Wednesday, July 9, 2014

Ironman Kansas 70.3: Tasting Sweet Revenge

I did it. I finally did it. I finished my race report!

I mean...I finally had a good race at Ironman Kansas. Yes, the race report took longer than expected, but to be fair, I've still been really busy with training and I've been in the middle of buying a house, so LAY OFF!

Ahem...as I was saying...

After three attempts and three times beaten down, I finally conquered my triathlon nemesis. This time, I stood victorious. This time, I won. This time...

Well, let's start from the beginning. To catch up on my history with this event and some pre-race thoughts, click here

Otherwise, let's take a trip back in time, about a month ago...

In the days leading up to this race, I was cautiously optimistic regarding the weather forecast for Sunday June 8th. They were calling for highs in the mid-70's, cloudy, and light winds. Could it finally be that this race would not be the sweltering sufferfest that I had become uncomfortably accustomed to? Honestly, I never let myself believe it, even for a moment. There's a saying that basically everyone who doesn't live in San Diego has regarding where they live, and it is, "If you don't like the weather in <INSERT PLACENAME>, just wait five minutes, durr hurr hurr."

Pre-race sunrise selfie
Ok, maybe I added that last bit because it's basically true anywhere. Yes, weather is unpredictable. It is "educationally guessable", but not predictable. There's a whole branch of science dedicated to educationally guessing what is gonna happen, but even they screw it up sometimes. 

I digress...basically my attitude was to expect the worst and hope for the best. Regarding the forecast of nearly perfect race weather, I would believe it when it happened. 

Morning dawned on what I had began to refer to as the "Day of Reckoning". There was a pleasant chill in the air, which was a comforting sign of possible good things to come, yet I remained skeptical. It could all go to hell in no time flat. 

I did all my normal pre-race stuff, drove out to the race site, set up my T1 and T2. Looking out at the swim course, I was delighted to see glassy smooth water. Perhaps I would finally get the swim split I knew I was capable of. I found Delaware in T1 and together we headed back to his campsite to hang out for the hour between the pro start at 6:30 and my own swim wave, Male 30-35 L-Z, which would begin at 7:30. Once again, the very last swim wave of the day. 

I had a mini-freakout regarding an inhaler that I thought I had left in the wrong transition, and I walked all the way back to T2 to retrieve it, only to discover when I returned that I had left an extra in the exact spot I had intended to leave it for use before my swim. Gotta work on that whole "trusting myself" thing, apparently. I guess that brisk walk was a good warmup?

We finally hiked down to the swim start when our respective wave times were imminent. We greased up, squeezed into our wetsuits, did some last minute self-reflection and contemplation/goggles check, and waited the final 10-15 minutes before Go Time. 

Waiting with my good friend
Jess snapped a photo of us before we headed over to the queue of triathletes slowly trudging towards the water. I don't think my smile quite disguised how nervous I was. 

I'm not sure if I'm the only one who feels this way, but any time I line up for a triathlon swim start, I look around and am overwhelmed by feelings of inadequacy. Everybody else looks so fit, so fast, and I just assume they're all gonna smoke me. Usually I just play it off and tell myself, "Well, they can have it. Triathlon isn't my life, it's just a hobby." Which is true. But I sure trained a shit-ton this year, and I'd bet that somebody in that queue of neoprene clad 30-somethings thought the same thing about me. Just some thoughts...

Del's wave started 4 minutes before mine. This was significant in our friendly triathlon rivalry. I expected a faster swim and a faster bike split, but fully expected him to torch me on the run. It was all a matter of how much time I could put into him on the bike. If and when he passed me on the run, he'd need to steal back 4 minutes to capture the victory.

The Swim: Target time - 35:00


My wave finally hit the water's edge. We swam out to the starting area and floated around for the final few minutes before our official start time. My plan was to start towards the front, but on the outer edge in case I wasn't as fast as I thought. The horn sounded and we began swimming. I may have started off a bit too aggressive as evidenced by being somewhat out of breath pretty quickly. My wonderful habits of breathing on both sides and taking more strokes between breaths were gone within a few minutes and I was back to the trusty old "breath on the right every time", or as my brother Chris calls it "breathing every breath".

