500 yd swim -> 12 mile bike -> 3 mile run
Number one of two
This race really started on Tuesday. I had really crushed my bike ride over the weekend, and had been feeling the effects all week. Whether or not I accomplished what needed to be accomplished from a fitness perspective, I succeeded in pummeling myself into hamburger meat, and causing anxiety as to whether I'd be ready for this weekend. For the nosey: I rode 30 miles on the moderately challenging rolling hills of the Natchez trace at about 17 mph, ran 1.5 miles, rode another 25 miles on the Trace a bit harder, then went home and rode the 1.5 hour "Mental Toughness" Spinnerval's DVD. And, like I said, I was gassed.
After taking Monday off, I went out for 4-6 mile repeats at 5k pace, and RPE was just through the roof. I cut my losses after 3 and made the decision to shut the engine down for the rest of the week. I just hope I could recover enough to have a good showing at the unique notion of two triathlons in two days.
I slept well until a bathroom wake up came around at 3:30. I went number one and went back to bed, only to have to get up for number two about 15 seconds later. Apparently this was far too exciting for my body to shut down, and I was up for the rest of the day. So I play video games, of course. The idea of eating sweet potatoes two mornings in a row is disgusting, so I elect for oatmeal with honey and milk. After killing the morning, I come to find out that I've lost my TriSwami race kit. Seriously? I looked at every logical hiding place, but lose faith and slap on the MTSU one. I head towards the Y about 5 to 8 and try my best not to let this ruffle my feathers.
I get there about 5 minutes into the 8:00 wave's swim and park up next to Norton. I'm able to watch just about all of the 8:00 wave before it's time to warm up. I do NMA and running drills and set my spin bike. I find I'm very quickly running out of time (too much commiserating) and am in a bit of a frenzy getting my transition area set up and into the water for a warmup. All I can get in is a 200 yd swim (I would have preferred 500) moments before it's time to go. Stay calm, stay calm. My expectations for the swim fall and I resolve to just have a good day.
Nick and I are sharing a lane and we agree to draft off of each other. We're together for the first 25 yards and hit the wall at the same time. Except when I push off, my goggles open up and water shoots into my right eye. Oh, what the f*ck? At first I don't know what to do and ignore it. I start to slip away from Nick. My depth perception is terrible and I'm not turning at the right time; my push offs are awful. After 125 yards, I stop at the wall and empty the goggle. About 250 yards, the left goggle starts to leak. I stop at 325 to adjust that one, and am starting to get pissed off. There's some more leaking in the left one after 400, but I ignore it and push through to the end. Nick gets a gap of about a body length and a half at his peak, but I shamelessly draft off of him throughout most of the swim, and pull him back in the last 25. We exit the water at the same time, once again. The one emotion I'm most overcome with is guilt. Nick and I agreed to share the work, and I didn't help him at all. Oh well, such is racing I guess.
Swim: 7:29; 1:30/100 yd
Nick grabs his stuff and hustles to the bikes, but I stop and put on my shoes. We're the first ones on in our wave. Again, I'm pretty sure we weren't the first ones out of the water, but were the first on the bikes. This is feeling rather familiar.
T1: :34
I already have it set up and have warmed up on it. I already know what to expect. There were some amazing speeds in the first wave, and I was really intimidated to see how much faster some people are than last year. As soon as I got on my bike and started to warm up, I noticed that they're simply calibrated differently. Everyone is over 30 mph; I was warming up at a cadence of 90 and it read 29.5 mph. Whatever, less time on the bike...
The bikes fill up quickly and I lose touch completely with placement. Distance is clipping away very, very quickly, but I've got nothing to gauge from. What's more, you could see your speed displayed at all times, but the computer cycled from distance to top speed to average speed to elapsed time, so I only had 5 second glances at the distance covered every 20, which was very annoying. I had my Garmin, so I knew my bike time; I wanted to know my distance!
I get on the bike and start to spin before getting my feet in the pedals. That's how you do things on a real bike, and that's what my muscle memory dictated. For those familiar with how a spin bike works, it's obvious that this was not going to work, so I had to stop the bike to get my feet into the pedals. Once I had that completed, my goal was to hold on for dear life as the pedals pedaled themselves at roundabout 120 rpm. I didn't ever really pedal the bike; never really put any power to the pedals. Most of my effort was pulling up on the clips AGAINST the speed of the pedals, trying to SLOW IT DOWN so my feet could catch up. I found a rhythm in a very asymmetrical pedal stroke and did my best to hold it. The computer oscillated between 33 and 35 mph at this rhythm, so that's what I held.
The bike went pretty quickly. I noticed that I was almost half way done at the 10 minute mark, and didn't think there was a lot of strategy to improve my situation. My HR has come down from the swim, and is hovering in the low to mid 160s, so pacing is fine. I'm not experiencing any pain in any alarming locations. Things are going as well as can be expected. I do a bit of talking as I ride; although it's rather technically difficult to do, it's not taxing the aerobic system very much. I whine to everyone that will listen about my swim, but mostly take care of business.
As I near closer to mile 12 I start to look for others sliding off their bikes. Doesn't happen at 10.5, not at 11, not at 11.5. Doesn't seem like anyone is putting time into me; maybe I have a good bike. It's really about bike selection at this race, and I got a fast one. Lucky me. I'm very near 12 and preparing to hop off when the computer cycles away from distance. I'm getting pretty antsy that I may end up riding 12.03 miles instead of the necessary 12 (perish the thought!), but luck is on my side and distance is in view when I roll it over. I slide off the bike in first place and sprint to the treadmills. I wonder how far back everyone is?
Bike: 21:37; 33.3 mph (oh yeah, all me...)
T2: :12
Nick is the next off his bike and he grabs the treadmill next to me. Wouldn't ya freaking know it, I'm .35 miles ahead of him; exactly what it was last year. Like last year, he's running a tad faster than me. I'm at 8.5 and he sets up at 9. Here we are again, I said to him, and we both smile.
My plan for the run wasn't particularly based off of training. I don't really run on treadmills, and never do steady state efforts on them. I don't really know what to expect. So my plan is to set it on 8.5 mph (almost exactly 7:00/mi) and just see how things go. The pace feels great when I start running and resolve to hold it for the first 15 minutes. Then we'll reassess.
Nick doesn't hold 9 mph very long and I soon see him back at 8.5. At this moment I have the win, so long as I don't blow up. I'm always worried about pacing, but have few reasons to think that I'm overdoing it. I'm feeling really, really good for a while. I kick it up a couple clicks, just to see how it feels, for a few minutes and back it back down. It's pushing me over LT, and it's a bit too early for that. My 8.5 mph leaves me right at LT. In theory, I should be able to maintain LT+5 beats for a 5k, but I don't want to risk it. All the chips are in my favor at the moment and, more importantly, this is just a fun race. I really want to do well tomorrow.
My first mile is in 7:05 or so, which includes the initial process of speeding up the belt. I decide that things are still feeling okay at the 10 minute mark, and pick it up to 8.7mph. I'm constantly keeping tabs on Nick, and fairly regularly glancing at a TV monitor in front of me during the middle section; an elliptical user has Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist on, and I zone out a bit watching that. On my pseudo-regular snaps back to reality I find myself right at LT, but handling the speed fairly well. I'm ready to back it down at any sign of difficulty, but things are going well. Mile two passes, and I'm starting to get tired; right on cue. I bump it up to 9.0. I'm still okay, and accelerate again to 9.5 at mile 2.4, a half mile away from the dismount. I realize very quickly that maintaining this speed for very long is going to be too much for me, but this is offset by the fact that the distance is clicking over much faster now than it was earlier.
After a rough calculation has me getting off the treadmill around the 20 minute mark, I find that counting down the seconds to the dismount is much more agreeable than counting up as distance covered increases. I count down the seconds; 90 seconds; 60 seconds; I turn it up to 10mph for the last minute. I mean, why not? Counting down, counting down, counting down. I hit mile 2.88 and get ready to fly off. Nobody's anywhere near me. I hit 2.9 and hop off. I sprint towards the stairs as the sounds of a YMCA working shoot past me: "Runner coming up! Get out of his way!"
I have to do quite a bit of clearing myself once I'm up on the track. I'm kicking it in as quickly as I can and soon snap the bit of ribbon they hold out for most racers. I get there a bit quicker than they had anticipated, and barely get it stretched out in time, but it was a nice touch. I'm tired and out of breathe, but I recover within a couple minutes. For the first time all day, I'm convinced that I HAVE ARRIVED physically. I'm first in my wave and am relatively certain I have first overall.
Run: 20:22; 6:47/mi
Total time: 50:14.56, 1st Overall (there were about 25 racers)
Nick finishes his lap as I'm finishing my cool down lap, and about 4 minutes behind me. I hang around to watch some other friends finish and, as sportsmanly as I could, look around to make sure my win is sewn up. It's a pretty cool feeling; winning a race was definitely on my bucket list and it was awesome to pull it out. A little unexpected, but I knew I'd never go into a race as the overall favorite; not in my book at least.
It's all smiles and handshakes as everyone finishes one by one. I'd really like to see this race earlier in the Spring, before the race season kicks off in earnest, but by and large everyone is happy with their times and happy to be racing again. Quite a few people are doing the double and racing tomorrow, so I look forward to seeing how that goes.
My prize is a $50 gift card to Walmart, which presents another first: the first time I've profited off of a race. I really need to get on that paperwork to race as a professional; they're bound to start disqualifying me if I keep racing age group...
In all seriousness it was cool to have such a great race, despite several early setbacks. It's a great omen and an incredible feeling, but this race hardly counts as one. I'm exponentially more concerned with how tomorrow goes, and exponentially more concerned with New Orleans than ADPi. Still, I'll be the grinning jackass tomorrow morning mentioning in small talk how he won his triathlon yesterday.
