. The bike must have kicked a lot of butts. 

By around mile 5 I felt that my cramps had finally left me for the most part. My jello and crampy legs were still with me, but it was a bit of a morale boost for me. I was able to maintain the pace and pick off some more runners. As I approached lap 2, I caught up to some of the pro women who were about to finish, but the announcers at the finish line were all about "Ohno". They were letting the crowd know that he had just passed through the 8 mile split, and he was due in within the hour. My math told me that I was catching up to him. Not that it really mattered either way, but it's always nice to give a former Olympian a pat on the back for conquering a new challenge. 

I was continuing to maintain my pace through the second lap, but as my heart rate began to accelerate, and fatigue began to overtake me, I got that ever demoralizing late-race apathy. I was so tired, and couldn't take any more calories in, couldn't drink any more water, and so I began getting the attitude of "who cares?" At that point it didn't matter to me how I finished, or if I walked the rest of the way. I just wanted to be done. There is a moment when this happens in all endurance races, and at that time it is best to trick your mind by bargaining. I would tell myself that I would run to the next aid station and then walk, and once I got there I would keep going and set a new target and repeat the process. This is related to something that works in recovery, "a day at a time". We don't think about what the future brings because it brings us demoralization. Instead we think about just this moment right now. And at that moment right then I was going to run.

As I ran under the bridge the last time, I thought I would just have to make a turn up the hill and run to the finish. However, in my delirium I became confused. Once up the hill I was following a guy who looked very confident to be going the right way, but it was in the opposite direction of where I thought the finish was. Nobody in the crowd seemed to be telling us we were going the wrong way, but I still had to slow down and yell the question to nobody in particular, "am I going the right way?" We were running in the very same place we started the half marathon, and the prospect of doing another lap wasn't an option. Turns out I was thinking that T2 was the finish line, but was actually on the other side of the river from the finish. We were simply crossing the river toward the finish, but it felt like forever. 

Finally I turned down the finishing chute and looked up at the time to see 5:23 as I crossed the line. By my math (since I had started 27 minutes after the gun), I was under 5 hours by a few minutes. A lot of pain, but I had persevered and achieved my goal. Official time was 4:57:09, which gave me 20th place in my age group (out of 194), and 102 overall (out of 1,435). I didn't catch up to Apolo, and he did very well for a first triathlon, finishing in 4:59. With a few months until Kona, I think he will do very well there (and I hope to see him there!).

Garmin File

Post Race:

The grassy area outside of the finish line looked like a war zone medical tent, where the wounded soldiers were clad in Lycra rather than camouflage. A lot of people, more so than Cabo, were woozy and laid out on the grass trying to collect themselves. A lot of people seemed to put it all out there, including myself. I was one of those laying on the grass, trying to decide if horizontal or vertical was the better position to avoid puking or passing out. Eventually I came around and got a massage (more props to the volunteers who freely gave of themselves to touch numbers of sweaty triathletes after a 5 hour race). Then I heard the 5 greatest words you can possibly hear after a long triathlon, "They have burgers over there". 

You have to love a race that is sponsored by "Beef". Yes, "Beef". While I tend to stick to fish and eggs as animal protein during training, post race it's all about red meat and gluttony. I'm sure many vegans didn't appreciate this, but I sure did. It was awesome to have a couple of free burgers and beef jerky at the end of the race.

We had to fly home early the next morning, which meant that I had to get back to the hotel and disassemble my bike and pack it up. That I did, and once again my bike made it safely home without incident. One more successful race!

Ironman Los Cabos Epilogue: Lessons Learned

After having some time to really reflect on Ironman Los Cabos, and how the experience shaped out, I wanted to lay out some of the things I learned along the way which I found important, and can be applied to any passion project a person may seek to accomplish. In a nutshell, completing this race was absolutely glorious. The finish chute was a blur of afternoon sunlight and mental fog, but it was absolutely glorious. Will I do it again? Absolutely. What did I learn? Read below to find out.