Photo by Aidan Dysart, Ironman Tahoe 2013
There is one thing I noticed during this swim that I had long suspected, but never experienced. When you are swimming at the front of your age group, especially one as competitive as M30-35, the bumping and jostling you experience is quite a bit more aggressive. It isn't just incidental contact like I was used to, but purposeful and strategic. There is a lot of physical jockeying for the good lines, or to stay on the toes of another swimmer, and if somebody else wants to be where you are, they're gonna take your space if you let them.

I didn't let them. And that made me feel like a brass-balled badass.

As usual, with a wetsuit and in murky lake water, it is nearly impossible for me to gauge how fast I'm moving, and the buoys aren't close enough together to help. So I just swam hard and tried not to think about time. I hadn't decided beforehand if I was going to look at my watch during the swim or not. In any case, when I hit the first turn buoy, a cursory glance showed me that I was nearly halfway done and 15 minutes had elapsed. Holy Smokes! It was at that moment I realized things were indeed going quite well and that I might have a chance to do something special that day! I refocused my efforts and made quick work of the short length to the next turn buoy which would point me back towards shore.

I don't think I looked at my watch again because I knew I was already hauling as much ass as I could haul. I did notice that the water had gotten a tiny bit choppier since I had started, as evidenced by the fact that every now and then I'd get a mouthful of water instead of air when I breathed on my right. My breathing had finally calmed down enough that I was able to alternate sides and take more strokes like I had done in training. I eventually settled on a pretty reliable '2 stroke-breathe-4 stroke-breathe' pattern that more or less saw me through to the finish.
Swim, I defeat you!!!
The moment of truth...well...one of many truth-y moments that day...it had arrived. I hit the boat ramp and was helped up on wobbly legs by a volunteer. As I crossed the timing mat, I looked down and my watch said 33:05. I looked up and immediately noticed Jess on the sidelines cheering and I flashed 3 fingers twice to let her know how well I had done. I was ecstatic! I had finally swam as well as... nay... BETTER than my expectations! That was a PR by more than three minutes!(Boulder 70.3 was 36:40)

I was expecting a slowish T1 because I had planned to wear a long sleeved top which is exceedingly difficult to put on when wet, but I had budgeted myself 10 minutes for both transitions and was not overly concerned. I wrestled with the top, took in nutrition, and for the most part was not graceful at all. At some point when I was just about ready to go, I did see Delaware trot off towards the bike start, so I assumed I had exited the water about the same time as him(but 4 minutes ahead) and he simply didn't spend as much time primping and preening in transition. I expected to see him again before too long on the bike. (He later told me that he had seen me pass him right before the swim exit)

Finally ready to spin, I grabbed Isabella off the rack and trotted towards the exit. I mounted my trusty steed, clipped in, and headed uphill.

The Bike: Target time - 3:00 or less...


As I spun fast up the first hill, I passed Ken, the coach for Midwest Triathlon Coaching. I said "Hey Ken!". I don't think he recognized me. You see, earlier this spring I had considered paying him to coach me for the season. Firstly, it was WAY more than I could afford. Secondly, I still thought I hadn't hit my own personal plateau before I would need any sort of training assistance. Basically, I still like doing things my own way, by myself, and seeing where that gets me. In the past few years, I've been pretty blown away by the results, especially lately!

So as I passed Ken, I crested the hill and settled in for the ride. I had been training a high cadence, so my focus was to maintain 90-100 RPMs whenever possible. I took it easy through the first few miles and hills getting out of Clinton Park, and then started to dig in once I hit the dam. I knew Delaware was somewhere ahead of me. I was confident that I'd catch him, but I was curious as to when it would happen, and more importantly, how much time I could put into him before the run.