:-)
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Performance Enhancing Drugs: Which one's for me?
The complete debaucle of 2011's Natchez Trace Triathlon has inspired me to start a running post critiquing different energy drinks, supplements and various nutritional intervention practices with the sole purpose of decreasing RPE during races and training sessions. I've used a lot of different things in the past and will likely continue to experiment in the future. This post is primarily for me to review over the years to see what seems to work and what seems to disagree with me. This may or may not apply to you personally, and in no way am I advocating using one or a combination of several of the following products before consulting with a physician. Not that you'd take my words as medical advice in the first place...
I'm not here to babble. Let's get on with it.
(A continued work-in-progress)
Caffeine Pills: use it!
Serving size? one 200 mg pill. Vivarin, No Doz or generic brand
Availability? any grocery store, WalMart, any pharmacy
Cost? $8 for a pack of 2 dozen
How do you take it? Pop one 15 minutes before you want it to kick in. Wash it down with a little water.
What do you use it for? Half-marathon, Full-marathon and triathlons with runs longer than 10 miles
Pros:
- Cheap
- Easy to obtain
- IT WORKS
- Can buy in bulk
- Stores well
Cons:
- Cannot use it for short course
- Must abstain from caffeine beforehand
- Causes withdrawl
- Decreases perception of pain, possibly increasing risk of injury
- Not really safe or healthy to use all of the time
- Alters taste of foods when combined (gels)
Other things of note:
- Shoot for 1.5 to 2.5 mg/lb of body weight. For me, that's 225 to 375 mg, although I find that 200 works just fine. Find the lowest dose you can that gives you the benefit to avoid unneccessary strain on your adrenal glands.
- Completely abstaining from caffeine for 10 days prior to use maximizes benefit.
- The half life of caffeine is roughly 3 hours, possibly as low as 2 when racing intensely. Therefore, it is generally not a good idea to use caffeine for short course racing.
- When using caffeine, take in GENEROUS amounts of Coke and/or coffee post-race, or suffer the huge withdrawl headache.
Delta-E: use it!
Serving size? two packets, mixed with 6-8 oz of plain water
Availability? must be ordered online
Cost? $45 for a box of 10 servings
How do you take it? Consume 15-20 minutes prior to race What do you use it for? Long bike rides, Half and Full IM bike legs, short course triathlon
Pros:
- Works, but is not as effective as caffeine
- No after effects
- Can be taken semi-regularly
- Does not cause a lot of adrenal stress
Cons:
- Tastes like crap
- Must allow a lot of time for settling
- Expensive and inaccessible
- One more thing to have to worry about on race morning
- Creates a lot of gas if you don't let it "season"
Other things of note:
- Because it's an effervescent drink that mixes automatically in water, there's a fair amount of carbonation that occurs when you first dump it in. Allow 10 minutes if not more before consuming.
Five Hour Energy: don't use it!
Serving size? one full bottle
Availability? any grocery store, Walmart, any pharmacy
Cost? $2-3 for a single bottle
How do you take it? Down it 20-30 minutes prior to race
What do you use it for? Long bike rides, Half and Full IM bike legs, short course triathlon
Pros:
- Very cheap
- Very accessible
- Can buy only one for a single race
- Unoffensive taste
- Less than a mouthful to take in
- Some ergogenic benefit
Cons:
- I don't feel any better after taking it*
- I suspect it elevates HR*
- Contains artificial sweeteners
- Must be taken longer before race start
- Makes me gassy*
Other things of note:
- Most of the cons stem from a single bad experience at the 2011 Natchez Trace Triathlon (denoted with a *). I may give it another chance someday, in a pinch.
I'm not here to babble. Let's get on with it.
(A continued work-in-progress)
Caffeine Pills: use it!
Serving size? one 200 mg pill. Vivarin, No Doz or generic brand
Availability? any grocery store, WalMart, any pharmacy
Cost? $8 for a pack of 2 dozen
How do you take it? Pop one 15 minutes before you want it to kick in. Wash it down with a little water.
What do you use it for? Half-marathon, Full-marathon and triathlons with runs longer than 10 miles
Pros:
- Cheap
- Easy to obtain
- IT WORKS
- Can buy in bulk
- Stores well
Cons:
- Cannot use it for short course
- Must abstain from caffeine beforehand
- Causes withdrawl
- Decreases perception of pain, possibly increasing risk of injury
- Not really safe or healthy to use all of the time
- Alters taste of foods when combined (gels)
Other things of note:
- Shoot for 1.5 to 2.5 mg/lb of body weight. For me, that's 225 to 375 mg, although I find that 200 works just fine. Find the lowest dose you can that gives you the benefit to avoid unneccessary strain on your adrenal glands.
- Completely abstaining from caffeine for 10 days prior to use maximizes benefit.
- The half life of caffeine is roughly 3 hours, possibly as low as 2 when racing intensely. Therefore, it is generally not a good idea to use caffeine for short course racing.
- When using caffeine, take in GENEROUS amounts of Coke and/or coffee post-race, or suffer the huge withdrawl headache.
Delta-E: use it!
Serving size? two packets, mixed with 6-8 oz of plain water
Availability? must be ordered online
Cost? $45 for a box of 10 servings
How do you take it? Consume 15-20 minutes prior to race What do you use it for? Long bike rides, Half and Full IM bike legs, short course triathlon
Pros:
- Works, but is not as effective as caffeine
- No after effects
- Can be taken semi-regularly
- Does not cause a lot of adrenal stress
Cons:
- Tastes like crap
- Must allow a lot of time for settling
- Expensive and inaccessible
- One more thing to have to worry about on race morning
- Creates a lot of gas if you don't let it "season"
Other things of note:
- Because it's an effervescent drink that mixes automatically in water, there's a fair amount of carbonation that occurs when you first dump it in. Allow 10 minutes if not more before consuming.
Five Hour Energy: don't use it!
Serving size? one full bottle
Availability? any grocery store, Walmart, any pharmacy
Cost? $2-3 for a single bottle
How do you take it? Down it 20-30 minutes prior to race
What do you use it for? Long bike rides, Half and Full IM bike legs, short course triathlon
Pros:
- Very cheap
- Very accessible
- Can buy only one for a single race
- Unoffensive taste
- Less than a mouthful to take in
- Some ergogenic benefit
Cons:
- I don't feel any better after taking it*
- I suspect it elevates HR*
- Contains artificial sweeteners
- Must be taken longer before race start
- Makes me gassy*
Other things of note:
- Most of the cons stem from a single bad experience at the 2011 Natchez Trace Triathlon (denoted with a *). I may give it another chance someday, in a pinch.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Natchez Trace Triathlon
March 20, 2011
A vacation to No-Man's-Land
It's the same story on a different day; the same story I feel compelled to repeat at the start of every season. I'm way too excited about the first triathlon of the year to get as much sleep as I had the opportunity to get. First race aside, there isn't a thing in the world that's particularly exciting or ominous about this race. Regardless, and despite my better reasoning and experience, I found myself wide awake at 5 am, five hours prior to race start with nothing to do except try to keep as quite as possible.
When 6:30 finally rolls around I'm lucky enough to get to get up and eat breakfast. And that's it... let's kill another hour...
And then it's probably okay to leave. I get the idea to kill time by checking out part or all (end up seeing all) of the trail-run part of the run course; it's the only part of the course I haven't seen yet. I make a mental checklist of hills, technical descents and mud puddles, and feel better both having seen the course and that I've managed to kill another hour. It's FINALLY time to start getting ready. I drag my bike and transition bag out of the hotel room and start to set up. It's little more than reserving my spot and dropping my stuff off, since I'm not dressed yet.
A little out of order, I drop off my stuff, get dressed, set up my transition area, fill bottles and shoot the (triathlon) shit over the next hour (what are we up to now, 4 hours?) before I go warm up. Run warm up of NMA, A/B/Cs and 4 long strides. I drop off my shoes and hop on my bike for 4 accelerations up the massively steep initial climb out of the park; it's more to select my gearing and practice getting my shoes on than a true "warm-up." After putting the finishing touches on my transition area, I grab my swim gear and my elastic band for a dry land swim warm up during the race briefing. No time for a swim warm-up. Wouldn't want to anyway, water temp's a balmy 54 degrees.
So, the meeting ends and we line up at water's edge. I'm number 13 and won't have to wait too long before I get to hop in. Pop a GU and a 5 hour energy a fair amount of time after I'd planned to (about 9:55), zip my suit up and dump my first of two gallons of warm water in my suit. This is a tip I picked up at the coaching clinic (and a free one to you). Rather than hopping dry into frigid waters and dealing with a quick plummet in core temperature, fill up some gallon jugs with warm water from the hotel room. Dump the water in the neck of your suit before race start. Of course, most of the water leaks through the legs, but it still helps.
55 seconds after the first swimmer, I'm cued for takeoff. I hop in the water and am filled with nostalgia from two years ago. This water's freakin' cold! Face gets very cold VERY quickly, hands and feet go numb before the first turn buoy, head starts to hurt a little, hypoxia and I can't see a flipping thing because I can't focus. All I hear are alarms in my body telling me to proceed to the nearest exit. It takes a second to get everything under control mentally and I soon remember that I'm typically a better swimmer than people I race with. I can't find any feet during the initial out to the first turn, but find a guy worth sticking with on out way towards the second and final turn. It's still not anywhere near comfortable, but I make peace with the cold water and the lack of oxygen and begin to pass people. Good to know I didn't forget how to swim during these last few weeks of heavy biking and newsworthy running.
