November 5, 2011
My first action race morning was to click on Facebook and update my status. I’m “about to run Ironman Florida on the least amount of training ever for a race. Good thing or bad thing? Only one way to find out!” It seemed like the truest thing I could have said at the time. Would it be a good thing? Would it be a bad thing? Would it matter? Would this race matter to me? These questions swam in my head as I ate breakfast and readied my nutrition bags. Our condo was .75 miles from transition, so I didn’t feel compelled to leave until 5:30. May as well kill time here than there.
I get down to the site a little before 6:00, giving me not much more than an hour to get everything ready. Then again in Ironman you pretty much pack everything important the day before. All I had to do was drop off my nutrition and update some bags with trivial and forgotten items. Of course, I spent half of my allotted free time in the porto-potty line, leaving me a bit rushed to do the rest of everything. I finish up right around the time they’re kicking everybody out, which I suppose is typical for me. Most everyone around me cares more about this race, and is therefore much more nervous. You take the good with the bad…
Everything done, I waddle down to the beach just as they’re forbidding anyone else to enter the water; the pros are about to go. I park up next to swim exit and hop in long enough to get wet and “break in” my suit. The next 10 minutes are a blur: the pros go, the anthem plays, the countdown begins. I happen to see my friend and training partner John in the mass of people right before the start and we share pleasantries. Soon enough, though, we leave each other to handle business. In no time at all, the gun fires and we’re off.
I started really wide right and tried to make concerted efforts to stay right as long as possible. After about 150 yards, I notice things are becoming much more physical. Turns out I followed the whole crowd right to the inside line and am now in a 2,800 man mosh pit. Balls.
For whatever reason, everyone wanted to hit me in the exact same spot, the left goggle. I caught feet, fists and elbows right in the eye; enough times to make me swear I’d end up with a black eye (I didn’t). Admittedly my goggles didn’t need the extra help to start leaking, but all the abuse exacerbated the problem. I found myself draining my goggles before the first turn buoy, so one can deduce just how many times I had to drain it over the final 2 miles. Good thing I’m not going to be anal about today.
So apart from that, the swim continues. As predicted, though a little pleasantly surprising, the water heated up pretty significantly once we reached the deep water, turning from just mildly chilly to absolutely perfect. The good news was interrupted pretty quickly thereafter with the first jellyfish sighting. We’d been warned in the pre-race dinner about these little critters; apparently there’s always some unwelcomed marine life that ends up spectating the swim. We were told to keep calm, that the stings will hurt but they won’t kill you. Or they didn’t think so, anyway. Those who didn’t choose to quit that very moment weren’t given much of an opportunity to be afraid; these things were EVERYWHERE! I stopped counting after 6 before the first turn. Luckily, they had enough sense to dive a few feet underwater, out of arms reach. I got pretty darn close to several of them, but managed to log 2.4 miles without a sting.
I’m getting to the point in my Ironman career where I can anticipate how far away the turn buoy is just by how many people are slowing down in front of me. Without just too much effort, I reach the first turn and do what everyone else is thinking about. I actually cut the course a few feet, which I don’t feel great about. It was just easier to do at the time and I could have reached out and touched the buoy if I was so inclined. I’ll round it next time as pentance.
The trip east toward the second buoy, I was warned, is right into the sun. The sunrise in PCB isn’t nearly as abrupt as the sunset and it hadn’t quite crested the taller buildings yet. Good news for me, locating the giant red inflatable was quite a bit easier than dodging the jellyfish. Turning and heading back, the jellyfish thinned and the sun came out to play. The water is much more fully illuminated on the back half of the first loop and I’m able to see a lot more varieties of fish, which is definitely the coolest thing I’ve ever seen during a swim leg. Apart from the hoards of jellyfish, I saw stingrays and 2-3 different kinds of fish. Something to look at, nice.
It seems to take a really, really long time to make it back to shore, but I eventually do and shuffle my way out of the Gulf; for a few seconds, anyway. I’m already a tad nauseous from the inevitable salt water cocktail I slowly drank down. Who would have thought a simple cup of store-bought distilled water was all I needed to get over it? Glad I took the time to stop. I looked at my watch and saw 35 minutes for the first lap, which was way faster than I was expecting. Let’s see just how fast we can make this! Onto lap 2.
The water was a lot cleaner this time around, as it usually is. I was able to extend my arms now, put a little effort into the swim. I wanted to believe I wasn’t slowing down, but it’s so hard to tell out there. I’m not entirely sure where I began to notice, but I managed to pop a stitch in my wetsuit where the right armpit meets the chest. The wardrobe malfunction created a burr that rubbed the piss out of my underarm; my GOD did this thing hurt! I was feeling it pretty well by the start of the second lap, and kind of figured it’d end up opening the skin on the second lap (it didn’t). Looks like I now need to buy a new wetsuit to go with my new goggles; so lame.