The miraculously favorable weather continued. Temperatures were still cool and the winds were light. I kept having this feeling that it was all too good to be true and became convinced that karma wouldn't allow it and would give me a flat tire to make up for it. Luckily, my paranoia was unfounded and my ride was more or less uneventful.
Powering up the "dam" hill

I was aiming for an average between 19 and 20 mph, and for at least the first half of the ride, my overall average was just above 20! I eventually spied Delaware's signature orange jersey up the road as I approached the out-and-back turnaround around mile 25. I had closed the gap almost completely when I made the turn and passed him shortly after. For the next few miles, we yo-yo'd back and forth a few times on the rolling hills, but I slowly pulled away from him. I was feeling fantastic and was still averaging close to 20 mph!

I rolled through hills that had seemed torturous and unreasonable two years ago. To be fair, the last time I raced this course it was 90+ degrees, humid as hell...well...actually, I'm guessing hell would be more of a dry heat...hmmmm....hell doesn't sound so bad when you put it that way...

...ahem....sorry...

It was 90+ degrees, humid as...um...a rainforest? And the winds were out of control. Trying to "spin easy" up these hills, directly into an unrelenting headwind, was simply out of the question. Two years ago, my race was torn up, shat upon, set on fire, and flushed down the toilet on these very same hills that I was currently powering through with a god-damned smile on my face! I could tell not everyone was having as good of a day as me. To remedy that, I tried to be the most obnoxiously positive asshole on the course that day. I passed one rider in particular on, in my opinion, the worst hill on the course. As I surged by, I told him something along the lines of "Hey, you're looking great! Keep it up! My isn't it a beautiful day?", to which he/she responded something along the lines of "Meh...grumble grumble...phooey.", to which I responded, "Well, would you rather be sitting in an office?", to which they responded something along the lines of, "Well, that's actually a fantastic perspective you've given me. Thank you, obnoxiously positive asshole! And a good day to you!"

So maybe that's exaggeratingly paraphrased, but it does impart the gist of the interaction.

(I'm aware that "exaggeratingly" isn't a word. Deal with it.)
Bringing it home
To be honest, there's not a lot more to tell about the bike. It went so much better than I could have imagined. I knew I'd probably break 3 hours, but I didn't expect to average 20 mph for the whole ride! My previous bike split PR was, once again, from Boulder where I came in at 3:02:09 on a course that I consider easier than KS, despite the altitude. Today, I rolled in with a blistering new PR of 2:48:17!

My second transition of the day went smoothly and with minimal fumbling. I hit the inhaler once again to ensure happy airways and bleeped my watch over to Run mode as I exited onto the run course, glancing momentarily at my overall time. 3:30 on the nose. That's right...I was exactly two hours and 13.1 miles away from my ultimate fantasyland goal of finishing in 5:30. Every half-ironman I've ever attempted, I had the goal of a 2 hour run split. It had never happened. Would it happen today?

The Run: Target Time - 2:00 or less FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, PLEASE?


I came out hard. Really hard. Maybe too hard, but I can't say I regret the way things turned out. My first mile was 8:00 exactly. My second mile was 8:13. Then reality decided to let itself be heard and my pace fell, but not too badly. I didn't explode...I simply settled in. And my settled-in pace seemed like it might just do the trick. But let's not get ahead of myself. This is a tough course, and it was starting to warm up a bit. And I still had to do battle with The Hill twice. The Hill is a real bitch. The park road descends back down to an aid station close to the boat launch where the swim began. And then it comes right back up, reminding you exactly how weak you are as it laughs at you. Did I mention the asphalt turns into molasses on The Hill? Well...it feels that way at least. 

Sure, I had to walk a few times. But it was mostly by choice, not by necessity. I "could" run, I was just choosing to take a break. And my walk breaks were short and purposeful. 10-20 strides to catch my breath and let the legs recover a bit. Even with The Hill, even with the walk breaks, even with the "molass-phalt", my 3rd and 4th mile clocked in at  8:58 and 9:26, which is well within "might do the trick" land. 