1. We human beings really are capable of more than we give ourselves credit for - Yes, I know it's cliche, and we can read this any number of times a day on inspirational Facebook posts, but it's also very true. We tend to give up too quickly or too easily. By our very nature, we are conditioned to conserve. Conserve our pride, conserve our welfare, conserve our energy. In other words we are conditioned to be "safe". After all, as we evolved we had to develop mechanisms to keep ourselves from harm - to run away from Sabertooth Tigers, or survive through cold winters or famine. I'm certainly not endorsing those, but there are ways that we can channel those additional stores of energy in non-stressful ways (I want to stress "non-stressful") to go the extra mile in any endeavor with which we are involved.
2. Understanding and acknowledging our limitations is a beneficial exercise - Is number 2 contradicting number 1? Yes!... In a way. But you see how I mentioned channeling energy in non-stressful ways (I guess I want to re-stress my stressing of "non-stressful"). That is where understanding our limitations can benefit us. We all know how we feel when we hit a brick wall. Our energy immediately depletes, we lose sleep, we get sick, we get irritable, we crave sugar (ok, that one is tough to gauge). When I felt any of these symptoms during my Ironman training, I knew that it was my body telling me that I was pushing too hard. When that happened I had to take a step back and make rest my priority, refresh my mind and body, and recover the passion and energy I had for pursuing this goal. Often times the best offense is a good defense. Additionally, knowing our limitations gives us a good indication on where we can improve, and whether it makes sense to refocus our energy in more positive ways.
3. "No pain, no gain" is some of the worst advice ever given - In fact, pain is most often an impediment to progress. Alternatively, some of the greatest gains happen with little or no physical pain, and very little discomfort at all! When I first began training using heart rate as a guide, I didn't even feel like I was working out at all. I barely broke a sweat, pulling 11-12 minute miles on runs. Gradually the pace improved and the effort felt much the same. It's only with the greater gains that more discomfort becomes required, the "last 10%" so to speak, and even that should be done sparingly. It all comes back to understanding limitations. Pain is different from discomfort. Our ability to suffer through discomfort is part of a growing experience. Pain, on the other hand, is biofeedback telling us that we are overdoing it and have to take a step back. This advice would be better read as "No pain, KNOW gain!"
4. We can make the experience of achieving a goal much more fulfilling by finding a way to be in service to others - When I first considered training for an Ironman, I thought of all the hours I would have to put in, the money I would have to spend, and the emotional capital I would expend and it made it seem like a very selfish endeavor. To be fair, it was. I was looking to better myself. But how can we benefit others unless we focus first on improving ourselves (something about removing the plank from one's own eye comes to mind)? In my case, I chose to set an example for those that may have always thought of achieving a far reaching goal, but who may have talked themselves out of it numerous times (after all, I was like that). I wrote about it openly in the hopes of inspiring others through my experience. This requires conquering the fear of being vulnerable (spoiler alert: that's number 5 below). Additionally, I raised money for charity to hold myself accountable to the goal. After all, it is much more difficult to quit when times get tough if you have more eyes on your progress and a charity goal depending on your achieving the goal.
5. The experience can become more meaningful if we can conquer the fear of being vulnerable - I used to be a bit of a cynic, often becoming critical and nay-saying in many situations. I now understand that that was a defense mechanism for me so that I would not be the subject of criticism. If I can be critical of other peoples' desires to fulfill a dream, I could justify my own lack of inspired confidence. Too often we put up this armor of cynicism, and neglect the great potential for self improvement that comes from being vulnerable. Brene Brown is an expert on vulnerability, and goes into great detail of it's importance in this TED talk and in her book, Daring Greatly. Making myself vulnerable by writing about my experience, especially at the beginning when I had no experience whatsoever, made me extremely uncomfortable. However, it made the experience of getting to my goal and achieving it that much more meaningful.
6. You CAN find the time - Yes, you can. No seriously, you can. I know you have kids, I know you have a job, I know you have that thing on Thursday nights (I'm not stalking you, I swear). Regardless, the time is there. It's just about inventive time management. I know waking up earlier is hard, but that is a solution. You can also take your lunch breaks at work to focus on the goal. The point is that there is always a way to make the time. Within my training plan, I had to find 20+ hours a weak during the peak weeks to train. I would wake up earlier, use my lunch breaks, and use the actual commute to work to work in training hours. I still found time with the family and took care of all my obligations (in fact my family appreciated it more because I was setting a good example). 
7. The right perspective changes everything - I know what it's like to fall into a downward spiral of despair and self loathing. The feeling that everyone is against you and the hard work is meaningless. These are the great demoralizers. The worst thing about these feelings is that they are overpowering, and they feel absolutely legitimate. However, I have found in my life that these are mostly problems with perspective. I've learned through this experience that, for me, one of the big differences between being happy and being miserable is my perspective. When I turned my negative attitude around and focused on the positive, things became much brighter. Ironman training was a great practice in perspective. Instead of saying things like "I have to run today", I would say "I get to run today". How lucky am I, that I am capable of getting myself up every day and working toward a dream? Truly we are fortunate if we allow ourselves to believe we are, and overcome the power of negative thinking.
8. Humility is vital - There will be setbacks. There always are. Many times these setbacks may seem like a death nail into achievement of a goal. But when these setbacks occur, it is important to practice humility. Allowing our egos to get in the way of clear thinking will only make the situation worse. For example, as I was training during the summer months last year, I hit a plateau which wouldn't allow me to get any faster at my assigned aerobic heart rate range. This gave me two options. Run faster and train over my heart rate range (which would have potentially destroyed my training progress to that point), or humble myself and keep it slow. Sure, I wouldn't be able to run as fast as I wanted at that point, but checking my ego would allow me to be faster at that heart rate over the long term. A setback, yes. But the long term goal was still on track. Eventually I broke through the plateau and got faster. Humility ties a lot of these things I learned together in a nice little bow. Accepting limitations, practicing vulnerability, finding the right perspective, it's all about humility.
9. It's worth it - Whatever "it" is, as long as the effect is positive, it's worth it. Because "it" is important to you, "it" will build your character, "it" will give you fulfillment beyond your expectations, and in turn the act of achieving "it" will inspire others. And when we inspire others, we can inspire ourselves, constantly improving, always reaching toward higher and more lofty goals. An upward spiral. Take it from me, you can.

