Ironman Florida: Part 1 - Business As Usual, And Swimming Like A Mofo

This race is definitely a tough one to really sum up in a few words. There were so many things that went wrong and so many disappointments, yet the results were surprisingly uplifting.

Pre-Race

My morning routine for this race was nothing special. Compared to my first Ironman, where my entire morning was this slow, surreal, and foreboding march towards destiny, this particular morning seemed almost like business as usual. Wake up early, have a snack, double check transition bags, pound a Gatorade...etc etc...blah blah you know the drill.

My first disappointment of the day hit really hard. This race was going to be nowhere remotely as meaningful as my first time around. I'd been here before and more or less knew I'd finish, barring something incredibly unexpected or an unfixable mechanical issue on the bike. There would be no astounding discoveries concerning my ability to conquer the unknown, nor would I learn anything new about myself. Would I? More on that later...

All the fellas

We all really wanted to meet up before the race for photos and some mutual pep talk, but we hadn't really made a plan to assure that this would happen, so it seemed almost serendipitous how easily we found one another in the mob of neoprene and swim cap clad athletes milling around the beach. Families took pictures, last hugs and well-wishes were given, and then we all crossed the timing mat to let the race computers know that we were present and accounted for.

I let everyone know how proud I was of them for being here and before we knew it, it was about that time. Somebody sang the national anthem and then the cannon fired.

The Swim – Goal – 1:10

Oh yeah...the water. Every morning leading up to this one, I had looked out at the ocean and seen calm waters, minimal waves, mild currents, and gentle swells. Our practice swim the previous day had been uneventful and encouraging. The swim was going to be a good one. 

Or so I thought...

For some reason, fate saw it fit to give us something else on this particular morning. The waves were sizable(at least for the Gulf coast). The swells looked intimidating. The current was reportedly strong. We were advised to swim well to the right of the buoys, lest we get pushed into “No Man's Land”, aka the inside of the counter-clockwise rectangular swim course.

Despite these unwelcoming conditions, I calmly strode into the water. This swim start wasn't nearly as violent or frightening as the mass start in Coeur d'Alene, perhaps because of experience, and perhaps because the water stayed shallow for quite a while before it was deep enough to swim. Mostly though, it was because swimmers were very tenuously addressing the matter of getting past the surfline. I estimate that it was nearly 2 minutes before I got past the waves and into deep enough water to begin swimming. Once I did, however, it was game on.

I still can't quite explain why my swim went so well. I felt so strong out there in the water. I owned my space in the water and fought off all others who attempted to invade my turf. The swells tossed us about, but I appreciated the crest of each one as it afforded me an excellent opportunity to sight for the next buoy. It made no sense to me at the time, but I knew I was moving through the water like a MFing badass. Occasional watch checks told me I was right in feeling this way. In just over 35 minutes, my fingers hit sand and I had finished my first loop. Just like that. I took on some water at the aid station, scanned the crowd for friends/family, and turned back towards the water.

On the second loop, the excellent swimming continued. The only problem I seemed to be having was that my wetsuit was rubbing on my neck and it was starting to hurt. To solve this, I did what any normal triathlete would do for the first time in a race. I changed my breathing pattern.

Wait...normal triathletes don't do that. Do they?

Done! Rocked it!

Nope. I was so exceedingly comfortable swimming in these awful conditions that I started fucking with MY STROKE in order to reduce the number of times I would have to turn my head to the right side and irritate the raw spot on my neck. I breathed on the left...I breathed every 3^rd stroke...every 4^th stroke. Just tried to keep switching it up. Because breathing wasn't my concern. It was chafing?

<Author shrugs shoulders>

I did slow down somewhat on the 2^nd loop, probably a combination of worsening conditions and fatigue, but I still PR'd the swim split by over a minute and was only 6 minutes shy of my target time.