There's a pack of three swimmers swimming abreast heading into the second and final turn buoy. Once it's rounded, I decide they're not going fast enough and go for the drop. I veer off course a bit in doing so and only pass two of the three, but I'm on dry land soon enough (after a dolphin dive, of course). Denise, per my request, announces that I'm 7th out of the water. Cool thing to hear. I'm panting like I just TT'd a 100 and can't help but wonder just how high my HR is as I jog to T1. Getting the suit off is a pain, but I wager I still do better in transition than most of the people who showed up. I get my suit off, slap on my glasses/helmet and take OFF. My Garmin 500 turned itself off during the swim (lame), but I was able to get it rebooted before the mount. I have no idea what my swim time or transition times are, but at least I'll know my splits for the rest of the day.
Swim time: 6:53 (1st in AG, something like 4th OA)
If the swim distance truly was 550 yards, that's 1:15 per 100. Yeah f*cking right.
T1: 1:13
I knew I was 7th out of the water, and estimated I was 10th in. Unbeknownst to me I'm 3rd mounting my bike, having past 4 people in transition. Really guys? Transition is FREE SPEED! Doing it well is NOT THAT HARD...
I mount and get my feet into my shoes without any effort or error and am in that moment thankful I had practiced pre-race. My HR is absolutely out of control going up the ludicrously steep hill climbing out of the park, but priority 1 was simply to get up it. I expect my heart rate to come down very rapidly once I'm over it. I'm still struggling to breathe, but searching for my rhythm and my legs. I've really worked hard on my bike over the last 2 months and really want to see what I can do. I quickly pass a girl who exited transition just ahead of me and find myself with the road all to myself. I wait around for company both in front of and behind me as I climb my way out of the generally uphill first 2 miles. I've reconned the course and know it's very generally uphill to 2, downhill to 4, uphill to 8 and downhill to the finish, but with noteworthy climbs at 10 and 12. It's a relatively fast course, but I'm comforted that I knew what to expect.
Things are a whole lot of the same after the first 3 miles. I'm still all alone, still struggling to breathe and still trying to get my heart rate down. After approaching 10 field tests over 2 years, I know my LTHR for the bike is anywhere from 163 to 167. Over the first 10 minutes on the bike, I've yet to see it under 180; something is amiss... In addition to sneaking suspicions that my 5 hour energy had a hand in my predicament, it is making me pretty bloated and gassy. I'm quite uncomfortable for the majority of the ride. I let out 4 or 5 good belches over the course of the first 8 miles before I start to feel better and my side stitch starts to wear away. No bueno.
The bike is going well. I'm getting over the climbs and staying low on the descents. I'm spinning out my biggest gear, which I've never been able to do before this year regardless of where I'm racing. I'm looking around for people to start roaring past me. I'm accustomed to being a strong swimmer and a weak biker, and to seeing dozens of cyclists exploiting my weakness. The peak of mile 2 comes, the valley of mile 4 comes, the cool waterfront section at mile 5. Still all alone. I get my first visitor around mile 7. I'm handling the rolling terrain better than I've ever been capable of handling before and a motorcycle passes me going the opposite direction. There's an official-looking guy riding in the back who flashes a peace sign to me as he passes. In the most beautifully innocent moment of inexperience and naivete, I wave at him. It takes a few seconds for me to connect the dots. Who was he? Why did he flash me two fingers? Was it two or three? Is that what place I'm in? Am I really leading the race? This is so wholly different from anything I've ever experienced.
Although it's admittedly the best trip I've ever taken there, I find myself in the geographic center of No-Man's-Land. And I have no idea what to do next.
The most logical conclusion is to forget it ever happened and pledge to sort this out later. I'm still wondering where all of the strong bikers are and I crest mile 8, mile 10 and prepare to finish the bike leg up. I'm doing calculations as I go, and am more or less averaging 20 mph on the nose, which is a nice round number I've never seen in a race before. Once I get over the mile 12 hill I'm happy to generally be finished climbing for the day. We turn off onto the little 1.5 mile connecting road and this time I don't mistake it for the final .5 mile descent into the park. Finishing up this section and nearing the final turn, I look behind me and for the first time see another cyclist on the hunt. Not that I'm worried about him catching me over the final .5 miles. I know fully well how to handle the steep descents of Park Lodge Rd. and when to get out of my shoes. I touch down just before the dismount line and hear Denise inform me that I'm 2nd off the bike. Holy crap! And I didn't get past ONCE over the ENTIRE BIKE COURSE! Holy double crap. I feel like I just borrowed someone else's legs for the last 45 minutes.
Bike time: 44:40; 20.15 mph (tied for 1st in AG)
Per the Garmin: 44:27; 14.89 miles; 20.1 mph
Total Ascent 856; Total Descent 925
Avg HR 179 bpm; Avg Cadence: 91 rpm
My heart rate never did go down; I ended up with some really strange HR data. Obviously I didn't have the luxury of viewing the detailed Garmin analysis, but I'm in all kinds of inexperience right now. My feet are way too tender on the asphalt, but I make a very quick transition and head out on my run. Let's try to hold this together.
T2: :43
The rider who almost caught me at the tail end of the bike course makes a pretty decent transition as well, and we exit onto the run at essentially the same time. One of the volunteers tells us we should "work together." I'm making plans to myself to do so until the end of the trail section, then see if I can drop him on the road. I offer to let him enter the trail first if he feels good, but he declines and we enter pretty much together. It takes about 3 minutes for me to realize that I was WAY too tired to be racing a 5k, much less one through the woods. I suppose I've caught my breathe since the swim, or at least as much as I can expect I will be able to between now and race finish, but my heart rate has been hovering around insanity all day. I very soon find myself running at a 9 minute per mile pace, and doing so with very poor form.
We run for about .75 miles before he makes the pass. I have nothing to do but let him. I'm out of gas. Utterly out of gas. I've wholly blown my load accomplishing a series of cycling PRs. I searched for any way I could think of to make the 2.8 mile run shorter than that, but all I could do was plug along at marathon pace and hurt like a character in a Saw movie doing so. I begin to feel a bit more empathy for the Chris Lieto's and Bjorn Andersson's of the world. It really sucks ass when you come to the realization that you might have overdone it on the bike. There's a lot of alarmism in it, and not a lot of hope. What little hope that exists centers around minimizing how many people catch you over the eternally long stretch of road between you and the finish tape.
That's essentially my run. I exit the forest in 11:49 for an abysmal 9:00/mi avg (per the Garmin) and just do what I can to get home as fast as possible. I lose touch with the guy I'd run with on the single track and run alone for a while. I pass the one aid station on course about mile 1.75 and grab two cups. And walk. And sip. And just about get run down by another racer. I start running again, but the pass is inevitable. He passes me, and I'm looking at 4th overall. I struggle to the turn back onto Park Lodge Rd. and see yet another runner behind me. I'm far too tired to take full advantage of the downhill finish, and get nipped at the line by him. It wasn't for lack of trying, but I finished about 1.5 seconds back and the only emotion that existed in me was relief that this race was over and I could stop now.
Run Time: 24:16 (2nd in AG)
Per the Garmin: 24:19; 8:33/mi avg;
Forest: 1.31 miles in 11:49; 9:00/mi avg;
HR: 184 bpm avg
Road: 1.53 miles in 12:30; 8:10/mi avg;
HR 182 bpm avg
Total Time: 1:17:45
More fun with numbers:
:40 from 5th overall
:57 from 3rd overall
One of 7 bikers (out of 81) to avg 20+ mph
1:12 ahead of 2nd place in my AG.
They award overall awards 5 deep. I'm 6th overall. >:-(
There's not a lot of celebrating to be done at the finish line. Death has its hold on me and it takes a little while to shake it off. I eventually wander back to where Denise is holed up and let her fill me in on how the race unfolded from the transition area. I'm still reeling at what a wholly different experience it was than I was expecting, or ever could have anticipated. Of course it's only fitting that I have to kill another two hours before the awards ceremony. I talk to some fellow racers about the course and the day, sharing stories in our usual narcissistic ways, trying our best to pretend that we're listening.
A vacation to No-Man's-Land
It's the same story on a different day; the same story I feel compelled to repeat at the start of every season. I'm way too excited about the first triathlon of the year to get as much sleep as I had the opportunity to get. First race aside, there isn't a thing in the world that's particularly exciting or ominous about this race. Regardless, and despite my better reasoning and experience, I found myself wide awake at 5 am, five hours prior to race start with nothing to do except try to keep as quite as possible.
When 6:30 finally rolls around I'm lucky enough to get to get up and eat breakfast. And that's it... let's kill another hour...
And then it's probably okay to leave. I get the idea to kill time by checking out part or all (end up seeing all) of the trail-run part of the run course; it's the only part of the course I haven't seen yet. I make a mental checklist of hills, technical descents and mud puddles, and feel better both having seen the course and that I've managed to kill another hour. It's FINALLY time to start getting ready. I drag my bike and transition bag out of the hotel room and start to set up. It's little more than reserving my spot and dropping my stuff off, since I'm not dressed yet.
A little out of order, I drop off my stuff, get dressed, set up my transition area, fill bottles and shoot the (triathlon) shit over the next hour (what are we up to now, 4 hours?) before I go warm up. Run warm up of NMA, A/B/Cs and 4 long strides. I drop off my shoes and hop on my bike for 4 accelerations up the massively steep initial climb out of the park; it's more to select my gearing and practice getting my shoes on than a true "warm-up." After putting the finishing touches on my transition area, I grab my swim gear and my elastic band for a dry land swim warm up during the race briefing. No time for a swim warm-up. Wouldn't want to anyway, water temp's a balmy 54 degrees.
So, the meeting ends and we line up at water's edge. I'm number 13 and won't have to wait too long before I get to hop in. Pop a GU and a 5 hour energy a fair amount of time after I'd planned to (about 9:55), zip my suit up and dump my first of two gallons of warm water in my suit. This is a tip I picked up at the coaching clinic (and a free one to you). Rather than hopping dry into frigid waters and dealing with a quick plummet in core temperature, fill up some gallon jugs with warm water from the hotel room. Dump the water in the neck of your suit before race start. Of course, most of the water leaks through the legs, but it still helps.