It’s the same story as before: kicked in the goggle, dodge jellyfish, dump water out of my eye, my arm hurts, don’t vomit! Kept going, found the turn buoy and fought the sun one last time. The swim was unspectacular. Fish were cool, jellyfish and nausea were not, but uneventful on the whole. Starting to wish the IM swim was closer to 2.2 miles these days, but I eventually find my way back to the shore. Working my way towards the banner, I check my watch and see 1:15. Not that I’m disappointed, it seems about right, but I can’t help but wonder how I managed to lose 5 minutes off my first lap pace. Oh well, not for me to say.
I climb my way out of the Gulf one last time and begin the process of tearing my suit off. The wetsuit strippers are a big help, as always (they’re awesome!), but I don’t seem to be making great time getting up to the transition area. There are a lot of people taking their sweet time at the showers, so I decide to do the same when it was my turn. It’s quite a little jog up to the T1 bags, and then quite a bit more to the changing tents. Unlike many of my other Ironmans, I decided against a one piece suit for this one. It added some transition time, but I slapped base layers, a jersey, bike shorts and arm warmers on a salty, wet body; all of which takes time. I managed to bum some chamois cream, which was a pretty great thing.
11 minutes after I’d exited the water, I find myself carrying my bike across the magic tape line. I can now climb aboard and start the next 112 mile leg of the hardest single-day endurance event on the planet. I manage to drop my chain before climbing on, and a spectator tells me to not to stress about it. Don’t worry bro, I’m not stressing; not by a long shot! :-)
Swim Time: 1:16:20
T1: 10:59
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Ironman Florida: The Bike
This was the first one-loop Ironman bike I’d ever raced, and the first time I’d didn't recon the course, so I really didn’t know what to expect. The wind was blowing out of the northeast and was strongest on the coast. Both of these things would end up being beneficial, but both ensured I’d face the toughest situations early on. The course actually reminded me quite a bit of the course at Madison; you snake along on a two-lane road (by that, I mean you return on the same roads you leave on) until you reach a looped section where you lose contact with returning cyclists. The most glaring difference is that in Florida, you only do the loop once.
The route heads northwest along the coast for a few miles before heading north. Perhaps I could feel a little bit of a push in the early sections, but it was mostly a ferocious crosswind from the left. The only reprieve was when you passed the larger buildings, but the wind seemed to pick up doubly when you were back in its path. Either way, there was no mistaking which way the wind was going over the next 50 miles; into the wind. Straight into the wind. I took the liberty of lapping my Garmin every turn to get a gauge of how much the wind would affect my pace. We’ll play with the numbers as we go along.
It was a pretty significant goal of mine to pee 3 times on the bike; I made it a point to tell several people about it. All 3 Ironmans that have gone poorly had left me pretty dehydrated at the end of the bike. In pondering my conundrum, I rationalized that one likely reason I always end up with GI distress is because I can never get the osmolality right in my drinks. Said another way, I don’t take enough water with my gels and sport drinks. Certainly my gut has a handicapped ability to digest the calories I’m shoving into it, so maybe I won’t get as sick as quickly if I make sure I drink enough. It was just crazy enough to work.
Unfortunately, I tend to follow my own advice a little too well. I managed to pee 3 times alright; I stopped at all of the first 4 porto potties I saw. I’m not going to say I was really flying in the early, windy sections but I will say that I was not going as slowly as the time clock would have you believe. According to my post-race Powertap file, I accumulated 16:32 of total time on the bike course not actually moving. I wasn’t heartbroken by this; a chance to stretch, to relax, to enjoy being off the bike. I just won’t say it was the fastest way to T2.
And so, it was at the first aid station, the first bathroom stop, when I let temptation get the better of me. I’m really a purist when it comes to the sport; I don’t endorse cheating and tend to think people who get caught doing it deserve the penalties they get tagged with. But in triathlon, as in life, there are certain rules I simply don’t agree with. The anarchist in me, and seemingly every one of my upper division professors in college, urged me to stand up against such rules. I don’t endorse cheating and I don’t like cheaters, but as of the first aid station I became a hypocrite.
I’m not going to put my offense in print. Most people who would read this will end up asking me, and I’ll probably tell them. But I’m not going to write it, because I will probably do it again. I will say, however, what I did NOT do. I did not draft, nor block, nor litter. I did nothing to make my bike faster, more aerodynamic, more comfortable or more advantageous in any way. I did nothing to disgrace the city, the race, or my fellow racers. I did nothing that gave me any physical advantage over my competitors. It was merely something that made the ride mentally easier for me to get through. And for that I offer no apologies.