Final swim time: 1:16:07

I transitioned fairly efficiently and was in and out within my budgeted 10 minutes. The first big disappointment of the day hit me there. While running into transition, I saw Jake. At first I thought he had beat me in the swim, but when I went to congratulate him, he informed me that he had missed the cutoff. I didn't immediately grasp the concept. I seriously thought he was joking. He then reiterated that he had missed the time cutoff for finishing the first loop. My heart sank. I couldn't understand how such a strong all-around athlete like him could have had such trouble. I later found out that he had been pretty badly clobbered by some passing swimmers and had never been able to regain his rhythm. Thinking about him being out of the race, and furthermore, worrying about who else had possibly not made it out of the swim, definitely affected my mood for the majority of the bike leg which was next.

To Be Continued...

Ironman Florida: Pre-Race Thoughts And Assorted Hopes/Expectations

T-Minus 1 day, 8 hours as I begin to compose this.

I sit in my hotel bed in Panama City, Florida. I look out the window and half a mile down the beach, I see where I'll be standing in that exact amount of time when the cannon blasts to signal the beginning of my 2nd Ironman.

The past few days have been a constant exercise in compare and contrast. I think back to June 2010 when I did my first Ironman in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho. I think of how well I trained for that race and how well I've trained for this one. How many miles that time, how many miles this time. The bike I rode, the bike I have now. That course, this course. Lessons learned then, lessons hopefully to capitalize on this time. Confidence levels then, confidence levels now. Physical state of my body, then and now.

All I can say is that every comparison I could possibly make to what I consider the best race of my entire life...every single one leads to me being ridiculously excited and hopeful to find out what I'm capable of this weekend. All of it makes me believe I am capable of doing something amazing on Saturday.

The fellas

And to top it all off, I have the distinct pleasure of sharing the race course with several really great friends. My roommates, Jake and Adam, are both diving in headfirst by doing an Ironman as their first triathlon(and most likely last according to Jake). My good buddy Alan has shed a whopping 60 pounds on an amazing journey of self-improvement, self-discovery, and weight loss in his preparation for this race. And last but not least, Delaware...the first Ironman among our group of friends and my inspiration for becoming one too. This will be his 3rd Ironman, and I'm stoked as hell to have him here.

To say that I'm confident in the training I've put in this year would be a slight understatement. I have never felt more prepared for a race than I do for this one...hands down. The long hours riding and running circles around the downtown KC airport, usually keeping WELL above my intended race pace give me a lot of peace of mind. I even swam a decent amount this year. My two 70.3 triathlons, Kansas and Boulder, were both learning experiences...solid lessons in hydration, heat management, remembering why I race, and why I should never forget to relax and have fun.

Somehow I have managed to arrive at this race injury-free, unlike Coeur d'Alene. I give credit to several things for being so fortunate. Firstly, last winter my roommates devised the Kill The Bear fitness method, essentially cross-fit on crack-cocaine, complete with heavy ropes, burpees, weighted sled-drags, and the yelling of quotes from "The Edge". These workouts gave me an unprecedented level of all-around fitness which has reaped many benefits...more speed, more power, and being less prone to injury once I started really grinding the cycling and running gears. Additionally, I look back on this year and see how intelligently I trained. I seldom raced unprepared for the distance. I built mileage and tapered appropriately. When I was physically or mentally beaten up, I rested. Finally, a big reason I'm pain-free going into Saturday is that the majority of my running miles this year have been on trails, which are easier on the joints and provide a more diverse spectrum of muscle usage. And they're WAY more fun.

Until this year, I can honestly say that I had never had a brick workout(running immediately after cycling) that I felt had "gone well" or "felt good in any way shape or form". For a long time, I was convinced that running off the bike was simply supposed to be miserable. Then I had my very first good one. Not only did I not hate every moment of it...but I actually enjoyed it, and even more...I was FAST! Whereas previously my bricks were exercises in survival, now I actually was able to push the pace. These successful workouts continued and my confidence grew. I began to contemplate what I believed my body was capable of, and I was encouraged.

The nuts and bolts of it all? This year I have run just over 600 miles, cycled over 1300 miles, and swam about 22 miles. Those represent new personal yearly records across all disciplines, and I haven't ever DONE the race yet!

Expectations?