Race Report: San Diego Spring Sprint 2014

This past weekend I had the rare privilege of not just racing in another sprint triathlon, but also getting to share the experience with my wife, who consequently was racing her first triathlon. This was super cool because I could really relate to those feelings of anticipation and anxiety as we led up to the race. I wasn't really nervous for me, but more so nervous for her. Would she like it? Is she going to be okay? Will she pass me on the bike? All of these things reminded me to let it go to God, and stop trying to control the world.

Swim start/finish area

Since this was my first sprint in a while, and I haven't really had a chance to test my speed in a long time, my goal was to swim as fast as I could, bike as fast as I could, and run as fast as I could while still maintaining good form. As far as time goals were concerned, it is usually a high benchmark to set to run a sprint in under an hour, so I assumed I would be somewhere just over an hour. I wasn't certain how fast I would bike, maybe 22-23 mph, and I wanted to try to hold a 6:45 pace (something I thought would be achievable with the right kind of mindset). In other words, run as fast as I can until I feel like puking. More on that later.

Swim

The swim took place in Mission Bay, which, if we can trust the film "Jaws 3", is prime feeding grounds for man-eating Great White Sharks. But that's ok, because with Sea World fully operational next door, we would have Shamu and Dennis Quaid to save us from these killers.

Unfortunately we didn't get much of a warm up, since the warm up swim area was full of sea grass and knee deep soft mud. We opted instead to do a quick jog to the start area, where I got in the water with a number of other green-capped 30-34 year olds. This would be the last race I would ever be in this category, since I will be turning 35 at the end of this month. It's kind of strange how I raced Cabo in the 35-39 age group, and was held back for this one.

My intention was to see what the race would be like from the very front of the swim pack. I wanted to see if I could actually hang with the "fish" in the group. This would be a good opportunity to try it out, since the swim was only a quarter mile, so if I was beat up it wouldn't be for very long. I was just hoping to hang in there as long as I could. At first it was all going to plan, I was able to line up appropriately. When the horn sounded I aggressively starting flailing to make room for myself (unsuccessfully). Really within the front group it wasn't "swimming" as much as it was finding whatever bit of leverage you could to push yourself forward. Unfortunately for me, I was most often the bit of leverage that people were using. I was quickly dropped by the fastest swimmers and left in a group of middle of packers.

Very quickly I found myself overexerted from pushing too hard at the start, so I slowed it down a bit to focus on form. But I wasn't able to find any lanes to really have any kind of good form. It was around the first buoy that I got kicked in the chin pretty hard by someone in front of me. I surrendered my position at that point, caught my breath, and then started back to swimming with good form. Finally I had some open space and felt like I was making forward progress. What I learned from this swim is that I definitely can't hang with the fast swimmers, and it only serves to wear me down significantly when I try. Best to stay in the middle of the pack on the swim, save my energy, and catch them on the bike and run.