55 seconds after the first swimmer, I'm cued for takeoff. I hop in the water and am filled with nostalgia from two years ago. This water's freakin' cold! Face gets very cold VERY quickly, hands and feet go numb before the first turn buoy, head starts to hurt a little, hypoxia and I can't see a flipping thing because I can't focus. All I hear are alarms in my body telling me to proceed to the nearest exit. It takes a second to get everything under control mentally and I soon remember that I'm typically a better swimmer than people I race with. I can't find any feet during the initial out to the first turn, but find a guy worth sticking with on out way towards the second and final turn. It's still not anywhere near comfortable, but I make peace with the cold water and the lack of oxygen and begin to pass people. Good to know I didn't forget how to swim during these last few weeks of heavy biking and newsworthy running.
There's a pack of three swimmers swimming abreast heading into the second and final turn buoy. Once it's rounded, I decide they're not going fast enough and go for the drop. I veer off course a bit in doing so and only pass two of the three, but I'm on dry land soon enough (after a dolphin dive, of course). Denise, per my request, announces that I'm 7th out of the water. Cool thing to hear. I'm panting like I just TT'd a 100 and can't help but wonder just how high my HR is as I jog to T1. Getting the suit off is a pain, but I wager I still do better in transition than most of the people who showed up. I get my suit off, slap on my glasses/helmet and take OFF. My Garmin 500 turned itself off during the swim (lame), but I was able to get it rebooted before the mount. I have no idea what my swim time or transition times are, but at least I'll know my splits for the rest of the day.
Swim time: 6:53 (1st in AG, something like 4th OA)
If the swim distance truly was 550 yards, that's 1:15 per 100. Yeah f*cking right.
T1: 1:13
I knew I was 7th out of the water, and estimated I was 10th in. Unbeknownst to me I'm 3rd mounting my bike, having past 4 people in transition. Really guys? Transition is FREE SPEED! Doing it well is NOT THAT HARD...
I mount and get my feet into my shoes without any effort or error and am in that moment thankful I had practiced pre-race. My HR is absolutely out of control going up the ludicrously steep hill climbing out of the park, but priority 1 was simply to get up it. I expect my heart rate to come down very rapidly once I'm over it. I'm still struggling to breathe, but searching for my rhythm and my legs. I've really worked hard on my bike over the last 2 months and really want to see what I can do. I quickly pass a girl who exited transition just ahead of me and find myself with the road all to myself. I wait around for company both in front of and behind me as I climb my way out of the generally uphill first 2 miles. I've reconned the course and know it's very generally uphill to 2, downhill to 4, uphill to 8 and downhill to the finish, but with noteworthy climbs at 10 and 12. It's a relatively fast course, but I'm comforted that I knew what to expect.
Things are a whole lot of the same after the first 3 miles. I'm still all alone, still struggling to breathe and still trying to get my heart rate down. After approaching 10 field tests over 2 years, I know my LTHR for the bike is anywhere from 163 to 167. Over the first 10 minutes on the bike, I've yet to see it under 180; something is amiss... In addition to sneaking suspicions that my 5 hour energy had a hand in my predicament, it is making me pretty bloated and gassy. I'm quite uncomfortable for the majority of the ride. I let out 4 or 5 good belches over the course of the first 8 miles before I start to feel better and my side stitch starts to wear away. No bueno.
The bike is going well. I'm getting over the climbs and staying low on the descents. I'm spinning out my biggest gear, which I've never been able to do before this year regardless of where I'm racing. I'm looking around for people to start roaring past me. I'm accustomed to being a strong swimmer and a weak biker, and to seeing dozens of cyclists exploiting my weakness. The peak of mile 2 comes, the valley of mile 4 comes, the cool waterfront section at mile 5. Still all alone. I get my first visitor around mile 7. I'm handling the rolling terrain better than I've ever been capable of handling before and a motorcycle passes me going the opposite direction. There's an official-looking guy riding in the back who flashes a peace sign to me as he passes. In the most beautifully innocent moment of inexperience and naivete, I wave at him. It takes a few seconds for me to connect the dots. Who was he? Why did he flash me two fingers? Was it two or three? Is that what place I'm in? Am I really leading the race? This is so wholly different from anything I've ever experienced.
Although it's admittedly the best trip I've ever taken there, I find myself in the geographic center of No-Man's-Land. And I have no idea what to do next.
The most logical conclusion is to forget it ever happened and pledge to sort this out later. I'm still wondering where all of the strong bikers are and I crest mile 8, mile 10 and prepare to finish the bike leg up. I'm doing calculations as I go, and am more or less averaging 20 mph on the nose, which is a nice round number I've never seen in a race before. Once I get over the mile 12 hill I'm happy to generally be finished climbing for the day. We turn off onto the little 1.5 mile connecting road and this time I don't mistake it for the final .5 mile descent into the park. Finishing up this section and nearing the final turn, I look behind me and for the first time see another cyclist on the hunt. Not that I'm worried about him catching me over the final .5 miles. I know fully well how to handle the steep descents of Park Lodge Rd. and when to get out of my shoes. I touch down just before the dismount line and hear Denise inform me that I'm 2nd off the bike. Holy crap! And I didn't get past ONCE over the ENTIRE BIKE COURSE! Holy double crap. I feel like I just borrowed someone else's legs for the last 45 minutes.
Bike time: 44:40; 20.15 mph (tied for 1st in AG)
Per the Garmin: 44:27; 14.89 miles; 20.1 mph
Total Ascent 856; Total Descent 925
Avg HR 179 bpm; Avg Cadence: 91 rpm
My heart rate never did go down; I ended up with some really strange HR data. Obviously I didn't have the luxury of viewing the detailed Garmin analysis, but I'm in all kinds of inexperience right now. My feet are way too tender on the asphalt, but I make a very quick transition and head out on my run. Let's try to hold this together.
T2: :43
The rider who almost caught me at the tail end of the bike course makes a pretty decent transition as well, and we exit onto the run at essentially the same time. One of the volunteers tells us we should "work together." I'm making plans to myself to do so until the end of the trail section, then see if I can drop him on the road. I offer to let him enter the trail first if he feels good, but he declines and we enter pretty much together. It takes about 3 minutes for me to realize that I was WAY too tired to be racing a 5k, much less one through the woods. I suppose I've caught my breathe since the swim, or at least as much as I can expect I will be able to between now and race finish, but my heart rate has been hovering around insanity all day. I very soon find myself running at a 9 minute per mile pace, and doing so with very poor form.
We run for about .75 miles before he makes the pass. I have nothing to do but let him. I'm out of gas. Utterly out of gas. I've wholly blown my load accomplishing a series of cycling PRs. I searched for any way I could think of to make the 2.8 mile run shorter than that, but all I could do was plug along at marathon pace and hurt like a character in a Saw movie doing so. I begin to feel a bit more empathy for the Chris Lieto's and Bjorn Andersson's of the world. It really sucks ass when you come to the realization that you might have overdone it on the bike. There's a lot of alarmism in it, and not a lot of hope. What little hope that exists centers around minimizing how many people catch you over the eternally long stretch of road between you and the finish tape.
That's essentially my run. I exit the forest in 11:49 for an abysmal 9:00/mi avg (per the Garmin) and just do what I can to get home as fast as possible. I lose touch with the guy I'd run with on the single track and run alone for a while. I pass the one aid station on course about mile 1.75 and grab two cups. And walk. And sip. And just about get run down by another racer. I start running again, but the pass is inevitable. He passes me, and I'm looking at 4th overall. I struggle to the turn back onto Park Lodge Rd. and see yet another runner behind me. I'm far too tired to take full advantage of the downhill finish, and get nipped at the line by him. It wasn't for lack of trying, but I finished about 1.5 seconds back and the only emotion that existed in me was relief that this race was over and I could stop now.
Run Time: 24:16 (2nd in AG)
Per the Garmin: 24:19; 8:33/mi avg;
Forest: 1.31 miles in 11:49; 9:00/mi avg;
HR: 184 bpm avg
Road: 1.53 miles in 12:30; 8:10/mi avg;
HR 182 bpm avg
Total Time: 1:17:45
More fun with numbers:
:40 from 5th overall
:57 from 3rd overall
One of 7 bikers (out of 81) to avg 20+ mph
1:12 ahead of 2nd place in my AG.
They award overall awards 5 deep. I'm 6th overall. >:-(
There's not a lot of celebrating to be done at the finish line. Death has its hold on me and it takes a little while to shake it off. I eventually wander back to where Denise is holed up and let her fill me in on how the race unfolded from the transition area. I'm still reeling at what a wholly different experience it was than I was expecting, or ever could have anticipated. Of course it's only fitting that I have to kill another two hours before the awards ceremony. I talk to some fellow racers about the course and the day, sharing stories in our usual narcissistic ways, trying our best to pretend that we're listening.
As the adrenaline of the race wears off and the exhaustion starts to come out, I notice I'm feeling rather druggie. Kind of a dull headache and a general feeling of weakness. Just a hungover feeling. It doesn't take me long to lay the blame on my choice of pre-race energy drinks. I don't care that it's worked well in a race before, I don't see myself using Five Hour Energy in a race again. For a number of reasons. My experiences with it today have inspired me to enter another post comparing energy options against each other and taking some of the speculation and benefit-of-a-doubt out of it for me.