I firmly believe that I have a really good chance at finishing this race in 12 hours, which was the goal I set for myself almost a year ago. General Mojo's Well-Laid Plan includes a 1:10 swim, which is doable. Also a 6 hour bike on a flat and fast course with light winds...doable. Finally a 4:30 marathon on a flat course at 10:17 min/mile, only slightly faster than my run in hilly Coeur d'Alene....doable. Throw in 20 minutes wiggle room for both transitions and anything else the race could throw at me, and I'm crossing the finish line at 7 pm, folks. Of course, regardless of what happens timewise, I'm still dead set on enjoying the day. If 12 hours doesn't go, I've still got 90 more minutes to hit a PR, and beyond that, I will high-five every spectator jangling a cowbell and every tiny kid cheering just because mom is cheering. I will yell "Kill The Bear!" at my racing compatriots every time I see them and probably slap them on the ass for good measure. Make no mistake...Saturday will be a fun and memorable day, no matter what my legs decide to give me.

I also firmly believe that everyone I know that came here to race will finish. Adam is an absolute beast on the run, and his swim is really solid as well. His X-Factor will be the bike. Jake has a very relaxed attitude to this race and only worries about the swim. Although he doesn't keep track of his mileage, he has most likely trained more than I have this year. Faster than me on the bike AND the run, I'm fairly certain he has never been bad at anything he has ever attempted. This race will not be an exception. Alan has trained like a bat out of hell, lost a huge hunk of weight, and is now a machine. He had a DNF this year because of a swim mishap, but I think once he hits the water and finds his rhythm there will be no stopping him. Delaware unfortunately didn't get to put in much training this year due to time restrictions placed on him by work, but being the seasoned veteran, I still expect him to have a solid race.

The most exciting thing about my group of friends is this. If I had to put money on which of us would finish first, I would have no idea who to pick. We've all got our strengths and our weaknesses and I'm looking forward to seeing everybody out on the course and seeing how our days all play out.




So those are my expectations. These things will probably happen.


Now I ask myself..."What MIGHT happen?"

I have a Best Case Scenario/Monster Legs/Super-Happy-Fantasy-Land finishing time in mind. It seems outrageous, but it seems within the realm of possibility if I race to my absolute potential both physically and mentally, and with a little bit of luck. I'm not going to publicly state this time just yet, but if it happens, you'll be damn sure I'm gonna write about it.

I need to thank all the usual people. Mom, Dad, Chris and Mike. Jake, Del, Alan, and Adam. Alli. Jess. All of my Trail Nerd/Mudbabe friends. All the people who inspire me like Deanna, ultramarathon badass. Jeff, below-the-knee amputee and the most inspiring story to come out of Kona this year. Katie, who ran a trail half marathon only 5 months after undergoing open-heart surgery to replace a failing valve. All the people who pump me up when I've had a bad race, or who cheer me on when I've had a good race. All the people who find inspiration in what I do and go on to achieve their own greatness. All of your support and great attitudes help keep me motivated to be my best and to kill all of the bears in my life. Thank you all so much for who you are and what you do!

Saturday is going to be epic, and I hope you all tune in to follow us along as we tackle this challenge.

Our twitter feed is www.twitter.com/KTBinFL which our family and friends will hopefully be filling with race updates, athlete sightings, progress reports, and pictures. Officialy race splits and live-streaming video of the finish line will be at www.ironmanlive.com.

KTB

(Update: The race happened! Read about it here!)

Boulder 70.3: Smooth and Steady AKA "Learning To Let Go"

At the beginning of the season, my expectations for this race were pretty simple. Kansas 70.3 was intended to be my max effort PR attempt, and Boulder was supposed to be a good training day to fine tune nutrition, hydration, and race systems. When my Kansas race blew up, I decided that I would try again for a PR in Boulder(this was the pride talking). A few weeks passed and I really began to take stock of what I thought was reasonably attainable. My motivation and spirit were in the toilet after taking such a beating, the temperatures at home were consistently miserable, and my desire to train hard was nonexistent. I tried to forget about Boulder for a little while. I ran trails...lots of trails. I did short and fun trail races surrounded by good-hearted and supportive people(I'm talking about Trail Nerds and Mud Babes...love you guys/gals!). I ran for no other reason than to make myself happy. I rode the bike a few times, and I swam a few times...mainly just to reassure myself that I still knew how.