Soon enough my fingers were dragging the serrated concrete floor of the boat launch area, which was today serving as a swim exit, which was my cue to stand up and start running. I felt very good at this point and even decided to sprint to see how fast I could make it into T1.

Swim time: 9:10, distance 0.31 miles (by Garmin)
Garmin File

Transition 1:

I would like to think I executed my transitions flawlessly for this race. I sprinted past a few people on my way to the bike while stripping my wetsuit. When I got to my bike, my helmet was easy to get on, and I was off.

T1 Time: 1:06

Bike

On the bike the plan was simple: bike fast and stay safe. In other words, obey the laws of physics. Take turns easy and then start charging. This plan was executed very well. The bike course left the parking lot and followed Sea World Drive down to Fiesta Island where we would circumnavigate the island twice before coming back to the transition area. Getting out to the island I was passing a number of people, but once I was on the island I could open it up. I felt really great and was constantly passing people. I would look down at my watch and see that I was averaging consistently about 25 mph, which was great. I was also very impressed to see how well people were obeying the rules of the road so to speak, staying right if they were slower than the rest of the traffic.

Two laps went by very quick and then we returned to T2. When I saw a sign saying "600 feet to T2" I underestimated how far 600 feet actually is, as I got out of my shoes and began to soft pedal the rest of the way. It was farther than I expected. But I did the flying dismount and charged it to transition.

Bike Time: 27:10, 11 miles, avg about 24 mph.
Garmin File

Transition 2:

Once again, I attempted to get through transition as quickly as possible and did so with great success.

T2 Time: 0:57

Run

Oddly enough, I was most nervous about the run. As I mentioned above I hadn't tested my speed for a long time, and I was afraid I would be demoralized if I didn't go as fast as I wanted to. My goal was a 6:45 pace, and as I exited transition I looked at my watch and saw that I was in the high 5's. While I was feeling really good, I dropped it back a bit, since I saw my heart rate was into the high 160's. As I ran, I continued to pass a few people, but didn't see anyone in my age group. The only people I saw were people from the relay who started well before us. This started giving me a strange sensation I haven't had before in any other race. "Could I actually be winning?" The mind can play tricks on us when adrenaline is pumping, and when you're susceptible to fits of egocentrism, it can become amplified.

For the course of the run, I maintained this thinking, as I didn't see anyone in my age group, and I know I had a fast bike split. However, as I approached mile 3, and was still ticking off 6:30 miles, I did begin to see a couple people in my age group. I passed two of them around mile 3, at which point I picked up the pace and started running a mid 5 pace. Unfortunately it wasn't enough as I couldn't pass another in my age group, and one of the people I had passed had re-passed me.

As I crossed the finish line in full sprint, I felt the urge to puke coming up. In fact, at the finish line, in front of all the crowd of people, it took every fiber of my being to hold it in. Fortunately I did, and that was the indication that I had given it everything I had.

Run Time: 20:29, 3.2 miles, Avg. pace 6:28 per mile.
Garmin File

Crossing the finish line, I went from feeling like I was winning to being in at least 3rd place. But that bothered me very little since I set out to see what I could do and I achieved at least 2/3 of it. While my swim is still lacking, I think I really performed well on the bike, and exceeded my expectations on the run. Furthermore, I achieved something that many sprint triathletes set as a benchmark goal, which is to finish in under an hour. I finished in 58:53.

While recovering in the finish area I had the opportunity to do something I hardly ever get to do at these races. Be a supportive spectator. It was really inspiring watching all of the people cross the finish line, and actually see their faces as they did so. To witness that moment when all the training, and pain, and challenge culminates into one moment of accomplishment is an amazing experience. And then, to actually be there and see it when my wife crossed the finish line was heartwarming. How fortunate was I to be able to finish my race and then see my wife finish her first triathlon?

In looking at the results, I was surprised to see that I had finished in 7th place in my age group, 35th overall out of 730 competitors. The year before only two people in my age group had finished in under an hour, but this year the fast people came out to race. Looking more closely at the results, I could see that 3rd-7th place all finished within one minute of each other. I was within a minute of being on a podium!

While that statement can be interpreted in a couple of different ways, frustration or joy, I intend for it to be reflected as joy. While I was so close to getting there, I recognize that I've been steadily improving for the last year, and I was very close to achieving something I never thought possible. I've never been fast. In fact the only thing I've ever done fast is finish a beer and replace it with another full one. I would have never thought I could come that close. I was reminded today that I need to keep my ego in check. I almost forgot the purpose for why I'm doing this. It's not about how I do compared to other people, but how I go about doing it, and how I can improve myself. While I was very close to getting a podium, I was also very close to letting my ego take control. I'm glad that I was reminded through witnessing the experiences of others, including my wife, of what's more important.