It took me 1:30 to make it across Hwy 79 to the second turn onto 20, for an average of 15 mph. After 16 miles into a headwind, you turn right, headed east, into another headwind. It was pretty frustrating holding such a high wattage, such an aerodynamic tuck, and seemingly not getting anywhere. I was glad it wasn’t the opposite; that we’d get the tailwind on the back half; but it still made the ride seem much, much longer. Turning “out of the wind” and fighting more of the same for the next 11.5 of straight, flat road as far as you could see. I have no idea how long the road stretched having not researched the course, but lap my Garmin at the turn 43:39 later; an average speed of 15.75 mph.
For a very short 7 miles, the course turned right again and took us south onto Hwy 77. It was the first tailwind of the day, and the first sampling of what the final drag back to beach would feel like. Having taken so many bathroom breaks and stretch breaks, I had no problem staying low and staying fast, I held 18.7 on less wattage. A left hand turn onto 388 took us into the wind again. I knew enough about the course to at least know the shape of it. This stretch took us east to an out-and-back, then we headed north before turning west. Once we turned west, it was a very long stretch west and a very long stretch south, both of which were with the wind. Something to look forward to.
I kept pretty distracted during the ride, continuing to eat, drink and clip the miles away. I stopped trying to keep track of my bathroom stops; it was too much of a headache. I’m taking not as many now, but still seems like I spent a lot of time on the side of the road. The final trip east was at 14 mph, but included a pretty long stop at Special Needs. I took this opportunity to drop off my extra clothes (gloves, base layer, arm warmers), pee again and drink down my energy drink. Remounting my bike, I’m off towards the right hand turn onto Blue Springs Rd. The last little bit clips away at not much faster than 16.5 mph, but at least didn’t involve any more bathroom breaks.
The much-awaited mile 60 and the left turn back onto Hwy 20 allowed me to cruise at or above 20 mph pretty easily. Even with a couple stops, including several minutes checking my bike for something rubbing (never did find out what it was, but something was squeaking), I averaged 18 mph. Ignoring the 5 mile out and back, I held 19.88 mph over the rest of the course. My right IT band really suffered through the last hour and a half of the ride, but I kept aero as much as I could stand and held on for dear life. My reward, of course, was a very windy 6 miles into T2. I hoped to hold low power and spin it out over the last stretch, but the wind was too strong; I wasn’t going anywhere. With patience, I finally saw the Waffle House over the horizon and turned off of Front Beach onto Beach Rd.
I wasn’t sure what to expect on this bike from a time perspective, but clocking a 6:45 was a solid goal set about 60 miles from home. I wasn’t sure how that would compare against what I might have done with a proper training regime, nor how it would stack up against my age group compatriots, but I knew enough to immediately recognize it as the first sub 7 hr Ironman bike. That’s about all I was thinking when I dismounted and handed my bike off. So, despite the fact that I was already nauseated and pretty tired, I managed a smile when I stopped my Garmin at just under the mark.
Bike time: 6:45:23
Per the Garmin: 6:44:40; 111.73 mi; 1319ft total climbing; 147 bpm
Per the Powertap: 126 AP; 131 NP; 2,966 kJ (which is amazingly close to the 2,964 kJ IM CdA took)
Making that tight turn to pick up my T2 bag was asking a lot, but I soon found my way once more to the “get naked room.” As I did on the bike, I elected to put on a full runner’s kit in lieu of a triathlon suit; I donned a tech shirt and running shorts, along with my typical visor, compression sleeves and race shoes. It took every bit as long as last time, peeling layers off of a sweaty, salty body and putting on all new ones, but I got all dressed in good time. Had a chance to chat up some of the other riders while I changed, which is always pleasant. Eventually, I was primped and prepped and ready for a night on the town. I try my best to quickly find marathon pace as I hit my Garmin, ready to take this one step at a time.
T2: 8:47
The route heads northwest along the coast for a few miles before heading north. Perhaps I could feel a little bit of a push in the early sections, but it was mostly a ferocious crosswind from the left. The only reprieve was when you passed the larger buildings, but the wind seemed to pick up doubly when you were back in its path. Either way, there was no mistaking which way the wind was going over the next 50 miles; into the wind. Straight into the wind. I took the liberty of lapping my Garmin every turn to get a gauge of how much the wind would affect my pace. We’ll play with the numbers as we go along.