Hear ye, hear ye...according to a  Google search, nobody else has used the fake word "molass-phalt". I went and invented another word. Go forth and spread the word about how clever I be. 

(Though interestingly, I did discover that molasses has been used in a non-petroleum based bioasphalt.)
Truckin'

Having survived my first go with The Hill, I was now on the flatter part of the course that looped through the park campgrounds. Plenty of spectators to cheer, but much more exposure to the increasingly present sun. Luckily, I was still moving very well and kept my pace right on target through it all. I stayed faithful to my nutrition plan: Two honey stinger chews and two salt caps every half hour, and plentiful water. The next five miles ranged between 8:44 and 9:15 which was still right on target, though I was definitely starting to feel the heat. There were several spectators that had hoses and high-powered squirt guns, and I made good use of each and every one of them. Staying cool was a big priority for me, and I continually put fresh ice in my hat to help achieve that end. 

In the last mile of my first loop, I found myself running with a very fast looking lady. She was heaving loud breaths and grunting. I could tell this was her last loop and I could almost FEEL that she was coming down to the wire for a PR...or hell, maybe an age group podium. I ran stride for stride with her, giving her words of encouragement and trying to keep her moving. A few times she fell off pace and I'd urge her onwards. She would respond and match my pace once again. I asked no questions, because speech is just not a priority when you're in that zone, right on the razor's edge between success and failure. As I turned off towards my 2nd loop, she split off towards the finish line. I sincerely hoped she got what she wanted. She sure wanted it badly. I hoped my words and presence had helped in some way. 

I crossed the halfway point in around 55:30 and was stoked to have an extra 4:30 to work with on my second loop. 

I stayed on pace for the first few miles of the 2nd loop. As I made the final descent before my 2nd hoedown with The Hill, I got passed by a guy. He looked like one of those guys I felt intimidated by before the race. He was absolutely FLYING. He looked lean, mean, and fast. Like he was genetically engineered for the sole purpose of crushing triathlons and making women faint with one flash of his tanned, shaved legs. He disappeared from sight very quickly. I rounded through the aid station at the bottom of the hill. My legs were starting to feel the punishment, and I took a few walk breaks on my way back up, but nothing excessive. That trip up The Hill would've gone about as fast as my first time through. But it didn't. That mile was my slowest of the day at 10:38, but it was definitely my proudest. Here's why... 

There's this thing about the trail running and ultramarathon community that I love so very much. Even in a competitive race setting, there's this unspoken rule that you always help out when you can. I've seen podium finishing runners stop to help back-of-the-pack runners who were hurt or in trouble. Trail runners stop to pick up trash...I did it at the Perry half marathon in May, even though I was fighting for a top-3 finish and I knew another runner was hot on my heels. It's just this awareness that we're all in it together, that nobody is too fast or too important to be above these things. 

Anyways, there I was slogging my way up The Hill for the last time, and who did I spy up the road? Super fast, genetically-engineered Uber Tri Guy! Except something was different about him. He was no longer crushing. He'd slowed significantly...and then it happened. As I looked on, his leg seized up in what looked to be a horrific cramp and his slow trot turned into an agonizing limp. He was in trouble, for sure. As I came alongside, without a single thought to how it might affect my own race, I stopped and walked with him. I asked him if he was cramping, and he confirmed that he was. Again, without contemplating that I had only brought enough for my own race, I reached into my racebelt pouch and withdrew two S-Caps. He didn't have any water, so I handed him my water bottle and the S-Caps and told him "You need electrolytes. Take these. At the next aid station I want you to take in as much salt as you can. Potato chips, pretzels, whatever you can get your hands on." He dutifully downed the capsules with a swig of my water and gave me my bottle back with a brief word of thanks. I still hadn't even considered that this might be an out-of-the-ordinary thing simply because that's what I'm used to. And then another racer who had witnessed the exchange and looked absolutely dumbfounded said to me, "Wow...good for you. That was really big of you to help him out." 