Speaking of my wife, she ended up finishing in 1:19, good enough for 20th place in her age group. Fantastic for a first attempt! I am incredibly proud of her for achieving this with such success.

2014 Triathlon Season at a Glance

Having just done an Ironman triathlon a month ago, it's hard to look ahead and think that I have just begun my triathlon season. While it may seem anticlimactic, Ironman Los Cabos was a season opener, not an ender. And my triathlon season for 2014 has finally taken shape.

After a couple weeks of recovery in April to recuperate from Los Cabos, and reflect on everything that race was (I am working on a post detailing the lessons learned from training for and competing in an Ironman), I began training again, this time acutely aware that I would be slower to start with. But it was nice to actually get back to a lower level of volume before picking it back up to full strength. Now, as we enter May, I am back at full volume for the lead up to Ironman Boulder in August. So here's how the rest of the season looks for me. I hope that this year I see some improvements, maybe some top 10 finishes or even podiums. But most of all I hope to continue to experience the joy I have had over the past year doing this thing that I love to do. I have found that not only do I love triathlon, but my family loves experiencing it with me. And that means a lot more to me than a medal or top finish.

May 4th, 2014 - San Diego Spring Sprint Triathlon

This will be a really quick sprint race just to keep my body fresh for racing, and the goal will be to see how fast I can go. With all of this "slow" training, I don't know how fast I can actually run a 5K at this point. I plan to swim as fast as I can for the 1/4 mile swim, bike fast but conservatively (it is a flat and fast course, so no technical issues to contend with), and then run as hard as I can for 3 miles. I am hoping to run a 6:30-6:45 mile avg over the 5K. One thing that makes this race special is that my wife will be joining me for her first triathlon. It will be great to see her experience this for the first time and see if she catches the bug.

June 7th, 2014 - Ironman 70.3 Boise

Yes, Boise. The one in Idaho. And yes they do have water to swim in there. Very cold water. Like melted glacier cold. So why Boise? Good question. I didn't even really know why either until I decided to register for it. First off (and really least importantly, but while we're listing off the pros, what the heck?), it's a rare "sleep in" triathlon. It doesn't start until noon. So instead of waking up early and almost immediately immersing ourselves in ice cold water, we get to get up when we want, meander over the lake, and then begin suffering. Personally, I like to have some coffee and a little "me" time before I suffer, but I'm weird like that. More importantly, the race is a good prep for Ironman Boulder in a number of ways (about 3000 ft vs. 5000 ft. of altitude, and there are course similarities). It's also a good time to race a half before Boulder, about 2 months. This race wasn't even on my radar, as I was considering doing the Folsom Long Course triathlon in Sacramento, but I discovered that travel would be about the same in cost, and Boise would be a more spectator friendly venue. It's hard to know what to expect for this race, last year it was very hot, and the year before that it was extremely cold (some reports were that people were cycling in their wetsuits). There is one thing for certain though, the water will be cold (did I mention that already?).

June 27 - June 29, 2014 - Boulder Triathlon Training Camp with Luis Vargas

Every year, MarkAllenOnline coach Luis Vargas hosts a training camp for triathletes in Boulder to go over the fundamentals of training and racing. This coaching program has been so successful for me, and the coaches are so knowledgeable and helpful, that I know that I can benefit greatly from it. Further, this year was too hard to pass up, since the camp will be in Boulder, previewing much of the Ironman course. I will be able to get a feel for how the altitude affects me, and learn a lot from the expert locals. The fact that Luis has vast experience with Ironman and training in Boulder, it's going to be an exciting experience.

July 13th, 2014 - Carlsbad Triathlon

What better way to celebrate one year of triathlon racing than to race the event which I chose first? This will be the first time I will be repeating a race, and I am excited to see how I've improved. Through all of the races I've done, this has been one of the more fun ones because of the time of year, the size, and the nice roads. Again, just as sprint, which will keep my racing skills tuned right before I taper for Ironman Boulder.

August 3rd, 2014 - The Inaugural Ironman Boulder

Ironman number two will take place in one of the hub cities for triathlon training. I am going to be a bit out of my element, and immediately with a handicap to many of the racers who call Boulder home. Those "highlanders" have already acclimated to the altitude and have already trained on the roads. But I have a desire to finish, and face a new type of challenge, which includes the additional variables of altitude and heat. I am still working on determining what charity to race for, but I will be fundraising for this race. Details to come.

