Ironman Kansas 70.3

I completed this race a week ago and I am now going to attempt to retell the story of that weekend. Coming into the last taper week, I felt that I had done a pretty decent job of preparing myself for this race and felt decently confident in my ability to finally break 6 hours in a half ironman(I had tried twice, once at this very race two years ago, and once the previous April in Galveston. And we all know how that turned out.)
THE SABOTAGE
It was the day before the race and I went out to the lake to do a little pre-race swim and bike with my good friend CC who was in town to race. She was nervous about her swim, and I needed to get in a few miles on the wheels I was demoing from Sunflower Outdoors(Ultegras!). The swim and bike went fine, but maybe a little longer than we expected. I only planned to be out for roughly half an hour, so sunblock didn't seem necessary. We then go to check our bikes into T1, and I realized I had left my bike stickers at home and they wouldn't let me check it. Curses! Blah blah blah, etc etc, long story short I ended up being out in the sun for over 3 hours without any sunblock applied. Result? Duh...nasty sunburn and bad attitude going into the race. What a horrible way to sabotage myself and set myself up for failure. And it gets better. I ended up taking it easy for the remainder of the evening, hanging out with my old roommate and playing videogames to stay off my feet. What then? I look at the clock and it's almost midnight. And I had not eaten dinner yet. SNAKES! I realized there really wasn't much I could throw together in the way of a legit meal, so I had some quick snacks and hit the sack. I woke up a little late the following morning, threw everything into a bag, and headed out the door without breakfast.

To sum up everything I did horribly wrong...I got a sunburn the day before my race, I didn't eat dinner, and I didn't have breakfast the morning of my race. Overall, I'd say this was the absolute worst pre-race planning I have ever done. And that's saying a LOT!

Waiting for my wave to line up

I arrived just in time to set up my transitions and get body-marked, all the while some guy is nagging all of us stragglers, "THIS is why we get body-marked the day before!" Thanks, you're the same jerk who wouldn't let me into transition yesterday because of a missing sticker. Jerk. After that it was "hurry up and wait". I had to rush to get my transitions set up before they closed them for the 6:30 pro start, but then I got to sit around for the next 45 minutes waiting for MY wave to start. Men 30-35 L-Z. The very LAST wave to hit the water at 7:30 am. The benefit to this was that I would not have to worry about fast swimmers behind me clobbering me. The drawback would be that my finish would be an hour later into the day, an hour later into the hot blazing sun...that and the obvious ego-deflating experience of coming into a T1 that is utterly devoid of other bikes. I had opted to swim without a wetsuit because my swim has become strong enough that I felt I no longer needed it, because the water was exceptionally warm, and because I felt proud to swim without the aid.


THE SWIM - 1.2 miles - Target time: 35-40 mins AKA "Rough the way your mother likes it"

Our wave finally hit the water and swam over to the start line. I felt comfortable and was not nervous. The horn sounded and we went. I immediately found a good rhythm, even breathing, and some space to swim in. I felt I was working hard, but wasn't experiencing any shortness of breath, which was really exciting. It was hard to gauge time, but I felt like I was keeping pace to hit my goal. I finally reached the first turn buoy and checked my watch...20 minutes. Oh crap. I guess I must really be dogging it, or maybe the wetsuit really makes that much of a difference. Oh well, nothing to do now but keep swimming.

As I turned to the east in the water, I noticed for the first time how choppy the water was. VERY! The swells were actually rather large and I felt like I was being thrown around quite a bit. I fought through and kept eyeballing the 2nd turn buoy signaling us to turn back towards the shore. It was coming closer, but not very fast. I was barely overcoming the current pushing me backwards. I finally made the turn and sighted for the line of buoys back to shore to complete the rectangular swim course. Without realizing it, I somehow ended up swimming back along the original buoy line I had followed out, as the current took no time at all to push me back that far. After one buoy, I saw where I was supposed to be and corrected course.

Not as happy as I look.

This whole time I occasionally checked my watch and slowly realized that I wasn't going to break 40 minutes, and what's more, I was definitely going to have my slowest swim split EVER, including that of my first triathlon where I doggy-paddled and gasped for air the entire time. I finally hit the shore at 46:16, over 4 minutes slower than my first triathlon here 2 years ago. To put it bluntly, I was pissed. Should've worn that damn wetsuit...I may as well have not even trained for the swim. Such an idiot.