I don't really get an opportunity to see my time until about 5 minutes before when they say they're going to start awards, so I figure I'll just wait around for the ceremony and let it be a surprise. This accomplished two ends: it allowed me to leave race site without ever seeing my split times and it afforded me another opportunity to waste a half hour doing absolutely nothing. When it finally started, I waited with baited breath to see how I stacked up to the field behind me. I didn't hear my name in third place, fourth place or fifth place, and couldn't help but be a tad disappointed. After some more categories, I get called up to accept 1st place in the M25-29 age group. We were told on the race website to expect "unique prizes;" what we got was a piece of paper denoting our place and an envelope full of cash. I opened the envelope to see $20 in it. I'm less excited about the money as I am the prospect that I'm now a professional triathlete. Is there paperwork I have to fill out now?
In hindsight it's obvious I pushed too hard on the bike. Whether or not the Five Hour Energy exacerbated the situation is up for debate. If I was trying for a better placement, it makes sense that I should have taken it a bit easier on the bike and saved my legs for the run a bit better.
Obviously.
That said, I don't regret it at all. It's been a bike focus year, and I came into this race focused on the bike. I wanted to see what I could do on the bike more than anything else. Aside from ultra-endurance, I've never really experienced pushing too hard on the bike. I didn't know what it felt like, for the bike or the run. It was a great race to make that mistake, and I feel like I'm a smarter athlete because of it. I'm also rather confident I'll make the mistake again and again before I figure out where the margins are. Or before I buy a power meter.
Obviously.
That said, I don't regret it at all. It's been a bike focus year, and I came into this race focused on the bike. I wanted to see what I could do on the bike more than anything else. Aside from ultra-endurance, I've never really experienced pushing too hard on the bike. I didn't know what it felt like, for the bike or the run. It was a great race to make that mistake, and I feel like I'm a smarter athlete because of it. I'm also rather confident I'll make the mistake again and again before I figure out where the margins are. Or before I buy a power meter.
Through all my mistakes, miscalculations and leaps of faith, I managed to take home first prize in my age group for the first time in my life. The guy who got second congratulated me and told me he was gunning for me next year. I talk to him for a bit and find out he finished about a minute back. I'm sure he will be gunning for me, but I'm confident he'll have a much harder time beating me next year.
After racing twice in two weeks, I have a weekend off between now and the double-race weekend in April. I kinda wish I could just go ahead and race again now.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Tom King Half Marathon
March 12, 2011
I'd rather this have been a triathlon; it would have gelled better with my training plan than a half marathon. And after the intense soreness that hung around after First Light, I was afraid I'd bury myself and not have enough for the triathlon season, which kicks off next week. Regardless, race season has begun and Tom King is always a great way to kick it off.
Got a solid night's sleep and had way too much time (again) to get myself ready. Spent way more time playing Paper Mario: The Thousand Year Door than actually getting ready for the race; hells yeah. But I did get my breakfast down, fully dressed and out the door with plenty of time to get to race site. I even had time to get Levi out of bed and dressed before I left. Did I mention I "worked" last night? Actually made things easier for a number of reasons.
I get out of Smyrna about 7:05 and arrive at race site about 7:40, 50 minutes before race start. Between getting my bib, going to the bathroom and warming up, I find that 50 minutes is just about the exact amount of time I need to get everything done without feeling rushed. All roses so far. I wish I had time to pee one more time before the gun, but I don't; hopefully I won't feel compelled to stop and pee during the race. Because I don't plan to. I'd like to PR today (sub 1:42:50), but I really have no idea what to expect. No taper for this race, no special preparation and I really didn't give it much thought. Special for no reason other than it's the first of 5 between now and mid-April. Well... not entirely. This is my first race in my new racing shoes. I bought a pair of Newton Distancia neutral racing shoes for use only in races and key race-simulation workouts 10 miles and longer; I'm very interested to see them in action. And, of course, with race season comes the first leg shave of the year. Man... it's kind of cold first thing in the morning...
I'm quite a ways back when the gun goes off which causes two things: it takes me about 90 seconds to actually make it to the start line and makes things VERY crowded for the first 2 miles. I was jogging along comfortably somewhere in the 7:30 ballpark, which was more than acceptable. I know better than to read too much into it, but I focus on keeping it easy for as long as possible. Same plan as First Light: keep it under LT to the halfway point, bring it to LT for the next 5k and sprint home; get a negative split by any means necessary. And, as always, shoot for the PR if it's within reach.
My HR stayed down and my pace stayed steady for the first 4 miles. Somewhere around there my ATP system tapped out and I started flirting with LT (finally). So the pace started feeling increasingly difficult, but I was never in any kind of trouble for the first half. I passed a couple friends of mine around mile 5, and a few more I didn't see, but it was an otherwise controlled slog to the turnaround at roughly the 10k mark. I lap my Garmin at mile 6.5, turn off my heart rate alarm and am excited to see that I did the first 6.5 in just under 50 minutes (about 49:30). This means that if I can negative split the course, I'll come in under 1:40. That was my goal for First Light that ended up being wholly impossible. This was a great omen, but nothing more. I still feel good, so we'll just see how long I can ride it out. For the first time in my racing life, I stayed completely within my HR zones; I never got within 3 beats of LT despite clicking 7:30 miles like I was getting paid for it.
I see a lot more people on the way back: Norton, Kellie, Ricky, all within a half mile of me at the turn. Things are slowly starting to get harder now. By mile 7 I'm keeping my pace up, but am doing so at LT (187 bpm). I actually find myself running faster than that: 7:15; 7:00; even as fast as 6:40 at one point. I'm banking all kinds of time and really enjoying the ride. We all know it wouldn't last long.
There's quite a bit of bottlenecking around mile 7. Since the race route is pretty much out-and-back on a Greenway, hundreds of runners get funnelled onto this paved trail 7 feet wide for most of the middle miles. It was a pretty frustrating thing cruising down a light downhill or catching a wonderful draft at well under 7 minute miles then having to quickly descelerate to 8:30s because I have no room to pass. This happened 3 or 4 times, but I tried to focus on the positive. This was a chance to relax, recover a bit and get my heart rate down.
The stretch from mile 7 to mile 10 (when you exit the park) really is a tough section. I found myself hitting a handful of low points during that stretch, but was happy to see my pace never really falling. Just be patient. Be patient. Hold everything together.
After some lows, some highs and some more lows we finally reach mile 10 and exit the park. I've taken a bit of gel at the aid stations at miles 5 and 7.5 thus far; same theory as First Light, but I just brought one gel this time, spit less out and stuck it back in my pocket when I was done. I squeeze another bit at mile 10 and toss the package. I'm getting pretty dehydrated and I find myself getting in as much water as I can manage without actually stopping to walk. Although they added an extra station at mile 1/12, I still really think they don't have enough. There's water at miles 2.5, 5, 7.5 and 10. I do long course and I'm spoiled; I want them every mile. Cotton-mouth city.
I remember the two barely-there inclines exiting the park and getting back onto Davidson, but forget the IMPOSSIBLY long stretch between Shelby Bottom's and the road. It's about a half mile of road I routinely forget is there, and this time it's in a headwind. A thin slice of forever elapses and I finally find myself over the 2nd "hill" and start to turn the screws a little. It's just past mile 11 and I'm truly racing for the first time today; the first 11 was more holding on and being patient. I can't ramp my heart rate up over LT or even really close to it over the 1.5 mile stretch from the park to the stadium parking lot. I had planned to, but it was all I could do to keep my body from falling apart. Tough, tough stretch. Into the wind the whole way in. My pace has seen it's fair share of over-8-min/mis over the long run into the stadium, but I'm still doing mid 7:00s most of the time. What's more, I have a chance to break 1:40 if I can just murder myself for a little...while...longer...
I'm in all kinds of pain as I round the turn at mile 12.5 and run towards the open door into Titan's Stadium. No finish line kick, my "kick" is merely holding the fuck on. But my pace never really slows and I'm not being caught by anybody. Well, that's not true. I was playing pass-tag with a woman over the last mile and ended up losing the battle. Nobody else I marked got the better of me that day, and she was a Kona qualifier. I'll concede her 10 second gap.
I also forgot the sharp decline into the stadium, but take full advantage of it. I'm in a ton of pain but know two things: it will be over in a collection of minutes and it WILL be a PR. I find myself kicking it in at 6 min/mis when I'm in the stadium and cross the line at 1:40:32 gun time. More importantly, my Garmin reads 1:39:10. OH, HELL YEAH! Sub 1:40, baby! I didn't see that coming at all. It was a lofty goal, but not one I figured I had in me. Cue celebrations.
Gun time: 1:40:32
Chip time: 1:39:09; 7:30/mi avg
Per the Garmin:
13.22 miles in 1:39:10; 7:30/mi avg; 181 avg HR
First 6.55: 49:25; 7:33/mi avg; 177 avg HR
Second 6.67: 49:45; 7:27/mi avg; 185 avg HR
PR over First Light by 3:42
Beat last year's Tom King by 14:14 (wow! I went just as hard last year)
Alright, nice. Not an important race. Not a lot invested in it, but it's far and away the best race I've ever had at any distance to this point. I'm happy; I hope you are too. Natchez Trace Triathlon is next weekend. Hopefully it goes just as well.
Everything's building towards New Orleans 70.3. I really want to nail that one. I'll keep you posted.
I'd rather this have been a triathlon; it would have gelled better with my training plan than a half marathon. And after the intense soreness that hung around after First Light, I was afraid I'd bury myself and not have enough for the triathlon season, which kicks off next week. Regardless, race season has begun and Tom King is always a great way to kick it off.
Got a solid night's sleep and had way too much time (again) to get myself ready. Spent way more time playing Paper Mario: The Thousand Year Door than actually getting ready for the race; hells yeah. But I did get my breakfast down, fully dressed and out the door with plenty of time to get to race site. I even had time to get Levi out of bed and dressed before I left. Did I mention I "worked" last night? Actually made things easier for a number of reasons.