September 6th, 2014 - San Diego Triathlon Classic Olympic Distance Triathlon

But the season does not end there... Next up will be another San Diego race. "San Diego, again?", you say. To which I say "of course, I live there!" And this particular race has "Classic" in the name. See? It's right there in the name of the race! In truth, logistically it's easy to get to San Diego, there's lots of races to choose from. This one fit in the schedule quite nicely. The bike route takes us into Military grounds, much like it did in Camp Pendleton. I hope it doesn't end up like the last time I was racing in a military area. Somehow my bike slipped out from under me and I got some really fancy asphalt tattoos.

October 5th, 2014 - Ironman Silverman 70.3

Formerly one of the most challenging full distance triathlons anywhere, with climbing of over 12,000 ft., Ironman has taken over this race, made it a half, and tamed the beast pretty significantly. While not nearly the behemoth of a race it once was, there will still likely be winds and heat to deal with. I really wanted to finish the season off with another half distance race, and the choices were this one or Lifetime Soma in Tempe, Arizona. When I approached my family on their preference between Tempe and Vegas, the choice pretty much made itself.

This year will truly be a test for me from the perspective of racing. While last year was more of a buildup to Ironman Los Cabos, this year will be a consistent racing season of multiple types of distances, and I am really testing my abilities to perform to the best of my potential. Ideally I'll hold up and be able to do well in them all, but most importantly I'll enjoy the process, keeping my meditation and spirituality strong. The rest will take care of itself.

2013 HITS Triathlon Race Report - Half Ironman

Lake Cahuilla, where the swim would take place

My first impression upon signing up for the HITS Half Ironman Triathlon was that, as a first exposure to real distance, this was going to be about as easy as it could get. The desert is pancake flat (which means no extra energy required to power over hills), the bike course was straight with only a few turns, and in previous years the field had been small. Needless to say, as other challenging factors came into play, my initial impressions became more and more inaccurate.

Overall I was not disappointed with this race at all. For the price of admission (which is significantly less than other similar distance triathlons), we enjoyed a fantastic race, and a great first experience with this distance which left me wanting to do this distance again... maybe after a bit of rest. To be honest, I wasn't expecting much. Many of the reports I read from previous years described it as limited in support, with few aid stations, little direction, and sparse porta-potties, but for the most part they received a positive reaction. Besides, I'm relatively low maintenance when it comes to these events, so I didn't need much in the way of frills.

The week leading up to the race I had a couple of priorities. The first was to avoid getting sick at all costs. 'Tis the season to be fluey, and I did my best to quarantine myself from kids and coworkers had any symptoms of nasty things, and thoroughly bathe myself in sanitizer. Second, I checked the weather report every day, and every day the outlook looked more ominous. Apparently, Canada was attacking the United States with arctic air, and the desert was not safe. At the beginning of December, Palm Springs could be either 80 degrees during the day or 50 degrees during the day. I had planned for the former but it became apparent that it would be the latter. This was the first indication that it may not be as easy as I expected.

We arrived the day before the race to attend the expo and packet pickup, and I caught the pre-race meeting. Apparently, the half was sold out (550 participants), and the full was nearly 200 athletes. This was bigger than previous years from what I had heard. Further more, they would be tightening up the swim course to be very close to shore and two laps (four for the full). This would make the swim very crowded. The second indication that this may be more challenging than I expected. We checked into our room at the Embassy Suites, and were immediately upgraded to a condo, which was great because we now had a kitchen, and didn't have to go to a restaurant to eat. We would be able to go to the store and have control over our pre-race meal. That's exactly what we did, and I had my typical eggs, rice, and black beans, plus an apple and almond butter for dessert. Then it was off to bed to stare at the ceiling fan for a few hours before heading off to the race.

Transition Area

I arrived at the race venue around 5 am and set up my gear and get a good warm up before the race. The transition area is truly fantastic, with our own large area and stool. No chance for interference by other people's equipment, knocking bikes over, etc. It was cold during setup, below 40 degrees, and a lot of spaces remained empty which meant there may be a sizable DNS (did not start) rate.