I was 10+ minutes behind schedule to break 6 hours, and my morale was demolished after that swim, which I expected to be my strongest leg of the day. On a positive note, my first transition was the fastest T1 I've ever had. I didn't dilly-dally and remained fairly focused despite getting tossed around like a ragdoll during the swim. In contradiction to what the race packet indicated, and much to my dismay, there was NOT a sunscreen station at the exit of T1, so I silently cursed the fact that my sunburn would absolutely get worse.

THE BIKE - 56 miles - Target time: 3 hours 20 minutes...AKA "Bet It All On Red"

Throwing my plan out the window

I mounted my bike after a fast and efficient T1 and began rolling. I took a quick gel(my first nutrition of the day), a salt cap, and slammed a bunch of water. My failures in previous attempts at 70.3 had been related to dehydration, so a primary goal for the rest of my day was to drink a lot of water and keep my electrolytes in check. This was the only aspect of my race plan that I didn't throw out the window in a fit of despair after my swim. I originally intended to have a fast swim, a conservative bike, and still have time for a 2 hour half marathon to hit my goal.

Once on the bike, and realizing I was already behind schedule, I said Sucks to the plan and began hammering once I hit open road. And I was hauling ass too! I glanced down to see I was cruising at 20 mph with little exertion. I had a new plan. I was going for broke on the bike. I was betting everything on red...which is appropriate since my bike(Lucille) is red. That was my quiet mantra for the remainder of the bike course...Everything On Red! One thing I noticed once the tailwind abandoned us was that the Ultegras I was demoing were amazing! They climbed like bats out of hell! I was definitely riding way faster than I should have been and felt guilty that I was mildly cheating to do so.

After a FAST bike split!

I had an embarrassing moment near halfway. For some reason, my brain decided that 23 miles was half of 56 miles, and upon looking at my watch, was thrilled to discover I was on pace to have a 2:30 bike split. A few miles later I realized what an idiot my brain is, corrected my math and revisited reality. At one point, however, I was legitimately convinced I might break 3 hours, which would also be a first. As it turned out, however, the hills and the shifting winds kept me somewhat in check and I rolled into T2 in a very respectable 3:07:33, averaging almost 18 mph. Not my fastest 70.3 bike split, but considering how little riding I've done this year, I was thrilled with it!

I arrived at my transition rack in T2, racked Lucille, and rapidly began prepping for my run. As I grabbed my running shoes, I had one final reminder of how poorly I had planned for this race. It was a small thing, but it still screamed, "You're an idiot, Danny!" My shoelaces were still tied in double knots. In comparison with responsible triathletes, many of whom invest in speed laces that just cinch up in a few seconds...I hadn't even had the forethought to untie my stupid shoes knowing full well that I'd be wanting to put them on quickly. I sat on the ground and fumbled with the laces, finally getting them loose, inserting my feet, retying them, and finally running out of transition. Still overall, I had quick transitions this year...T1 was 3:45 and T2 was 2:25.

THE RUN - 13.1 miles - Target time: 2 hours or less AKA "KILL THE F*CKING BEAR!"

Leaving transition, feeling good!

As I exited transition and hit pavement of the run course I had one thought on my mind. How much time do I have left? I looked at my watch and saw that the total time elapsed so far was EXACTLY 4 hours. What are the odds? I had exactly 2 hours to run 13.1 miles. Something I had always thought I could do, but had twice failed to do in a half ironman. This time I had one advantage. I was well hydrated. I even had to pee, which we all know is a GOOD thing!

I felt strong, had good legs, and immediately set out at what felt like a 9:00 min/mile pace. I was extremely lucky that the clouds were still keeping it cool and there was a light breeze. I hit the first mile on pace and then hit the portapotty, losing a little time. I used the old "ice in the hat" trick to keep cool and tried to alternate water and gatorade in my handheld bottle, as well as grabbing solid food occasionally, usually a banana or orange slice.

A few miles in, I saw a girl up the road who was running in a pink tutu and holding a wand(dressed loosely as the good witch from Wizard of Oz). I was almost certain this was the same girl I had run behind two years ago at this same race. I remember trying to catch her last time, and slowly realizing that she was dropping me. This time I caught up with her, confirmed that she had been the same person, and then POWERED past her without a second thought. That felt good to realize how much I had improved in 2 years...especially after having no such realization during my swim.

