I rested. I recovered. I simply let myself do whatever it was I wanted to do on any given day. It was a nice change from the highly structured training plan I had in May, and though I worried that my fitness was suffering greatly, I did not worry so much that it affected my mood.
Boulder 70.3 was, once again, simply an opportunity to get a good long training day in the mountains. When I finally let go of the notion that I'd again try to break 6 hours, or even to attempt a PR, I promised myself that I'd put "have fun" high on my list of race priorities.
This whole 6 hour thing had really started to weigh on me heavily. For my very first triathlon, Kansas 70.3 in 2009, my original goal had been sub-6. And for the next 70.3 I did in Galveston, same goal. In fact, I had attempted this distance 4 times, all with the goal of breaking 6 hours, and had still yet to achieve that mark. To say that these races were failures would be going too far, but all along I knew I was capable of doing it, and the repeated disappointments were increasingly discouraging, especially after I was so certain it would happen this last time.
So to be completely honest, letting that 6 Hour monkey off of my back was incredibly liberating. I was going to have a fun, happy, carefree, and smooth race in Boulder if I could do nothing else. In fact, my absolute #1 goal for the day was simply not to get sunburned. But I had a plan for that, if nothing else. Also, as a result of my asthma attack in June, I was now on a new drug called Singulair which was intended to prevent bronchospasm. This race was to be the true litmus test as to its efficacy.
On race day, the temps were forecasted to peak in the 90's, but most likely not until after I was done racing. This was encouraging, as I was really getting sick of racing in extreme heat, and it would make hydration and keeping cool slightly simpler. I had also invested in a white long-sleeve race top made of cooling fabric. With the dual purpose of keeping the sun off of my skin and keeping cool(it has 3 pockets along the spine specifically designed to hold ICE!!!), I considered this my secret weapon.
The Swim
My past two 70.3 swims had gone very poorly. No wetsuits, leaking goggles, and incredibly choppy water had resulted in my two worst swim splits ever, worse even than my first triathlon which I'm pretty sure I doggy-paddled the entire way. Boulder Reservoir had been deemed "wetsuit legal" as of that morning and the waters were calm, but my biggest concern was the altitude. I had very little experience swimming at altitude and had no idea how I would perform. Again, the goal was slow, smooth, happy, and easy, so I tried to worry as little as possible and was content to simply wait and see what would happen. Additionally, I promised myself I would not look at my watch until I was back on dry land.
Last swim wave of the day...horn sounds...easy stroll into the water...no rush...find some space... find a rhythm...breath easy. Breath easy?
Yes. I was swimming and breathing easily, more than 4000 feet higher than my lungs were accustomed to. This was exceedingly unexpected, seeing as how just the day before I was out of breath carrying my luggage to Delaware's car. I considered the likelihood that I was simply moving very slow, decided I didn't give a good god-damn, and continued swimming comfortably.
I didn't pay attention to how long I thought I had been out, I just focused on each stroke, each breath, and sighting for the next buoy. I made the first turn, and then the second turn, and I could see the beach far in the distance. Some amount of time passed and I was rapidly approaching the swim exit. My curiosity grew and grew, but I did not give in. I did not look at my watch. I swam until my fingers hit sand, and then I popped onto my feet, jogging towards the timing mat. Dry land. Time to relieve my curiosity.Final swim time: 36:40. I was shocked. I didn't give it too much thought at the time because I immediately set myself to the task of completing my swim-bike transition, but something subtle stirred in my heart. I had a new swim split PR, and it had felt incredibly easy. I was still intent on a smooth easy race, but there were some rumblings of possibility in the back of my head.
I completed transition, making sure to get sunblock on all of my exposed skin, per my primary objective, and headed out onto the bike course with a smile on my face.
The Bike
Once again, coming off of a very disappointing bike split in Kansas, I promised myself to race by feel instead of trying to crush and blowing up my run. I knew that 18.7 mph was the mark I'd need to FINALLY break 3 hours on the 56 mile bike split, but I also knew that my goal for that day was to hydrate and fuel properly to set myself up for a decent run(aka NOT walking the entire way). I had scouted the bike course on a previous visit and was prepared for the first 10-11 miles being gently uphill. I knew that I'd have a pretty slow average speed for that first stretch of each of the 2 laps, so I settled in and spun an easy gear in my aero bars.