I get out of Smyrna about 7:05 and arrive at race site about 7:40, 50 minutes before race start. Between getting my bib, going to the bathroom and warming up, I find that 50 minutes is just about the exact amount of time I need to get everything done without feeling rushed. All roses so far. I wish I had time to pee one more time before the gun, but I don't; hopefully I won't feel compelled to stop and pee during the race. Because I don't plan to. I'd like to PR today (sub 1:42:50), but I really have no idea what to expect. No taper for this race, no special preparation and I really didn't give it much thought. Special for no reason other than it's the first of 5 between now and mid-April. Well... not entirely. This is my first race in my new racing shoes. I bought a pair of Newton Distancia neutral racing shoes for use only in races and key race-simulation workouts 10 miles and longer; I'm very interested to see them in action. And, of course, with race season comes the first leg shave of the year. Man... it's kind of cold first thing in the morning...
I'm quite a ways back when the gun goes off which causes two things: it takes me about 90 seconds to actually make it to the start line and makes things VERY crowded for the first 2 miles. I was jogging along comfortably somewhere in the 7:30 ballpark, which was more than acceptable. I know better than to read too much into it, but I focus on keeping it easy for as long as possible. Same plan as First Light: keep it under LT to the halfway point, bring it to LT for the next 5k and sprint home; get a negative split by any means necessary. And, as always, shoot for the PR if it's within reach.
My HR stayed down and my pace stayed steady for the first 4 miles. Somewhere around there my ATP system tapped out and I started flirting with LT (finally). So the pace started feeling increasingly difficult, but I was never in any kind of trouble for the first half. I passed a couple friends of mine around mile 5, and a few more I didn't see, but it was an otherwise controlled slog to the turnaround at roughly the 10k mark. I lap my Garmin at mile 6.5, turn off my heart rate alarm and am excited to see that I did the first 6.5 in just under 50 minutes (about 49:30). This means that if I can negative split the course, I'll come in under 1:40. That was my goal for First Light that ended up being wholly impossible. This was a great omen, but nothing more. I still feel good, so we'll just see how long I can ride it out. For the first time in my racing life, I stayed completely within my HR zones; I never got within 3 beats of LT despite clicking 7:30 miles like I was getting paid for it.
I see a lot more people on the way back: Norton, Kellie, Ricky, all within a half mile of me at the turn. Things are slowly starting to get harder now. By mile 7 I'm keeping my pace up, but am doing so at LT (187 bpm). I actually find myself running faster than that: 7:15; 7:00; even as fast as 6:40 at one point. I'm banking all kinds of time and really enjoying the ride. We all know it wouldn't last long.
There's quite a bit of bottlenecking around mile 7. Since the race route is pretty much out-and-back on a Greenway, hundreds of runners get funnelled onto this paved trail 7 feet wide for most of the middle miles. It was a pretty frustrating thing cruising down a light downhill or catching a wonderful draft at well under 7 minute miles then having to quickly descelerate to 8:30s because I have no room to pass. This happened 3 or 4 times, but I tried to focus on the positive. This was a chance to relax, recover a bit and get my heart rate down.
The stretch from mile 7 to mile 10 (when you exit the park) really is a tough section. I found myself hitting a handful of low points during that stretch, but was happy to see my pace never really falling. Just be patient. Be patient. Hold everything together.
After some lows, some highs and some more lows we finally reach mile 10 and exit the park. I've taken a bit of gel at the aid stations at miles 5 and 7.5 thus far; same theory as First Light, but I just brought one gel this time, spit less out and stuck it back in my pocket when I was done. I squeeze another bit at mile 10 and toss the package. I'm getting pretty dehydrated and I find myself getting in as much water as I can manage without actually stopping to walk. Although they added an extra station at mile 1/12, I still really think they don't have enough. There's water at miles 2.5, 5, 7.5 and 10. I do long course and I'm spoiled; I want them every mile. Cotton-mouth city.
I remember the two barely-there inclines exiting the park and getting back onto Davidson, but forget the IMPOSSIBLY long stretch between Shelby Bottom's and the road. It's about a half mile of road I routinely forget is there, and this time it's in a headwind. A thin slice of forever elapses and I finally find myself over the 2nd "hill" and start to turn the screws a little. It's just past mile 11 and I'm truly racing for the first time today; the first 11 was more holding on and being patient. I can't ramp my heart rate up over LT or even really close to it over the 1.5 mile stretch from the park to the stadium parking lot. I had planned to, but it was all I could do to keep my body from falling apart. Tough, tough stretch. Into the wind the whole way in. My pace has seen it's fair share of over-8-min/mis over the long run into the stadium, but I'm still doing mid 7:00s most of the time. What's more, I have a chance to break 1:40 if I can just murder myself for a little...while...longer...
I'm in all kinds of pain as I round the turn at mile 12.5 and run towards the open door into Titan's Stadium. No finish line kick, my "kick" is merely holding the fuck on. But my pace never really slows and I'm not being caught by anybody. Well, that's not true. I was playing pass-tag with a woman over the last mile and ended up losing the battle. Nobody else I marked got the better of me that day, and she was a Kona qualifier. I'll concede her 10 second gap.
I also forgot the sharp decline into the stadium, but take full advantage of it. I'm in a ton of pain but know two things: it will be over in a collection of minutes and it WILL be a PR. I find myself kicking it in at 6 min/mis when I'm in the stadium and cross the line at 1:40:32 gun time. More importantly, my Garmin reads 1:39:10. OH, HELL YEAH! Sub 1:40, baby! I didn't see that coming at all. It was a lofty goal, but not one I figured I had in me. Cue celebrations.
Gun time: 1:40:32
Chip time: 1:39:09; 7:30/mi avg
Per the Garmin:
13.22 miles in 1:39:10; 7:30/mi avg; 181 avg HR
First 6.55: 49:25; 7:33/mi avg; 177 avg HR
Second 6.67: 49:45; 7:27/mi avg; 185 avg HR
PR over First Light by 3:42
Beat last year's Tom King by 14:14 (wow! I went just as hard last year)
Alright, nice. Not an important race. Not a lot invested in it, but it's far and away the best race I've ever had at any distance to this point. I'm happy; I hope you are too. Natchez Trace Triathlon is next weekend. Hopefully it goes just as well.
Everything's building towards New Orleans 70.3. I really want to nail that one. I'll keep you posted.
Monday, January 10, 2011
First Light Half Marathon
January 9, 2011
I wasn’t all that excited immediately upon waking up, and really would have preferred to go right back to bed. Bad omen? I haven’t woken up at 4 am on purpose in a while and I guess I’m out of practice. I struggle out of bed and perform my typical routine, all the while trying not to wake up my friend and travel buddy Zac sleeping in the next bed. This was our 4th and final morning in Mobile, AL. MTSU played in the GoDaddy.com Bowl 3 days prior to race day, so we came down early for the game and its associated festivities. Not the type of thing I put in my race reports, but I find it difficult to divorce the two. The game went… not so well. Let’s just say, on top of all expectations and desires, I had one more incentive to do well today: make up for a disappointing football game.
So, I get my breakfast down, my clothes on and my first poop out of the way, read the last two chapters of Again to Carthage, which may well be a new tradition, and kill an hour before leaving the hotel room. Preparing for running races just takes less time than for triathlons. It was almost frustrating how much time I had to kill over the morning. After 2 hours of messing around on the computer and talking to runners at the host hotel it finally came time to warm up. The warm up felt good and I took care of all my prerace business without ever feeling rushed. After popping my gel and caffeine pill, I headed to the start line just in time for the anthem and the gun.
My plan was to run the first 6.5 miles completely aerobically. My watch was set to alert me when my heart rate crept within an eyelash of my LTHR; it beeped at 183, LT is 185. I was surprised when it took a mile and a half to even get it elevated that far. I ran the first 10 minutes at LT effort, at LT speed, but at marathon heart rate. Of course it didn’t last very long, but it was cool while it lasted.
The first two miles were both in 7:45 on the nose. I had hoped to run close to a 7:30 average for the day, but the honest truth is that I get excited any time I’m running sub 8 min/mis. I’ve been very slow for a long, long time, and my current speed is not something I’ve accepted as permanently mine. It’s increasingly hard to figure out my mile splits, but I noticed I turned my first 5k in 24:XX. I couldn’t help but be surprised by just how easy everything felt. The magical combination of a taper (sort of), good nutrition and a megadose of caffeine worked synergistically and everything felt like music. Nothing hurt, nothing forewarned, nothing felt underprepared or pessimistic. Just follow the bouncing flash mob in front of you, but do so without going over 185.
I went through Selma, my favorite part of the course, without even noticing (damn), and soon found myself at the first aid station. I told myself after trying it in training that I was not going to try to drink while running during this race. My heart rate always seems to spike really high, out of allotted zones, when I did so. Still I am, regardless of all my knowledge of my body, a stupid, stubborn runner who is damn well going to do things the way he wants to. And as it is said of boxers in Million Dollar Baby: if you (the coach/trainer) can beat that last part out of them, even if that last part will be the death of them, then they ain’t fighters at all.” I was taking water at every station and a gel at every other. When I say I was taking a gel, I mean I was squeezing in a bit, drinking as much water as could be splashed in my mouth and spitting out a lot of it when I tired of the effort. Why bother? According to some research I’ve heard of, getting some sugar on your tongue tells your body that calories are coming in. With sugar coming in, you are more likely to break down glycogen at higher rates, and less likely to have to significantly tap into fat. Why is that a bad thing? Ever heard of something called fatigue? That’s what it is; slowing your body down when glycogen gets low to more heavily utilize fat. Or that’s what I’ve read, at least. If Ben Greenfield or Adam Beston reads this, I’m sure they’ll chime in and tell me what an idiot I am.