The miles passed and I still felt strong. At no point was I more than a minute behind pace, and I was confident that if I could stay within striking distance that I'd be able to burn up my last few miles if I had to. I passed the halfway point at EXACTLY 1 hour and felt great! The second lap loomed ominously as the sun began to peek out from behind the clouds. I could feel my form drooping slightly and my pace was sagging too. The juice was leaving me and I began to lose faith in the time split calculations I was doing in my head. For one thing, I am almost certain that whoever placed those mile-marker signs had not done so accurately. One mile I was exactly on pace, and the next mile I was 45 seconds slow. Then I was back on pace. Puzzling.

I was beginning to suffer, but still felt I had some punch left. I powered up the BIG hill for the last time that day, passed 10 miles and looked at my watch. 5:35 elapsed...I had 25 minutes to run an incredibly painful 5K. For those of you keeping track at home, that's roughly an 8:00/mile pace. I began to coach myself. Quietly chanting mantras to myself to keep the legs turning over...Kill the bear...kill the bear....kill the bear....Come on....kill the bear. It had worked so beautifully in Coeur d'Alene almost a year ago, it could work now. I didn't have a direct way of knowing my exact pace, but I had a sinking feeling it wasn't enough. I kept hoping to see the next mile marker around each corner, but it was never there.

I finally passed 11 miles with about 14 minutes left, and realizing that there was no possible way I could run a sub-7:00/mile pace to the finish line, my heart broke, my confidence checked out, and my spirit wet its pants. I had come SO god-damned close, and 6 hours would YET AGAIN have to wait for another day. I felt pitiful and pathetic for the next mile, trudging along in defeat, and finally with a mile to go I let go of my disappointment and set my sights on what would certainly be a smashing new PR! I was in a lot of pain and by this time quite certainly low on fluids and electrolytes since it had warmed up. I rounded the final corner, hit the final stretch, sprinted for all I had and crossed the finish line with a 2:05:30 half marathon. Final time for Kansas 70.3 - 6:05:29...a PR by over 11 minutes!

Finishing strong and in pain

Chrissie Wellington might actually be a robot.

I was immediately pleased to see 3-time Women's Ironman World Champion Chrissie Wellington once again hanging out at the finish line and handing out medals to racers. She placed my medal around my neck as I told her that she had given me my first triathlon medal here 2 years ago, and then I thanked her. She smiled, said something delightful and British, and then hugged me. It was really a great way to end my race!(Also, for anyone curious, I did cry a little bit when I finished, couldn't control it)

After I left the finisher's chute, I spotted Allison, who had been taking some pictures. She asked me what I needed, to which I replied, "I need to be on the ground for a bit." So I stumbled around until I found some shade and happily collapsed on the ground and laid there hyperventilating for what felt like 20 minutes. We eventually agreed that the med tent might be a decent idea, so I headed over and got checked out. My main concern was that my face and hands were tingling like crazy, so I figured it was dehydration. I then noticed the wicked sausage fingers and realized there was also some electrolyte deficiency as well. Blood pressure was fine, pulse was fine, and lungs were clear, but O2 saturation was only 92%. They didn't start an IV just yet, but really just wanted me to sit there and drink some gatorade and see if I could get my O2 up to 95% at least. Sure enough, they checked again in 10 minutes, I was up to 99%. The last thing I did in med-tent land was a nice ice bath to help my legs recover and reduce swelling and inflammation that tends to come with 70.3 miles of high-level exertion.

Looking back on this race, and on my brief triathlon career as a whole, I've begun to notice subtle differences between the various distances of triathlon. The sprint triathlon is a fun distance because you can really kill yourself going fast and bounce back in a day. The Olympic distance is twice as long, but it's not quite so long that you still can't crush a fast pace and hurt for more than a few days. The full Ironman hurts no matter which way you slice it, but having done only one, I raced to finish, not for time. When you race to finish, you do so conservatively and you choose paces that are comfortable and are maintainable. Then there's the half-ironman. It's not so long that I'm worried about not finishing, so the next thing to try is doing it fast. And it's not so short that doing it fast doesn't beat you the hell up. Every half-ironman I've done has left me battered, broken, and often crying for one reason or another. It is such a cruel and unforgiving race. I can't wait for my next one! 6 hours WILL be mine.

Bonus pictures!

Posing with my finisher's medal and Gerold, the turtle I found on the way back to the car.

Tuckered out after a long day. Fell asleep damn near cuddling with my medal!

 As always, thanks so much for reading and supporting me!

The Kindness of Strangers...

I was on the home stretch of a tough 50 miler in the brutal Midwest heat...over 100 degrees at times, according to my bike computer. It was cooling off a bit and I was rolling through the really nice part of Leawood, and then it happened.