It was a pretty significant goal of mine to pee 3 times on the bike; I made it a point to tell several people about it. All 3 Ironmans that have gone poorly had left me pretty dehydrated at the end of the bike. In pondering my conundrum, I rationalized that one likely reason I always end up with GI distress is because I can never get the osmolality right in my drinks. Said another way, I don’t take enough water with my gels and sport drinks. Certainly my gut has a handicapped ability to digest the calories I’m shoving into it, so maybe I won’t get as sick as quickly if I make sure I drink enough. It was just crazy enough to work.
Unfortunately, I tend to follow my own advice a little too well. I managed to pee 3 times alright; I stopped at all of the first 4 porto potties I saw. I’m not going to say I was really flying in the early, windy sections but I will say that I was not going as slowly as the time clock would have you believe. According to my post-race Powertap file, I accumulated 16:32 of total time on the bike course not actually moving. I wasn’t heartbroken by this; a chance to stretch, to relax, to enjoy being off the bike. I just won’t say it was the fastest way to T2.
And so, it was at the first aid station, the first bathroom stop, when I let temptation get the better of me. I’m really a purist when it comes to the sport; I don’t endorse cheating and tend to think people who get caught doing it deserve the penalties they get tagged with. But in triathlon, as in life, there are certain rules I simply don’t agree with. The anarchist in me, and seemingly every one of my upper division professors in college, urged me to stand up against such rules. I don’t endorse cheating and I don’t like cheaters, but as of the first aid station I became a hypocrite.
I’m not going to put my offense in print. Most people who would read this will end up asking me, and I’ll probably tell them. But I’m not going to write it, because I will probably do it again. I will say, however, what I did NOT do. I did not draft, nor block, nor litter. I did nothing to make my bike faster, more aerodynamic, more comfortable or more advantageous in any way. I did nothing to disgrace the city, the race, or my fellow racers. I did nothing that gave me any physical advantage over my competitors. It was merely something that made the ride mentally easier for me to get through. And for that I offer no apologies.
It took me 1:30 to make it across Hwy 79 to the second turn onto 20, for an average of 15 mph. After 16 miles into a headwind, you turn right, headed east, into another headwind. It was pretty frustrating holding such a high wattage, such an aerodynamic tuck, and seemingly not getting anywhere. I was glad it wasn’t the opposite; that we’d get the tailwind on the back half; but it still made the ride seem much, much longer. Turning “out of the wind” and fighting more of the same for the next 11.5 of straight, flat road as far as you could see. I have no idea how long the road stretched having not researched the course, but lap my Garmin at the turn 43:39 later; an average speed of 15.75 mph.
For a very short 7 miles, the course turned right again and took us south onto Hwy 77. It was the first tailwind of the day, and the first sampling of what the final drag back to beach would feel like. Having taken so many bathroom breaks and stretch breaks, I had no problem staying low and staying fast, I held 18.7 on less wattage. A left hand turn onto 388 took us into the wind again. I knew enough about the course to at least know the shape of it. This stretch took us east to an out-and-back, then we headed north before turning west. Once we turned west, it was a very long stretch west and a very long stretch south, both of which were with the wind. Something to look forward to.
I kept pretty distracted during the ride, continuing to eat, drink and clip the miles away. I stopped trying to keep track of my bathroom stops; it was too much of a headache. I’m taking not as many now, but still seems like I spent a lot of time on the side of the road. The final trip east was at 14 mph, but included a pretty long stop at Special Needs. I took this opportunity to drop off my extra clothes (gloves, base layer, arm warmers), pee again and drink down my energy drink. Remounting my bike, I’m off towards the right hand turn onto Blue Springs Rd. The last little bit clips away at not much faster than 16.5 mph, but at least didn’t involve any more bathroom breaks.
The much-awaited mile 60 and the left turn back onto Hwy 20 allowed me to cruise at or above 20 mph pretty easily. Even with a couple stops, including several minutes checking my bike for something rubbing (never did find out what it was, but something was squeaking), I averaged 18 mph. Ignoring the 5 mile out and back, I held 19.88 mph over the rest of the course. My right IT band really suffered through the last hour and a half of the ride, but I kept aero as much as I could stand and held on for dear life. My reward, of course, was a very windy 6 miles into T2. I hoped to hold low power and spin it out over the last stretch, but the wind was too strong; I wasn’t going anywhere. With patience, I finally saw the Waffle House over the horizon and turned off of Front Beach onto Beach Rd.