Turning back onto Government St. may have made the course much less twisty and convoluted, but it exposed us a lot more to the wind. I fully expected to be greeted with a headwind when I made the turn, but it felt an awful lot like a tailwind. Unfortunately, the winds had shifted in the ONE DAY since my last run; now the wind would be in my face for the last 4 miles rather then the next 4. I tried to pick up my speed and get right up under my 183 bpm limit, but (finally) started to find it difficult to hold current pace without my HR drifting. There was a lot of concentration and controlled breathing over the stretch, but the pace still did not feel difficult. Runners shot down Government like an arrow and it was rather dull. I had forgotten for an instant that the bane of my existence, a Krispy Kreme doughnut shop, was right on the course. I passed it and thankfully wasn’t in the mood for doughnuts quite yet.
I knew that if Government felt like it took forever that it might be an omen for a tough 2nd half. It passed without a lot of effort, though, and I the course wound up Fulton, past the 4th water station and up towards Dauphine. I was starting to get rather warm in my PKP skull cap, so I took it off and dropped it at the station; they promised to bring it to the lost and found at the finish line. I popped my 2nd gel, crawled up the “hill” to Dauphine and cut left. The pace was getting increasingly difficult to maintain, but I was now able to cut off my alarm. My first 6.5 miles was done and I was no longer bound to aerobic zones. If I were to turn in sub 1:40, I would need 50 minutes after the split. I glance down and read 51:17. Not good. Still, though, it’s pretty windy out here (14 mph), and it’s affecting everybody. Just keep going, keep drafting, save it for mile 10.
Dauphine headed west was the windiest part to that point, and it was becoming evident that it was more of a crosswind from the right than a tailwind. It was good to get on Dauphine because it meant that the marathon/half marathon split was coming up. I was feeling pretty good at this point and, in a bit of celebration that I was past the halfway point, I picked it up a little bit. It was hardly a finishing kick, hardly the stiff tempo I would hold from mile 10 to 12; I was just turning the screws a little bit and enjoying watching people break. I past a dozen people on the way to the turn off of Dauphine and into the direct headwind on N Mobile St. There weren’t many people around me at this point, so I stuck as close behind the guy in front of me as I could. Eventually I went around him and pulled for a while. The out-and-back along Cameron St was annoying, good thing I knew it was there, but the remaining half mile up N Mobile was reminiscent of my windy tune-up workout. My pace slid under 8 min/mis for the first time all day and I struggled to just fight it as best I could.
I finally made it to Spring Hill and knew the race had begun in earnest. I knew before I even registered for the race that this section would be by far the toughest. This is the section I chose to do my final pre-race run in. This is the section where I started to pick it up a little bit. For the first time all day, I was put into true difficulty and genuinely wanted to walk. My motivation and subsequently pace fluctuated a bit in the eternity that is the last few miles of a long race, but I made it through the dark part and into a bit of a 2nd wind around mile 10.5. Having already taken my last gel, I was ready to punish myself over the last few miles. Spring Hill just seemed to continue and continue, but I knew its time was almost up when I finally reached the infirmary hospital around mile 11. In good time, I turned off of Spring Hill very happy to see it go, grabbed another cup of water and headed downwind towards Dauphine.
A left turn onto Dauphine meant nothing but straight and narrow to Bienville Square and the finish line. My course recon was sufficient to know that Dauphine itself would not be home to the finish line kick; that I would be better served to wait until I got downtown for that. I instead climbed into the pain cave and made a home out of crystallized sweat and legs threatening cramping. We were still very exposed to the wind, which was about 70/30 crosswind from the left and headwind, but it didn’t matter anymore. Pace was pretty unimportant; it was all about effort. I was trying to keep my HR above 190 for as much of the last mile as I could. Passing a familiar restaurant downtown, I knew I was .7 miles from the line. I was pretty sure I could see the line from where I was, but my depth perception was pretty shot. My mouth crept open and began to take a bit of the inspiratory strain off of my nose. I kicked it in as hard as I could and succeeded in achieving my impromptu goal of going under 1:43, which I had set about 45 seconds prior when I saw that I had 55 seconds to reach the line before 1:43:00 hit. I was not passed by anybody over the last mile, and don't recall being passed over the last 5k.
Total clock time: 1:42:51; 7:52/mi avg pace
Per the Garmin: 1:42:51; 13.22 miles; 7:47/mi avg
First 6.5: 51:16; 7:53/mi
Second 6.5: 50:04; 7:42/mi
Final .22: 1:30; 7:00/mi
The First Light marathon and half marathon was a pretty small race. There wasn’t a lot to do in the way of hanging out. I treated myself to some hot chocolate and a couple cups of coffee (to alleviate an otherwise mind-melting caffeine withdraw headache) and changed clothes before I headed back to the hotel. I dropped off my stuff and headed back out for the solid-food section of the post-race festivities, but with a 7 hour drive home and a snowstorm on the way, I decided it was best to just get out of dodge. This weekend was long enough already.
I didn’t make my arbitrarily-assigned time goal, but I feel like I accomplished every other goal I set for myself. I significantly negative split the course, even though the weather was harsher on the back half. I bested my previous PR by over ten minutes; 10:32 to be precise. I’m a little embarrassed as to how sore the race made me, especially when I spent most of the first 10 miles thinking somehow that I should be running harder because it feels easy.
I know better than to read too much into early season races; I perfected a science of doing that last year. I’m just glad to see my body respond so well to the first race of my fifth year in endurance sports. According to veteran runners, the 5th year is really when you start to realize that you’re getting good at it. I certainly hope so.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Ironman Louisville: Pre-race
A morning that was very much the result of weeks of visualization started, predictably, 45 minutes before my alarm went off. Having slept about 4.5 hours by the time I woke up at 2:45 to pee, my first logical thought of the day was “that was easy;” I think I’m getting the hang of this whole actually getting some sleep before big races thing.
The next hour and a half was the predictable slog of eating my two sweet potatoes, filling my Rudy Project bag’s bladder with water & NUUN, putting on sunscreen and getting dressed. I missed out on an offer from another racer to hitch a ride up to transition when I went down to pay for another day’s worth of parking, but I was not ready to head up yet, so I had to let her go. Besides that, I was looking forward to the walk. I paid, went back up to the room to grab my bags and flipped on my Ironman Louisville! playlist just as I left the Brown Hotel, bound for transition.
It was dark and pretty sleepy leaving the hotel, becoming less so as I got closer to The Great Lawn. The walk was a nice chance to let my mind wander into a blither place, but it took far more time to cover the distance than I had budgeted for it. In due time, I made it to my bike, slapped on my bottle of Infinit and started to pump up my tires. I’d never tried to pump up my rear tire with my new “crack pipe” adapter for a disc wheel, and quickly tired myself out trying to do so. I gave up and walked my bike over to the bike techs, who were inflating tires with pressurized air guns. That done, I had two more stops: bike-to-run transition bag to pour water in my energy powder and to the porto-potty line. By this time, my playlist is about to finish and my phone is blowing up with messages from various friends and family members wondering where the f*ck I am.
I meet up with Marian and Denise and we walk to swim start. It’s a sea of lemmings, everyone simply following the person in front of him, and still hours before sunrise. Denise shoots some video of the walk and I give minimal effort to entertain the camera, while trying to maintain a sense of tranquility that has yet to really leave me.
We arrive at Tumbleweed about 6:00am, agree on a location to drop my bags and lawn chair and part ways. I find my friend and fellow racer Jonathan and his wife waiting in line and park up next to them. The next hour consisted of uneventful conversation and more laughter than I expected, which in turn made the wait more bearable. Besides that, a bathroom break apiece ate up about half of that hour. In due time, we heard (largely out of context) a 5 minute warning air horn, a gunshot to start the pros, intermittent screaming and a percussive cannon to officially start the race. By then volunteers had amassed and were taking charge, encouraging all family members to step out of line and allow the athletes to tighten up.
Within 10 minutes, Jonathan and I approached the dock, high fived and selected our line. Quickly reaching the end of it and crossing over the timing mat, I punched my Garmin to record the official start of Ironman 2010 and dove into the murky waters of the Ohio.
The next hour and a half was the predictable slog of eating my two sweet potatoes, filling my Rudy Project bag’s bladder with water & NUUN, putting on sunscreen and getting dressed. I missed out on an offer from another racer to hitch a ride up to transition when I went down to pay for another day’s worth of parking, but I was not ready to head up yet, so I had to let her go. Besides that, I was looking forward to the walk. I paid, went back up to the room to grab my bags and flipped on my Ironman Louisville! playlist just as I left the Brown Hotel, bound for transition.
It was dark and pretty sleepy leaving the hotel, becoming less so as I got closer to The Great Lawn. The walk was a nice chance to let my mind wander into a blither place, but it took far more time to cover the distance than I had budgeted for it. In due time, I made it to my bike, slapped on my bottle of Infinit and started to pump up my tires. I’d never tried to pump up my rear tire with my new “crack pipe” adapter for a disc wheel, and quickly tired myself out trying to do so. I gave up and walked my bike over to the bike techs, who were inflating tires with pressurized air guns. That done, I had two more stops: bike-to-run transition bag to pour water in my energy powder and to the porto-potty line. By this time, my playlist is about to finish and my phone is blowing up with messages from various friends and family members wondering where the f*ck I am.
I meet up with Marian and Denise and we walk to swim start. It’s a sea of lemmings, everyone simply following the person in front of him, and still hours before sunrise. Denise shoots some video of the walk and I give minimal effort to entertain the camera, while trying to maintain a sense of tranquility that has yet to really leave me.