"F*CK YOU, BIKER!" <VROOOM>

The car full of teenagers(at least that's my best guess as to their age) sped by after the kid riding shotgun uttered those words. By the time I could react, there's no way they could have heard anything I might have yelled as a comeback, so I merely smiled and threw up the ol' V-For-Victory/Peace Sign.

I kinda wished that I might have had a chance to talk with those boys, and thought that if I were lucky, a well-timed stoplight would put me in conversational range to have some questions answered. Alas, it was not to be, and I spent the remainder of my ride thinking of awesomely clever things I might have said to them if they had given me the chance to respond, which later transitioned into me contemplating what sort of things led to the entire encounter in the first place.

Things I might have yelled back:
1. Hey, that's great...enjoy dying of heart disease in 20-30 years!(Nah, too harsh. And I can't know for certain that they don't exercise)
2. Ah...the old Skaters vs Bikers feud! Good memories.....of 4th grade.(Kind of a longshot, to assume they were skaters)
3. Boys, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I hate to inform you but in 10 years you're probably going to look back on yourselves now and be ashamed at what douchebags you were. That is, unless you fail to grow out of your current douchebag phase. I believe in you though!

Honestly, I really could only laugh. I am a pretty happy person, but I can remember a time when an encounter like this might have bothered me. A man less sure of himself, that I once was, might have felt belittled or insulted...maybe even ashamed. But I think of all the amazing places this bicycle has taken me. Where this body has taken me. It's nice to know that I've outlived the need for approval from the assholes of this world. Anytime I can get a reminder of that fact, I'm a happy guy.

I'd be curious to know what they had in mind...what their ultimate "I got you GOOD, you F*CKER" result would have been. In their wildest dreams, how would I have reacted to their cruel taunt? Would I have stopped riding, threw my bike into the ditch, and begun violently weeping at the side of the road?

I hold no grudge against these boys, honestly. I feel sorry for them actually. Whatever their upbringing has been, they are missing something amazing. The self-confidence to be able to feel good about themselves without having to resort to insulting people who seem different. Insecurity manifests in several ways...either by tearing others down, or by tearing oneself down. In my adolescence, I chose the latter, and I spent many years thinking I was worthless as a result. I imagine those boys in that SUV face a long struggle in the coming decade coming to terms with their insecurities.

Or maybe they just wanted me to get off the road or something.

Training Update Part Dos

It's been a while since I posted last, and I've been feeling a little restless anyways so I'm gonna write some things about stuff.

I spent memorial day weekend in Boulder, CO doing a miniature Camp Delaware. The term Camp Delaware originally referred to the week I spent in Colorado over spring break, which basically consisted of Delaware kicking my ass up and down mountains and high altitude trails. I must say he's a hell of a training partner and really starting to become a beast. My "Best Ironman Finish Among My Friends" record will most certainly fall in November 2012 when we race Ironman Florida(In other news, we all want to race Ironman Florida...maybe I'll write about that at some point).

We drove out Friday and started the craziness Saturday morning with a 7 mile trail run above 6000 ft. We then lunched and later did a 40 mile bike ride called Super Jim. You see, the local riders have clever names for their regular routes. Riding to Jamestown, CO is referred to as the "Jim" ride. Riding another 4 miles past Jamestown is called the "Super Jim" ride. If you check out the elevation profile on that link, you'll see why. I can honestly say I've never ridden my bicycle up a steeper hill in my life, and I might even hesitate to call what I did "riding". Some stretches of those last 4 miles were 14% grade. The entire route is considered a Category 1 climb, for any of you who watch pro cycling. I was in my smallest possible gear and I was still moving no faster than 2-3 mph, and occasionally came to a complete standstill and at risk of tipping over due to lack of forward momentum. This is where the hardasses become hardasses. The entire climb gained over 3500 ft in elevation...and then we turned around.

The ride down was something else entirely. I realized immediately that I was uncomfortable pointing my bicycle down a hill this steep and winding. I became freaked out really really quickly by the huge gains in speed that I was having in a very short amount of time. I began to ride the brakes to try and control my speed and not become a smear on the pavement of some god-forsaken mountain road, but after a few minutes of this I could SMELL my brake pads. My hands were numb and beginning to cramp up and I was getting more and more freaked out by the fact that I could barely control my acceleration. So after suffering up that humongous hill without having to walk my bike once...it was the trip back down that got me out of the saddle. I pathetically began walking my bike down a hill that I was too chicken sh*t to ride down. It was humiliating and I began to temporarily hate cycling because I felt like a laughing stock. Delaware had waited at the top for our friend Alan so I had a few minutes head start coming down. When he flew by me on his way down, I wondered what he thought of me cowardly inching my way down this hill. I made it back down to Jamestown by alternating walking and riding to let the brakes sporadically cool off. The road from Jamestown to the bottom of the mountain was a much friendlier grade, and on another day I might have been comfortable going fast, but my nerves were already fried today and I took it slow. Overall this was a really great ride, despite the suffering and the wussy descent.