I wasn’t sure what to expect on this bike from a time perspective, but clocking a 6:45 was a solid goal set about 60 miles from home. I wasn’t sure how that would compare against what I might have done with a proper training regime, nor how it would stack up against my age group compatriots, but I knew enough to immediately recognize it as the first sub 7 hr Ironman bike. That’s about all I was thinking when I dismounted and handed my bike off. So, despite the fact that I was already nauseated and pretty tired, I managed a smile when I stopped my Garmin at just under the mark.
Bike time: 6:45:23
Per the Garmin: 6:44:40; 111.73 mi; 1319ft total climbing; 147 bpm
Per the Powertap: 126 AP; 131 NP; 2,966 kJ (which is amazingly close to the 2,964 kJ IM CdA took)
Making that tight turn to pick up my T2 bag was asking a lot, but I soon found my way once more to the “get naked room.” As I did on the bike, I elected to put on a full runner’s kit in lieu of a triathlon suit; I donned a tech shirt and running shorts, along with my typical visor, compression sleeves and race shoes. It took every bit as long as last time, peeling layers off of a sweaty, salty body and putting on all new ones, but I got all dressed in good time. Had a chance to chat up some of the other riders while I changed, which is always pleasant. Eventually, I was primped and prepped and ready for a night on the town. I try my best to quickly find marathon pace as I hit my Garmin, ready to take this one step at a time.
T2: 8:47
Ironman Florida: The Run
9 minute miles felt like a pretty easy pace at the start, but I sort of figured it was too fast. I tried to actively slow myself down, but it didn't happen for a couple miles. It was pretty clear I didn't have the raw endurance I'm used to for IM races, and the pace started getting pretty difficult right away.
The run course at Florida reminded me a bit of Louisville; essentially a dead flat out and back on city roads, snaking through residential and downtown commercial buildings, and boring as snot. I knew enough about the course to know that there's a loop through St. Andrew's State Park right at the end of the out-and-back, and that I should fear it very, very much. So, step one is to simply get there and scope it out.
It didn't take long for my pace to slide. It took probably a mile to get my HR up to race pace, then I progressively slowed over the next few. By mile 4, I was ready to start walking. I didn't walk, didn't even allow allotted walking breaks, but I couldn't help but wonder if I'd end up clocking a new slowest marathon ever.
It didn't help things that I was feeling pretty crappy right out of the gate. The nausea that usually doesn't join the party until lap 2 of the run, started ruining my good time within the 2nd mile marker. Such a situation caused me to realize something for the first time: I don't really NEED gels out there. I mean, let's consider this: I'm of the opinion that I don't get enough water in me to fully digest the gels on the run; that I'm always running dehydrated and not allowing my body to absorb the calories I'm taking in. Why, then, would I want to use gels? Why not just stick to IM Perform? Well, let's try it, huh? I threw back a cup of water and a cup of Perform at each of the first 9 aids stations and a miraculous thing happened.
My nausea calmed down.
I began to feel less tired.
And
-surprisingly-
I'm peeing again!
Of course, the Perform doesn't last forever; it's pretty vile stuff that late in the day. But my problems were delayed a few hours, and I was happy for that.
I was really taken aback by how boring the run was. Maybe there's not much you can really look at in Panama City (besides the ocean, and we've seen plenty of that), but man it was boring. We just wove in and out of side streets that all looked alike. I was looking for the entrance to the park and not seeing anything I was looking for. I waste away the first out section in such a state, and finally reach the entrance around mile 5.5. I lap my Garmin and see how long it will take to get through it. The park, for all the warnings I got about it, was actually my favorite part of the course. Something about the tall, weird shaped trees reminded me of a lion or tiger exhibit at the zoo; one of those REALLY big ones you navigate by car. So I was running along wondering what kind of exotic creatures may be lurking in the bushes. The things we do for entertainment.
I complete the 2 mile park section in about 21 minutes, and keep that in the back of my mind for the second lap. Not too long out of the park, I have what I immediately swear to myself is my last sip of Perform; we're switching to coke at mile 10. 4 GU packets still jingle-jangle in my pockets in case I get in trouble, but coke has never steered me wrong. Well, except at CdA when I choked on my Pepto tab, but I can't blame the coke for that.
The last 5 miles back into town went from me thinking I could run the whole thing, to me being pretty damn sure I can't even run the whole 5 miles. I do a little shuffling as I make it back into town, but mostly running. I want to run the first loop in 2:30 and let the second loop fall where it may. Whatever, this is a fun race. I make it back to Special Needs FINALLY and begin dressing warm. I kind of anticipated needing some warmer clothes for a slower back half, and after not having it at CdA I knew enough that it was worth packing some extras. I added a long sleeve shirt, some gloves and changed shoes. The shoe change was because it's not comfortable, or good for your legs, to walk in Newtons. I didn't plan on running the last bit, so I put on some flatter Saucony's. I can still run in them if it comes to that, but more than likely I'll be walking. Which is fine.