After I set everything up, I got my wetsuit on and ventured down to the water. after taking my socks off, my feet went numb. Walking down, I could feel sharp pebbles on my feet only by the inconsistency in my balance. I was just hoping that I didn't rip my feet open before the race start. Even though the water was in the 50s, it helped my feet warm up a bit, but submerging my head gave me an imediate ice cream headache which lasted the entire warm up. I had trouble keeping my face submerged for any significant amount of time, and I worried that I wouldn't be able to swim effectively. However, after about 10-15 minutes, I became used to the water (only to have to get out for about 10 prior to race start). 

Swim:

The swim start was a bit unorganized, as I didn't hear any signal to start, but people just started swimming. I was caught sort of in the back of the start pack, which was a bit unfortunate because the first leg of the swim was very narrow, and everyone bottlenecked into about a 15-20 yard lane between the shore and the buoy markers (about 5-10 yards of which were 3 feet or less of water). I was not able to make much headway or pass anyone during the first 500 yards of the race, and had to settle for floating down what could only be described as a chaotic "lazy river" of thrashing arms and legs. A good portion of the field was literally walking the first 1/4 of the race, which was entertaining to watch. Finally around the far buoy it opened up a little bit, but it was still quite congested. Due to restrictions with water craft in this lake, they were forced to squeeze 500 athletes through the narrow lanes for two laps (4 laps for the full). I had no open water or ability to pass until the last 3/4 of the swim. Even though my swim was slow, the bright side is I was very fresh for the bike and run (although very cold).

Running out of the water, I was able to see my family (parents, wife, sister, & brother in law). While I tried to look heroic, I was trying to run on cold legs, and ended up instead nearly falling over a woman who was picking up her goggles. I proceeded to run up the grass to the transition area once again feeling the sensation of rocks poking through my feet.

Swim Time: 38:27, 181st out of water

Transition 1:

I had planned on fully changing clothes during the first transition so that I could be warm and dry, thus I knew I would take a bit more time than usual. I figured everyone else would be doing the same, and I wasn't wrong. I also knew that this would cost me more time, perhaps a few more seconds while I threw on an extra couple layers and gloves. What I failed to anticipate was the effect of the cold on my body at that point. Getting out of the water I was mostly numb, and if anybody has ever tried practicing dexterity in the cold, you know how difficult it can be. I felt like I was trying to guide someone else's hands, and they weren't being very cooperative. When I arrived, I saw another person already sitting in transition next to me. My feeling was that as long as I could get out before him I would be okay. Nearly 7 minutes, and three layers of clothing later, and I had achieved my small goal of getting out before him.

T1 Time: 6:39

Bike

One thing that I was worried about, especially since my experience in Oceanside, was that I would become too cold on the bike. I have been doing whatever I can to acclimate to heat given my Ironman attempt in March, so I am not very well prepared for cold. The only other thing I was concerned for was the wind. It was expected that at some point during the day (likely the afternoon) the winds would pick up to 20 mph+. Fortunately, my wardrobe plan was successful and I was only numb in my feet. Gradually, however, my feeling came back even there and I don't recall ever being uncomfortable on the bike. Now it was up to my fitness and my nutrition to take over so that I could win the race against the weather turning bad.

For my nutrition I was going to keep it very simple: a blend of sugars and salts mixed into my aero drink to the tune of about 1400 calories. That was calculated for a three hour bike, and was more than the typical 400 calories I usually take in (but I figured I would be exerting more energy over the course of the ride). In retrospect, I think it was a bit too much, but at least it wasn't too little.

I felt great on the bike. Early on there was no significant wind, and the weather was nice. I was so far back on the swim that I didn't get passed at all on the bike. In fact, I must have passed 100 to 120 people. The course was flat and straight, so it was fairly easy to gauge my output. My heart rate stayed just around the mid 140's, unless I had passed someone, but never ventured past 150 or so. At only one point did I have to slow down significantly because a big-rig was on the road and was unwilling to pass the other racers. I don't blame him, of course, as it could be a very dangerous situation. Fortunately this only lasted a couple minutes and I was back to race pace. The only other time I slowed briefly was to pee. This was the first time I have peed on the bike in a race, and I'm abnormally proud that I could pull it off without shame. I will say that it will be much easier when hills play a role, as I had to keep pedaling a bit to keep momentum up.

As I approached the last turn back toward transition, it was at that point I could feel the wind starting to pick up. It slowed me down a bit, but I was able to climb into transition successfully and at a personal best for that distance.