Sunday involved Del and I hitting a local outdoor pool that was 50 meters long. It was my first time in a pool that long, and the altitude definitely made me its bitch. At home I can do 500 meters without stopping for a breather(and a short one, at that). At this altitude, I could do 100 meters and then I'd need a 5 minute break. Del and I rocked out 2100 meters before calling it quits and heading downtown to pick up my BolderBoulder race packet and meet up with friends for lunch.

Much less sketchy on toprope!

After lunch, Del and I went climbing in Boulder Canyon with a friend of his from school. Delaware lead a 5.8 crack climb that was conveniently bolted. I followed and was surprised to find out I still know how to do hand jams, though my technique is nearly nonexistent. I attempted to lead a 5.7 slab, but only got 3-4 bolts in before a tricky friction move made me realize that not only did I no longer have the nerves for this, but that I really didn't feel like taking a cheese-grater lead fall on this particular day. Not worth it. Del finished the lead and I was able to do the move on toprope without too much difficulty. 

That night we had an enormous pasta dinner and then all hit the sack for our early wakeup call for the BolderBoulder 10k. My goal for this race was to run 7:30 splits. I had qualified for a pretty baller wave by running 7:30 splits at a 4 mile race in KC, and for some reason it seemed reasonable that I'd be able to repeat such a performance in a 10k at 5000+ feet elevation. Sometimes I'm not sure what the hell goes on in my brain. I did realistically project that I'd at least be able to PR. My goal was sub-47:00, and at the least a sub-48:00 would give me a PR. Long story short, I got nothing. I ran a decent race coming in at 50:20, but I did not feel good, never really settled in, and couldn't even manage an 8:00 min/mile pace. Oh well...some days you kill the bear, other days....well....

Pre-race photo-op!

After the race we all unwound a bit before packing to head home. Due to CERTAIN EVENTS that HAPPENED, we were required to make a stop in Denver before heading home. All was going according to plan. Del was driving his car, with the bikes on top, and I was in the car following him. I remember admiring my pretty bike...Lucille...she looked so good proudly mounted on Del's roof rack. I even commented on how good she looked up there, and that's when I failed to notice that Del was driving towards, and into,  a parking garage. The low-clearance bar was a fairly thick metal tube hanging from chains...a warning that tall vehicles would not fit in this parking garage.

DUN DUN DUNNNN!!!!!

I watched in slow motion as our bikes SLAMMED into the low clearance bar. My heart momentarily leaped out of my body via my throat, grew tiny arms and legs, slapped me in the face, kicked me in the balls, and then jumped back inside and resumed its job of pumping blood to various places in my body.

The impact knocked both bikes sideways, snapped one of his bike trays in half, and ripped the rack clamps from their perches above the doors. All I could tell from an immediate inspection was that the shifters looked broken, but I feared the worst...another cracked frame that would likely not be covered under warranty. The extra problem this added was that we would have a difficult time transporting two bikes back to Kansas with a broken bike rack. Del opted to leave his bike in Colorado for the week, and we disassembled mine and crammed it into the car as best we could. After taking care of the business that needed to be taken care of in Denver, we finally hit the road, and aside from incredibly strong winds and a freak dust storm that was MILES in diameter, we arrived home safely.

The bike has since been examined by my bike shop guy, and to my delight, the damage to the shifters was only superficial(i.e. they still work) and my frame is intact! Hooray!

In other news, school is still kicking my ass with pointless busy work, but I'm still managing decent mileage. The heat really kicked it up a few notches in the past few weeks and today I did an open-water swim followed immediately by a trail run...whew. Hot, sticky, and dehydrated is no way to go through life, son. I'm planning to ride tomorrow, but we're down to a little over a week until KS 70.3. I can't say that I'm terribly confident about breaking 6 hours, but I still think it's possible.

I suppose we'll just see if everything falls into place.

KTB, folks!

Bonus pic: Jesus races the Devil in Wave-A at BB10k!