Well, I did learn from the best. Ben, Sophia, and all the rest taught me well. I'm proud to count myself as a Trail Nerd! And yes, I did just spend three paragraphs bragging. Well....technically most of my race reports are composed entirely of bragging, but you folks still read them nonetheless. 

With the last of the climbing done for, I continued onto my last loop through the campgrounds. If I recall correctly(and this isn't certain by any means), Delaware passed me around mile 9 or 10. I made a brief attempt to match his pace and make it a race, but he was just too strong and too fast for that to last very long at all. He left me in the dust. And then awhile later, he passed me again. 

Huh?

He had stopped to pee. Minor detail. Whatever, he was destroying this race as well and he left me in the dust once more. I was fairly certain he'd be able to put at least 4 minutes into me before it was all done. And I wasn't upset in the least. He put in the training and he deserved every bit of this. 

At this point in the race, I knew I was guaranteed to destroy a PR that day. The big question was whether or not I could eclipse my best-case-scenario super-happy-funtime-fantasyland theoretical goal of 5:30. Like the lady I had paced into the finish on her last loop, my own race was beginning to come down to the wire. I knew I'd have to dig really deep to make it happen, and unlike previous attempts at this race, I had finally arrived with the proper training and appropriate nutritional strategies to give myself a fighting chance to tango with the last 5K like I needed to. I finished mile 11 in 9:39, which was my wakeup call to start gritting my teeth and putting the screws to these last few miles. As always, when I'm pushing at my physical limits, the weird, out-loud, self pep talk began.

Come on, Danny. You've got this. Come on, kill the bear...kill the bear....go....go....GO!

And so on and so forth, eliciting strange looks from other racers, but I remained unapologetic in my weirdness. Whatever works, right?

Knowing that regardless of the outcome, it was going to be beyond my wildest dreams, I started getting pretty emotional. I alternated between grunting from exertion, choking back tears, and wearing a big shit eating grin. To prove this, allow me to present Exhibit A and Exhibit B. These photos were taken within seconds of each other. 
YAAARRGGGHH! DEATH!!!!
I LOVE EVERY DAMN THING!

Mile 12 showed my increased effort was paying dividends: 9:20. I really needed to put the nail in the coffin on my last mile, and I had the energy to burn. I stepped on the gas and flung myself forward. Grunting, crying, screaming, muttering strange motivations to myself...as I passed the final aid station, grabbing a cup full of water and dumping it on my head, I whooped loudly and joyfully because I had done it. My final mile was the 4th fastest of the day at 8:48, and all that was left was to make my turn onto the finishing straightaway to calmly and stoically stride across the finish line. You know...act like I've been there before? Like this was no big deal?

Subtle, no?

Calm? Stoic?

Fuck that RIGHT in the ear. This was full-blown mafia style curb-stomp payback. This was for every time this race had beaten me down and left me in tears wondering what the hell went wrong. I finally got one over on the old bastard! And the feeling was infinitely better than I could have imagined!

Final run time: 1:57:14, beating my previous PR of 2:05:30 from IMKS in 2011.

Overall time: 5:27:00, a PR by well over half an hour. It felt good.

It felt THIS good.
After getting my medal and photo-op, I stumbled out of the finisher area where Del and Jess found me. I was ecstatic at how my race had gone, and I triumphantly declared that there would be no visit to the med tent today!

Which brings us to...

The Med Tent: Danny's Fourth Triathlon Discipline


Listen...I'm not a superstitious guy. I know that saying something out loud doesn't change the course of future events...but COME ON! I've gotta have at least SOME respect for Mother Karma Superior. She's a bitch, but she knows which way is up.

Anyways, with that obvious foreshadowing out of the way, let's talk about food. I remember that in the last mile, my stomach was groaning almost as loud as I was. I was downright starving. I wanted food and lots of it. Together, Delaware and I walked over to the food tent, grabbed some chocolate milk, and then loaded our plates with a burrito, bananas, and heaping piles of potato chips. As I sat down, I took a single bite of a potato chip and instantaneously became unhungry. Suddenly the thought of putting food in my stomach made me want to vomit. I was able to get down the chocolate milk, but the solid stuff was completely uninviting.