Bike Time: 2:36:25; 21.54 mph avg.; 26th/394

Transition 2

T2 was relatively uneventful. I got in there and changed my shirt, put on my fuel belt, hat, and shoes and was on my way. I took a quick pit stop at the porta potty (since peeing while running is something I have not yet mastered, nor will I ever), which proved unfortunate for the person coming up behind me. Since there was only one at the exit, he had to wait for me.

T2 Time: 3:07

Run

Immediately when I got on my feet I began to feel the effects of taking in too many calories on the bike. Nutrition is a balance in any race: Take in too little and you risk falling apart. Take in too much and you risk significant gastro-intestinal problems. I was subject to the latter. I could already feel the cramping coming on, and I didn't feel much like drinking any more. Unfortunately, water would still be required on the run. I heavily considered puking during the first part of the run to open up some room, but decided against it as long as I could hold up sub 8 minute miles.

That I did for most of the run. My ultimate goal was to run 7:30 for the full half marathon, and I was successful for the first few miles. At that point I started feeling a bit fatigued and had a couple miles over 8. At the turnaround, I began feeling better and started resuming my earlier pace. I had a quick realization during the run that my bike fitness was much better than my run fitness, as I was immediately passed by a few very fast runners. However, toward the second half of the run I began passing quite a few people (I think I picked up 10-15 spots on the run).

Down the road I could see the stoplight where we would make the turn toward the finish and I began to push my pace a bit. I was about to finish 70.3 miles of triathlon for the very first time, and cross one more milestone toward 140.6. My goal was to go sub 5 hours, and I didn't know where I was at at this point and I didn't much care. I just wanted to finish, and was happy that I was about to.

Arriving at the stoplight I had a horrible realization. The final turn toward the finish was not at a stoplight, it was at a stop sign. I had an extra half mile to go before I made that turn (and then about a mile after that). Already a bit demoralized, I saw a big wall of dust in front of me which seemed to be travelling very quickly to the East. The wind had arrived just in time for my race finish. As I rounded the corner toward the last mile and a half of race I headed directly into the wind, which was gusting at over 20 mph. Looking to my left I realized how good my situation was. Some people were just finishing the bike. Others who were doing the full triathlon, had hours of biking left to go, and then a marathon. Remembering that it's all about perspective and keeping things positive, I put my head down and pushed on. It was time to finish strong.

Just after noon, I crossed the finish line. Official time was 5:04:36. While I didn't beat 5 hours, I came pretty dang close, and I had a fantastic race. Taking into consideration that it was exceptionally cold and a bit windy, I'm happy with the result. It was good enough for 7th in my age group (out of 43), and 32nd overall (out of 394). Additionally, I beat my personal best half marathon by over 10 minutes, even with the cramping, wind, and cold.

Run Time: 1:39:56; 7:38/mile; 35th/394 for the run

Overall I'm ecstatic about finishing this race. Regardless of the time it took to do it (and about 5 hours is pretty good), I was able to successfully complete the distance; 1.2 miles of swimming, 56 miles of biking, and 13.1 miles of running. A more miraculous feat came from the 73 athletes who completed the full Iron distance triathlon that day. The DNF rate was likely greater than 50%, as heavy winds hit right at the halfway point. They would also race into the night where temperatures would drop into the 40s. Putting this into perspective, I started at the same time as them (7 am), finished at about noon, hung around for about an hour, drove 140 miles to get home (stopping for lunch), had a long bath, got dressed, drove to Anaheim for a company Christmas party, drove back home, and went to bed. As I lay in bed, having no trouble falling asleep, people were still on the course finishing the full.

Right after I finished the race, my Mom asked me if I was ready to do a full. At that moment thinking about doing a full made the contents of my stomach want to take a trip upward and outward. However, it really is about mental preparation. I was thoroughly prepared for a 70.3 this day, and mentally I was conditioned for it. In a little over 3 months time, I will be thoroughly prepared for 140.6, and I will spend the majority of that time mentally conditioning myself for that. Ask me again in three months. I'll be ready.

It's been a little over a week now and it's settling in exactly what was accomplished. Less than a year ago I couldn't bike, could barely swim a few laps, and hadn't run much in the previous year. A few months of training later and I've completed a half Ironman. Next stop, Los Cabos. But first, a couple weeks of rest until Christmas, and then the buildup begins.

On the drive home we saw a full rainbow... in the desert. It was raining hard and the wind was blowing hard. In about a half hour this weather would reach La Qunita where it would hit athletes doing the full.