Each lap has a long section of downhill that lasts about 7 miles. It is not steep or twisty, so even a chicken-shit flatlander like myself is free to lay off the brakes and just let it fly. And let it fly I did. After hitting the peak of the climbing on the first lap, my average speed was 15 mph, and by the end of the exhilirating downhill, I was up to 19 mph. The rest of the loop was flat, and my average speed was still around 19 when I began my second loop. Delaware always seems to pass me on the bike leg of any triathlon we do together, and this one was no different: he passed me shortly before the end of my first lap. With him ahead of me and gradually disappearing up the road, I reminded myself of my primary objectives. I could chase him down. I could keep my average this high and break 3 hours on the bike. But I didn't have to. I continued to ride intelligently, focusing on hydration and fuel. I even stopped to pee partway through my 2nd lap. There wasn't much, and it was kind of dark, so I vowed to increase the fluid intake to set myself up for a good run.
I finished the 2nd lap, with my average speed around 18.5, yet I was confident I hadn't torched my legs. I didn't look at my watch as I crossed the timing mat, but I would find out later that I had set a new PR for a 70.3 bike split....3:02:09. Not bad for "taking it easy".
The Run
I transitioned efficiently, making sure to reapply sunblock again, and then I headed out onto the run course, with the temperatures beginning to creep up. I glanced briefly at my overall time, but whatever I saw didn't exactly stick in my short term memory. I knew that less than 4 hours had elapsed since I ran into the reservoir that morning, but I didn't remember exactly how much. At this point, my brain was fully aware that breaking 6 hours was a definite possibility. And beyond that, finishing under 6:05 would result in a PR, which still would have been absolutely thrilling. According to the math I did in my head, based on vague recollections of time splits I was *kinda* sure of, I had to run 13.1 miles in about 2 hours and 10 minutes if I wanted to break 6 hours.
Of course, this was still not my priority. I was still intent on racing happy and comfortable(to whatever extent I could). I would try to keep a good pace, but not at the expense of enjoyment(to whatever extent I could). My first order of business was to find a portapotty. I spent a minute or so waiting my turn, and when I finally got in, I was reassured that my hydration efforts on the bike had been wildly successful.
Hitting the road, I began to lay down what felt like a 9-10 minute pace, and was surprised to be holding it consistently. The 2 loop run course had rolling hills for the first half of each trip around the reservoir, and then flattened out across the dam before completing the circle. I only walked at aid stations, and I took it easy on the hills. I fully took advantage of the ice pockets in my shirt and was thrilled that despite being "the rattly guy" I was keeping quite cool.
The curiosity was eating me alive. I wanted to keep looking at my overall time so I could obsess on a minute-by-minute basis of where I was in relation to 6 hours. I really wanted to, but I promised myself that I'd race by feel until I had 2 miles left. Then I would let myself look at overall time, and if I thought it possible, I could go for it. For now, however, it was simple: Run happy, hydrate and fuel smartly, and carry on.
I saw Delaware on the out-and-back and realized he wasn't too far ahead of me. That gave me another potential bonus prize for this race. In my opinion, Delaware is a total badass, and catching or passing him is always good motivation for me. But not yet. We high-fived as we passed each other, and continued on our respective journeys.
As I passed the halfway mark, I stared longingly at the "Finish This Way" sign. I thought to myself "Soon enough it will be mine" as I chose the "2nd Lap This Way" path. I glanced at my watch. Total run time elapsed was 1:05. That was half of the original 2:10 that I had estimated for breaking 6. I was ON PACE.
The 2nd lap hit me hard. Running by the finish line and hearing all the cheers and excitement and yet not getting to partake in the festivities, it has always brought with it a small hit to my morale. As I settled back in for another loop, I really began to feel the fatigue in my legs. The hills were brutal, and I did allow myself a handful of brief walks. They were under control however. I was CHOOSING to walk, rather than having it forced upon me. I would tell myself "Alright, 20 paces and then we're back at it." and I would stick to the plan. My legs still had some oomph left in them.
Unfortunately, the occasional glance at my average pace told me I was slowing down. I was putting in some 11 minute miles, and I was beginning to get concerned. I knew that I had reached a tipping point. A choice had to be made. How bad did I want 6 hours? If I wanted it at all, something had to change, and it had to change NOW. I increased my pace, only slightly enough to know that I was now running with purpose. And that purpose HURT! I still held to the promise that I wouldn't check my overall time until I had 2 miles left.
I saw Delaware again on the out-and-back. I had gained on him, and he was within reach. He saw me, and I believe he knew exactly what was going on in my head. As we passed each other he yelled, "If you want it, you have to dig deep." He had read my mind, and that was exactly what I needed to hear at that moment in my life. I made the turnaround and got him in my sights. I slowly gained on him and after about a mile, I caught him.