I decide to go ahead and pop my energy drink and take some pepto tabs before I head back out. I decide I'm going to run 5 minutes and walk 5 minutes. If I can run an 11 min pace and walk a sub 20 min pace, then I can still shuffle in to around a 6 hour marathon and around another PR. So off I run onto my first 5 minute jog section. 5 minutes seems like an awful long time both on the running and the walking sections. The running section got spoiled pretty early on by puking. I don't know what it is about taking pepto tabs my body finds so offensive; like it takes it personally that I don't let it take care of the nausea on its terms. This time, though, I decide that I'm going to keep running after throwing up. I've bonked doing that before, but I have gels. No worries; let's blaze a new path.
The 5 on/5 off is too long, so I switch to 3/3. This is plenty fine for the next 5 miles to the park. I'm still drinking coke and water and still have not bonked, nor dipped into my gels. I start to feel kind of better again as I near the park and decide to go for it. The loudest piece of advice I got prior to this race told me to GET OUT OF THE PARK ON THE SECOND LOOP! If you start walking in the park, it feels like you never leave. The park really got into some people's heads. Regardless, it made me fear it, and made me strategize around it. I decided to run as much as I could when I got there. This was an interesting endeavor; I hadn't really willed myself to run that far that late in an Ironman before. The closest I'd come was running mile 14.5-15.5 at CdA; this was running mile 18.5-20.5 through a lion enclosure. I kept going, kept up the pace and almost made it! I couldn't go anymore around mile 20, but soon found myself out of the park and counting down the miles to go. I've earned a nice walk break before I start the shuffle again.
But then it happened. Something that's never happened before. I was passed by a racer coming out of the park running about the same pace as I (when I was running). He said "if we can manage a 12-13 min/mi pace, we can break 14 hours." My first thought was "what? No we can't!" Then I got to thinking about it for a second. Idk, maybe we could, if I ran the whole way. But the whole last 10k? Impossible. No thank you. My shuffle is getting me there just fine.
And that was the end of the conversation...
For a little while...
About a half mile, in fact. I took a bit of time to really digest that notion. I felt like I could run more; the park proved I could. I was only 5 miles from the finish line, which would only take an hour to run it. This was my last race for a while; it's not like I had to be cautious. In fact, I'd never really finished an Ironman running before. Why is that? What do I have against finishing one of these strong? Why do I think it's so impossible?
So I make a very loud prayer to keep me safe and keep me strong over the last little bit. I have no idea if this is possible or if trying will leave me face down in the dirt like it did last June. But I'm going to try it. I'm going to air it out and see where it got me.
And off I run.
I'm still stopping at the aid stations to grab coke; I've pretty much given up on water and I'm throwing away my gels. With all the running, I'd long since taken off my gloves and long sleeve shirt and put them away. It's so like my luck: when I need them, I don't have them; when I have them, I don't need them because I'm running at mile 22 of the marathon. I make it about 2.5 miles before stopping for a walk. It didn't seem necessary to pound myself continuously for another 3 miles, so I took a few minutes, got in some more coke and picked it up again at mile 24. It became increasingly obvious to me that I was going to go sub 14, which was unbelievable after shooting for 14:50 a few hours ago. The sub 14 pace soon became too easy, and for a time I went for 13:45. That didn't last for long, as the numbers didn't make sense in the closing miles. So I took a walk break here and there, stopped to pee once. Had only I'd known what my final finish time would have been.
The finish line at Florida was a big buzzkill. Well, not the line specifically as the lead into the line. I figured I was in the home stretch when I turned onto Front Beach Rd at mile 25.5, but by the time you backtracked to Thomas Dr, they make you circumnavigate a restaurant and file in the back way. So at mile mark 26, you run out of the neon lights, out of the wall of spectators, out of the noise and the faint glow of the finish line and out into some stupid pitch-dark back road with a construction site on one side and a parking lot on the left. Not cool, race organizers.
The finish chute, once you get there, was pretty par for the course. I never really have the capacity to fully enjoy and appreciate the final 100 feet as much as I feel I deserve to, but I point to the sky, pump my arms and smile like a guy who just took 1:10 off his PR. I'm the happiest I've been since my first IM finish as I get shuttled through the chute. I get the standard medal -> shirt -> hat, none of which I have grand plans for, but start to worry my finish line catcher with a hacking cough I can't seem to control. Did I mention I have a cold? That I've had a cold for 2 weeks? Maybe I should have pointed that out earlier. Like I needed one more thing working against me today.