We arrive at Tumbleweed about 6:00am, agree on a location to drop my bags and lawn chair and part ways. I find my friend and fellow racer Jonathan and his wife waiting in line and park up next to them. The next hour consisted of uneventful conversation and more laughter than I expected, which in turn made the wait more bearable. Besides that, a bathroom break apiece ate up about half of that hour. In due time, we heard (largely out of context) a 5 minute warning air horn, a gunshot to start the pros, intermittent screaming and a percussive cannon to officially start the race. By then volunteers had amassed and were taking charge, encouraging all family members to step out of line and allow the athletes to tighten up.
Within 10 minutes, Jonathan and I approached the dock, high fived and selected our line. Quickly reaching the end of it and crossing over the timing mat, I punched my Garmin to record the official start of Ironman 2010 and dove into the murky waters of the Ohio.
Ironman Louisville: The Swim
After several dozen sessions in the pool in which it did not happen, I immediately upon entering the water felt river water shoot into my right goggle. I wrestle with it for the first few hundred yards before cutting my losses and trying to ignore it. I then concern myself with nailing down my form early and finding my pace. The water, though measured at 83 degrees race morning, is cool against my body and in no way warmer, murkier or less comfortable than local Percy Priest Lake and I soon start to wonder what all the fuss is about.
The swim is a combination of a single loop and a point-to-point. You swim roughly 1,200 meters out until you reach a turn buoy, at which point you turn about 330 degrees and swim the remainder of the course down stream back towards transition. I split the swim up as such: warm up until I reached open water (out of the channel), pick it up a notch against the current, lock into a smooth pace and try to find feet after the turn buoy. There are swimmers of all sorts occupying space in the water; unlike mass start swims, the swimmers are seeded randomly, which causes far more time for the swimmers to sort themselves out. Not as intense as a mass start, but I still don’t prefer it.
Exiting the channel and heading towards the turn buoy, I reminded myself to keep my arm cadence high and to swim “smooth.” It was easy work doing so and I found myself largely with plenty of room around me. I check my watch at the turn; though I don’t know how far out it was, I was happy to see that I had made the trip in 26 minutes.
Making the turn and heading back, I was disappointed to see that there was still no established hierarchy of swim talent, making it much more difficult to find someone to draft off of. The trade off was that I was flying past 90% of the field without much effort. Clearly, the only logical choice was to go harder and I picked it up to more of a half-ironman swim pace. I kept looking for feet to follow and soon came to the realization that the only swimmers worth drafting off of would be ones who passed me. This happened twice, both times I kicked up to their feet and both times I couldn’t hold their slipstreams for longer than 50-100 meters. I was more or less content to continue at my smooth but rapid pace as I saw the bridges in the distance. I knew going into the swim that there were 3 bridges I’d have to swim under between myself and the swim exit. The problem was that you can see all 3 bridges after about 500 meters from the turnaround. As one might imagine, actually getting to the bridges was a process that seemed to take far longer than it rightfully should have.
As I neared the second bridge, I started sighting to my left to try to identify how much further then swim exit was. For a moment, I deduced that we had passed the Great Lawn and were in the finish line chute. Unfortunately for your naive author, I was at the time crossing the Great Lawn and quickly running out of gas. Passing under the second bridge, drawing ever closer to the third and leaving Transition area behind me, I really started to suffer. My arms started to burn and threatened to detach themselves from my body. I began to have trouble controlling my breathing and maintaining my form. I really, really, really wanted to see that big inflatable “Swim Exit” sign, but I had simply miscalculated the swim course and was starting to pay the price. What’s more, my efforts towards a more impressive swim split started to slip away as I watched 1:00, 1:05 and 1:10 slip away. I figured I’d be between 1:10 and 1:15, though I had hoped to surprise myself. By the time 1:10 had slipped by, we had made the turn past the Lawn and I could now clearly see the swim exit. I plugged away with whatever strength I had left and soon saw volunteers shoulder-deep in the water helping people up the steps; with good reason too, those steps were treacherous. The volunteer who helped me find my footing was nice enough to unzip the back of my speed suit, which helped me a lot.
Estimated Swim Time: 1:10-1:15
Actual Swim Time: 1:14:11
I climb out of the water, punch my Garmin and see that my swim split was right around 1:14. I’ll take it; still way better than last year. I wasn’t sure if it recorded my lap key, so I punch it again to be sure, remove my cap and goggles, pull off the upper part of the suit and begin my jog to transition through a wall of screaming spectators. It’s all par for the Ironman course and I don’t pay it a lot of mind. Nearing transition I hear Denise screaming, but don’t see anybody I recognize. My right foot is a bit tender as I gave myself the smallest of blisters under my 2nd toe in the days before walking untold miles in my minimalist Vibram Five-Fingers, but I make quick work of grabbing my T1 bag and heading into the change tent to the chorus of cheering spectators and my Garmin wildly alerting me that my heart rate is out of control.
Inside the tent is pretty crowded, horribly humid and featured no volunteer help. Volunteers were there, some of them helping athletes dress, but nobody so much as looked at me as I struggled to slap on my biking gear. I instead made small talk with a guy next to me and continue to dress quickly. Finishing up, I hand my gear bag and wet clothes to a volunteer and jog out towards my bike. Grabbing it and approaching the mount line, I see Amy and her camera as I jog past. I go to punch my Garmin as I get on the bike and am confused to see it say “T2.” Apparently it did read my lap the first time, and had recorded my transition time as my bike split. I have to stop the multisport, erase the memory and start another bike/run multisport workout before I can get it going again. Sill, though, within 15 seconds of mounting, I press the start button and begin my ride.
T1: 5:18
The swim is a combination of a single loop and a point-to-point. You swim roughly 1,200 meters out until you reach a turn buoy, at which point you turn about 330 degrees and swim the remainder of the course down stream back towards transition. I split the swim up as such: warm up until I reached open water (out of the channel), pick it up a notch against the current, lock into a smooth pace and try to find feet after the turn buoy. There are swimmers of all sorts occupying space in the water; unlike mass start swims, the swimmers are seeded randomly, which causes far more time for the swimmers to sort themselves out. Not as intense as a mass start, but I still don’t prefer it.
Exiting the channel and heading towards the turn buoy, I reminded myself to keep my arm cadence high and to swim “smooth.” It was easy work doing so and I found myself largely with plenty of room around me. I check my watch at the turn; though I don’t know how far out it was, I was happy to see that I had made the trip in 26 minutes.
Making the turn and heading back, I was disappointed to see that there was still no established hierarchy of swim talent, making it much more difficult to find someone to draft off of. The trade off was that I was flying past 90% of the field without much effort. Clearly, the only logical choice was to go harder and I picked it up to more of a half-ironman swim pace. I kept looking for feet to follow and soon came to the realization that the only swimmers worth drafting off of would be ones who passed me. This happened twice, both times I kicked up to their feet and both times I couldn’t hold their slipstreams for longer than 50-100 meters. I was more or less content to continue at my smooth but rapid pace as I saw the bridges in the distance. I knew going into the swim that there were 3 bridges I’d have to swim under between myself and the swim exit. The problem was that you can see all 3 bridges after about 500 meters from the turnaround. As one might imagine, actually getting to the bridges was a process that seemed to take far longer than it rightfully should have.
As I neared the second bridge, I started sighting to my left to try to identify how much further then swim exit was. For a moment, I deduced that we had passed the Great Lawn and were in the finish line chute. Unfortunately for your naive author, I was at the time crossing the Great Lawn and quickly running out of gas. Passing under the second bridge, drawing ever closer to the third and leaving Transition area behind me, I really started to suffer. My arms started to burn and threatened to detach themselves from my body. I began to have trouble controlling my breathing and maintaining my form. I really, really, really wanted to see that big inflatable “Swim Exit” sign, but I had simply miscalculated the swim course and was starting to pay the price. What’s more, my efforts towards a more impressive swim split started to slip away as I watched 1:00, 1:05 and 1:10 slip away. I figured I’d be between 1:10 and 1:15, though I had hoped to surprise myself. By the time 1:10 had slipped by, we had made the turn past the Lawn and I could now clearly see the swim exit. I plugged away with whatever strength I had left and soon saw volunteers shoulder-deep in the water helping people up the steps; with good reason too, those steps were treacherous. The volunteer who helped me find my footing was nice enough to unzip the back of my speed suit, which helped me a lot.
Estimated Swim Time: 1:10-1:15
Actual Swim Time: 1:14:11
I climb out of the water, punch my Garmin and see that my swim split was right around 1:14. I’ll take it; still way better than last year. I wasn’t sure if it recorded my lap key, so I punch it again to be sure, remove my cap and goggles, pull off the upper part of the suit and begin my jog to transition through a wall of screaming spectators. It’s all par for the Ironman course and I don’t pay it a lot of mind. Nearing transition I hear Denise screaming, but don’t see anybody I recognize. My right foot is a bit tender as I gave myself the smallest of blisters under my 2nd toe in the days before walking untold miles in my minimalist Vibram Five-Fingers, but I make quick work of grabbing my T1 bag and heading into the change tent to the chorus of cheering spectators and my Garmin wildly alerting me that my heart rate is out of control.
Inside the tent is pretty crowded, horribly humid and featured no volunteer help. Volunteers were there, some of them helping athletes dress, but nobody so much as looked at me as I struggled to slap on my biking gear. I instead made small talk with a guy next to me and continue to dress quickly. Finishing up, I hand my gear bag and wet clothes to a volunteer and jog out towards my bike. Grabbing it and approaching the mount line, I see Amy and her camera as I jog past. I go to punch my Garmin as I get on the bike and am confused to see it say “T2.” Apparently it did read my lap the first time, and had recorded my transition time as my bike split. I have to stop the multisport, erase the memory and start another bike/run multisport workout before I can get it going again. Sill, though, within 15 seconds of mounting, I press the start button and begin my ride.
T1: 5:18
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