As I came alongside my friend, I realized another thing. I had almost exactly 2 miles left in my race. The moment of truth was at hand. I toggled my watch to show total time. Again reading my mind, Del asked me how much time I had left. My watch told me that 5 hours and 39 minutes had elapsed since my day began. That gave me just around 20 minutes to duke it out with the last 2 miles and achieve the unthinkable on this particular day.
With that, I left Del behind and pushed my body to its limit. My inner monologue was in overdrive, and occasionally became my outer monologue as I spoke out loud to myself, and sometimes yelled, "Come on Danny. You've got this. What one man can do....KILL THE BEAR!"
Oh how those miles hurt. I was gasping for air. I was groaning. I was cursing. I was muttering odd things to myself. I'm sure everyone I passed thought I was a complete loony, but I continued. I shudder to imagine what my running form looked like, but I would bet money that it involved at least some amount of flailing. I was throwing my body in the direction of the finish line, and the clock was ticking. I repeatedly looked at my total race time and kept going back and forth on whether or not I was going to make it. "10 minutes left, I got this!", "5 minutes left. Shit. I'm not going to make it.", "3 minutes left! Fuck, I can't even do that math in my head.", "2 minutes left...WHERE'S THE GOD DAMN FINISH LINE?!?!".
The end of the run course has a small little hump before a gentle downhill towards the finish area. On this first lap, this hump was barely perceptible. On the second lap, with time ticking away, this was a slap in the face and a kick in the balls. I felt like I was desperately clawing my way up a mountain, with certain death beckoning from below. I crested the top and STILL couldn't see the finish line. I lengthened out my stride and flung myself full-steam towards the sounds that were coming from the finish area. At this point, I was very likely screaming like a banshee at the top of my lungs, though I don't quite remember one way or the other."Finish This Way"....oh you are SO my bitch now!
I split off to the right and made the turn into the finisher's chute. Final watch check: 5:59. The thing about this screen on my watch is that it doesn't display seconds. It could be 5:59:01....it could be 5:59:59. I had no choice but to make an all-out sprint to the finish line. Whether I was over or under, I knew that I was 100% stoked with my performance. I pumped my fist and screamed in triumph. Something amazing had just happened. I crossed the finish line, having given absolutely everything. Final run time: 2:12:36
Final event time: 5:59:40
And I didn't get a sunburn. Complete success.
I wouldn't see my official time until quite awhile later, as I spent what felt like hours stumbling around in a daze. I sat in the lake for a little while. I limped up to the the expo area and stuffed my face with pizza and attempted to rehydrate and replenish all of my essential electrolytes. Once I finally began to feel human again, I walked over to where the results were posted and got my confirmation. I had indeed broken 6 hours...by a mere 20 seconds. I thought of the numerous times during my 2nd lap when I thought I needed to walk. Just for a little while. It'll be ok.
As it turns out, even walking ONE additional time would have been the difference. Still a PR, but to come so close and miss it by so little...I have a feeling that would have bugged me. I'm so glad to have simply DONE it this time and now I can finally cast off my 6 hour demons once and for all.
Additionally, my final run split didn't post to Ironman Live until the following morning, much to the chagrin of my mother and girlfriend. When it finally did post, I discovered that I had accomplished something I believe I've never done in a long triathlon until now...negative splits on the run. This was pretty much icing on the cake. With few exceptions, the majority of my run splits from long triathlons have involved blowing up and crashing at some point. This, while not my fastest, was probably my most graceful run split, and I proved it by running the 2nd half significantly faster than the first half!
So...what did I learn from this whole ordeal? I include the Kansas 70.3 in "this ordeal" because it played largely in the lesson I learned. It's the same lesson I "learned" after blowing up at Wyco last summer. When I sit down and think about why I do all of this stuff, I have several answers. It keeps me in shape. It keeps me inspired. It inspires others. I like the feeling I get when I finish a well-planned and intelligently executed race. I like passing out in bed cuddling my finisher's medal when I get home. I like refusing to remove my race wristband for AT LEAST a week afterwards so I can parade it around work and tell people about the awesome thing I did.
But MOST of all. At the end of the day, I do this because I enjoy the hell out of it. I sometimes pity the Olympic athletes who probably don't have the luxury of the occasional "take it easy" race. For them, their sport and their passion is also their obligation. I will never willingly become a competitive racer. Why?
Because I love racing too much to let my enjoyment depend on how fast I am. I hope I don't ever forget that again.
Thanks for reading. Go forth and kill the bear!
Danny
P.S. .....and I didn't get a sunburn!
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