Run time: 5:26:24
My marathon PR is 5:07:XX, if you can believe it. And I've never ran a sub 6 hr IM marathon.
Total time: 13:47:53; A PR by 1:11:56
For the first time in my Ironman life, I finished early enough to go home, shower, change clothes and come back for the late night finishers. This is the best news of the day. I won't make a big deal about how hard it was to get back to the condo in such a late state of exhaustion >.<
What's important is that I had a great race. Definitely the only Ironman I can truly say I'm happy the way it panned out. Let's bookend this blog with Facebook updates.
"has NEVER gone that deep (into the pain cave), and for the first time avoided "worst case scenario." Not a perfect race, but a pretty damn good one! So satisfied!"
The run course at Florida reminded me a bit of Louisville; essentially a dead flat out and back on city roads, snaking through residential and downtown commercial buildings, and boring as snot. I knew enough about the course to know that there's a loop through St. Andrew's State Park right at the end of the out-and-back, and that I should fear it very, very much. So, step one is to simply get there and scope it out.
It didn't take long for my pace to slide. It took probably a mile to get my HR up to race pace, then I progressively slowed over the next few. By mile 4, I was ready to start walking. I didn't walk, didn't even allow allotted walking breaks, but I couldn't help but wonder if I'd end up clocking a new slowest marathon ever.
It didn't help things that I was feeling pretty crappy right out of the gate. The nausea that usually doesn't join the party until lap 2 of the run, started ruining my good time within the 2nd mile marker. Such a situation caused me to realize something for the first time: I don't really NEED gels out there. I mean, let's consider this: I'm of the opinion that I don't get enough water in me to fully digest the gels on the run; that I'm always running dehydrated and not allowing my body to absorb the calories I'm taking in. Why, then, would I want to use gels? Why not just stick to IM Perform? Well, let's try it, huh? I threw back a cup of water and a cup of Perform at each of the first 9 aids stations and a miraculous thing happened.
My nausea calmed down.
I began to feel less tired.
And
-surprisingly-
I'm peeing again!
Of course, the Perform doesn't last forever; it's pretty vile stuff that late in the day. But my problems were delayed a few hours, and I was happy for that.
I was really taken aback by how boring the run was. Maybe there's not much you can really look at in Panama City (besides the ocean, and we've seen plenty of that), but man it was boring. We just wove in and out of side streets that all looked alike. I was looking for the entrance to the park and not seeing anything I was looking for. I waste away the first out section in such a state, and finally reach the entrance around mile 5.5. I lap my Garmin and see how long it will take to get through it. The park, for all the warnings I got about it, was actually my favorite part of the course. Something about the tall, weird shaped trees reminded me of a lion or tiger exhibit at the zoo; one of those REALLY big ones you navigate by car. So I was running along wondering what kind of exotic creatures may be lurking in the bushes. The things we do for entertainment.
I complete the 2 mile park section in about 21 minutes, and keep that in the back of my mind for the second lap. Not too long out of the park, I have what I immediately swear to myself is my last sip of Perform; we're switching to coke at mile 10. 4 GU packets still jingle-jangle in my pockets in case I get in trouble, but coke has never steered me wrong. Well, except at CdA when I choked on my Pepto tab, but I can't blame the coke for that.
The last 5 miles back into town went from me thinking I could run the whole thing, to me being pretty damn sure I can't even run the whole 5 miles. I do a little shuffling as I make it back into town, but mostly running. I want to run the first loop in 2:30 and let the second loop fall where it may. Whatever, this is a fun race. I make it back to Special Needs FINALLY and begin dressing warm. I kind of anticipated needing some warmer clothes for a slower back half, and after not having it at CdA I knew enough that it was worth packing some extras. I added a long sleeve shirt, some gloves and changed shoes. The shoe change was because it's not comfortable, or good for your legs, to walk in Newtons. I didn't plan on running the last bit, so I put on some flatter Saucony's. I can still run in them if it comes to that, but more than likely I'll be walking. Which is fine.
I decide to go ahead and pop my energy drink and take some pepto tabs before I head back out. I decide I'm going to run 5 minutes and walk 5 minutes. If I can run an 11 min pace and walk a sub 20 min pace, then I can still shuffle in to around a 6 hour marathon and around another PR. So off I run onto my first 5 minute jog section. 5 minutes seems like an awful long time both on the running and the walking sections. The running section got spoiled pretty early on by puking. I don't know what it is about taking pepto tabs my body finds so offensive; like it takes it personally that I don't let it take care of the nausea on its terms. This time, though, I decide that I'm going to keep running after throwing up. I've bonked doing that before, but I have gels. No worries; let's blaze a new path.