I also began to get the sense that my airways weren't as fine and dandy as I had originally thought. I had caught a cold the previous month and had never really cleared the last of the gunk out. I was coughing a bit, but not much. That tickle in my throat just wouldn't go away. We sat there for awhile and finally decided this food was simply not going to get eaten. I left a pile of chips and an untouched burrito behind as we left the food tent to head back to the campsite. At this point, I could feel it starting. This wasn't just a gunk-clearing cough. Though I really didn't want to admit it, this was the beginnings of an asthma attack.

Shit damn it fuck. There's no way I was gonna live this one down.

As we headed towards the exit of the race expo area, I finally admitted out loud that I was going to check out the med tent after all, since my airways were slowly starting to close up. I tried to stay calm and take deep controlled breaths, but in the 25 yards between where I stood and the med tent, my coughs would become more frequent and my breaths would become increasingly more wheezy and desperate. I tried...I really tried to keep it together. I simply could not.

In the last 10 yards stumbling towards the med tent, everything basically went to hell. I walked up to the medical volunteer and with tears streaming down my face I was able to sputter out the words, "I need a breathing treatment."

They brought me in, sat me down, hooked me up to nebulized albuterol, and started taking my vitals. My oxygen sats were in the low 90's and they couldn't even get a blood pressure on me. Not sure what that was all about. I took long slow deep breaths and everything began to loosen up. The panic I had experienced 2 years ago was absent. I knew exactly what was happening and was dealing with it in the calmest way I could. I knew this treatment would fix what was wrong, and it did. Oddly enough, my hands and lips began tingling like crazy. This had also happened in 2012, and my previous theory of low calcium turned out to be wrong. I had been supplementing my nutrition with a Tums every hour on the bike and the run, and I had pounded chocolate milk immediately after finishing. What the hell gives?

After the race, I stumbled upon another theory. Hyperventilation can cause tingling in the face and extremities as well as the cramping I had experienced last time. So hooray science, I've got a new theory to test the next time I have an asthma attack! The heavy breaths I was taking to maximize the effect of the nebulizer were giving me lower than normal levels of carbon dioxide in my blood, possibly causing my symptoms. Next time, after finishing my treatment, I'll have to ask for a paper bag so I can test my theory by rebreathing some CO2 and seeing if that resolves the symptoms.

Moving forward, I think I'm just going to have to expect that asthma attacks are just a thing that happen to me after hard races. While I may feel fine immediately after finishing, it's half an hour after where I seem to run into trouble. So...lesson learned...

Once my airways were happy again, I commented that I was a little bit cold. I figured they would give me one of those space blankets and send me on my way. On the contrary, they laid me down in a cot and wrapped me in a space blanket, a normal blanket, folded me into a burrito cocoon of warmth, and told me to stay put. While it seemed unnecessary, I wasn't going to complain. I laid there for awhile and just soaked it all in.

I thanked every medical volunteer several times as I emerged from my cocoon and left the med tent. I headed back to the campsite where I rejoined Del and Jess to lounge in camp chairs and cheer on runners still out on the course.
The face of supreme satisfaction
Thanks to all of you who have supported me in my training and followed my splits on race day. It is always encouraging to know that I've got my own little fan club cheering for me on the internet. Big BIG thanks to Delaware who helped get me out of my funk early this year. Your encouragement when I was all kinds of broken has made a huge difference in how my season turned out thus far. And thanks to everyone for being patient as I slowly synthesized this experience and finally got it written down.

Next up, recovery and ramping up to Ironman Boulder! Some exciting things have happened! Stay tuned!

KTB


1 comment:

  1. YAY! Love this post. I will read some of this to Grant. Just not the parts that say Fuck. ^_^ (This time.) :D

    ReplyDelete