The 5 on/5 off is too long, so I switch to 3/3. This is plenty fine for the next 5 miles to the park. I'm still drinking coke and water and still have not bonked, nor dipped into my gels. I start to feel kind of better again as I near the park and decide to go for it. The loudest piece of advice I got prior to this race told me to GET OUT OF THE PARK ON THE SECOND LOOP! If you start walking in the park, it feels like you never leave. The park really got into some people's heads. Regardless, it made me fear it, and made me strategize around it. I decided to run as much as I could when I got there. This was an interesting endeavor; I hadn't really willed myself to run that far that late in an Ironman before. The closest I'd come was running mile 14.5-15.5 at CdA; this was running mile 18.5-20.5 through a lion enclosure. I kept going, kept up the pace and almost made it! I couldn't go anymore around mile 20, but soon found myself out of the park and counting down the miles to go. I've earned a nice walk break before I start the shuffle again.
But then it happened. Something that's never happened before. I was passed by a racer coming out of the park running about the same pace as I (when I was running). He said "if we can manage a 12-13 min/mi pace, we can break 14 hours." My first thought was "what? No we can't!" Then I got to thinking about it for a second. Idk, maybe we could, if I ran the whole way. But the whole last 10k? Impossible. No thank you. My shuffle is getting me there just fine.
And that was the end of the conversation...
For a little while...
About a half mile, in fact. I took a bit of time to really digest that notion. I felt like I could run more; the park proved I could. I was only 5 miles from the finish line, which would only take an hour to run it. This was my last race for a while; it's not like I had to be cautious. In fact, I'd never really finished an Ironman running before. Why is that? What do I have against finishing one of these strong? Why do I think it's so impossible?
So I make a very loud prayer to keep me safe and keep me strong over the last little bit. I have no idea if this is possible or if trying will leave me face down in the dirt like it did last June. But I'm going to try it. I'm going to air it out and see where it got me.
And off I run.
I'm still stopping at the aid stations to grab coke; I've pretty much given up on water and I'm throwing away my gels. With all the running, I'd long since taken off my gloves and long sleeve shirt and put them away. It's so like my luck: when I need them, I don't have them; when I have them, I don't need them because I'm running at mile 22 of the marathon. I make it about 2.5 miles before stopping for a walk. It didn't seem necessary to pound myself continuously for another 3 miles, so I took a few minutes, got in some more coke and picked it up again at mile 24. It became increasingly obvious to me that I was going to go sub 14, which was unbelievable after shooting for 14:50 a few hours ago. The sub 14 pace soon became too easy, and for a time I went for 13:45. That didn't last for long, as the numbers didn't make sense in the closing miles. So I took a walk break here and there, stopped to pee once. Had only I'd known what my final finish time would have been.
The finish line at Florida was a big buzzkill. Well, not the line specifically as the lead into the line. I figured I was in the home stretch when I turned onto Front Beach Rd at mile 25.5, but by the time you backtracked to Thomas Dr, they make you circumnavigate a restaurant and file in the back way. So at mile mark 26, you run out of the neon lights, out of the wall of spectators, out of the noise and the faint glow of the finish line and out into some stupid pitch-dark back road with a construction site on one side and a parking lot on the left. Not cool, race organizers.
The finish chute, once you get there, was pretty par for the course. I never really have the capacity to fully enjoy and appreciate the final 100 feet as much as I feel I deserve to, but I point to the sky, pump my arms and smile like a guy who just took 1:10 off his PR. I'm the happiest I've been since my first IM finish as I get shuttled through the chute. I get the standard medal -> shirt -> hat, none of which I have grand plans for, but start to worry my finish line catcher with a hacking cough I can't seem to control. Did I mention I have a cold? That I've had a cold for 2 weeks? Maybe I should have pointed that out earlier. Like I needed one more thing working against me today.
Run time: 5:26:24
My marathon PR is 5:07:XX, if you can believe it. And I've never ran a sub 6 hr IM marathon.
Total time: 13:47:53; A PR by 1:11:56
For the first time in my Ironman life, I finished early enough to go home, shower, change clothes and come back for the late night finishers. This is the best news of the day. I won't make a big deal about how hard it was to get back to the condo in such a late state of exhaustion >.<
What's important is that I had a great race. Definitely the only Ironman I can truly say I'm happy the way it panned out. Let's bookend this blog with Facebook updates.
"has NEVER gone that deep (into the pain cave), and for the first time avoided "worst case scenario." Not a perfect race, but a pretty damn good one! So satisfied!"
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