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.

Some good memories from my ride...1) THE quintessential hippy dude was passing out peaches that I assumed to be homegrown. I regretted not grabbing one(despite this being strictly forbidden according to USAT rules), because he was not there on the 2nd lap....2) A brief chat with another racer on my first lap. As I passed her, I commented on what a beautiful day it was. She whole-heartedly agreed and mentioned that it was at least 10 degrees cooler than it had been last year. I then mentioned how I had raced in KS earlier this summer, to which she replied, "Ugh, Kansas is such a hard race. All us locals here know to avoid that one." So it turns out that doing Ironman Kansas as my first triathlon was kind of badass....3) Passing a guy who was racing in an old school KU basketball jersey. I gave an emphatic "Rock Chalk Jayhawk!" as I passed him.

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!

IMKS 70.3 2012: Legs Go Boom AKA "Sucks To Your Ass-mar"...

Training
The big secret leading into my first big race of this season...the ace up my sleeve...was that I had a coach. A friend of mine who is getting certified as a triathlon coach(often referred to as CC in this blog) wanted a test subject. A project. A guinea pig. I was happy to offer myself as a trial client for her to get some practice scheduling and analyzing workouts. And boy did she come up with some doozies! Triple bricks, hill repeats, and lots of heart rate based training, which I had absolutely zero experience with.

All of this structured and purposeful training was beginning to make me feel like a total badass, and I was feeling incredibly confident about Ironman Kansas. My initial goal of 5:30 did seem a bit lofty, especially because CC only had about 3 weeks to work with me before raceday. Thinking more realistically, 5:45 seemed well within reach. I had put in a lot of miles on the fancy new bike, I had a solid running base, and I was swimming stronger than ever. Breaking 6 hours seemed a foregone conclusion, and I even told that to many of my friends when asked of my expectations for the race.

At no point did I remind myself that I do all of this because it is fun. That was my first mistake.

Pre-Race 

In short, I did everything like I was supposed to. In contrast to the pre-race disaster from last year, I didn't get a sunburn at the event expo the day before the race, I hydrated well all weekend, I carb-loaded properly, I ate dinner the night before, breakfast the morning of, and I got plenty of sleep. I planned my nutrition according to what I know has worked from experience(or at least as best as I could remember).

Unlike last year, Kansas apparently did not get the memo that I was trying to set a PR and did not behave accordingly. Temps were predicted to be in the 90's, winds were going to be stiff, and the water was too warm for a wetsuit legal swim.

Giddyup.

The Swim

The men's 30-34 L-Z wave was once again scheduled to be dead last, exactly an hour after the pros started, and once again meaning that I'd be out in the Kansas heat an hour later into the day. As I said before, no wetsuits allowed, so I'd expect to be a little slower in the water, but I wasn't worried. I chose to swim without a wetsuit last year and I was ok.

As we lined up and waded into the water, I immediately noticed that I couldn't get a good seal on my left goggle. I kept trying. And trying. And then my race started, and I hadn't yet succeeded in getting it to seal. So I started swimming. And then I stopped because it filled with water after about 10 seconds. I emptied it, tried to reseal it, and then began swimming again. And then I stopped. You can kinda see where this is going...for almost HALF of the 1.2 mile swim, I was able to swim for about 10 seconds at a time before having to stop and "fix" my goggles. It is nearly impossible to describe how infuriating this was without using every swear word in my vocabulary, and I should also mention that it is incredibly difficult to tread water when your arms are otherwise occupied.

Did I mention it was incredibly choppy...possibly worse than last year? It was. But that wasn't even my challenge. A f*cking equipment malfunction from a relatively new pair of goggles that had performed beautifully all season until THIS moment. They finally stopped leaking after I turned back towards shore, but the damage was done. I swam like a bat out of hell and probably passed 50 people on the way back, but I may as well have doggy-paddled the first half. In retrospect, I am thinking that maybe the sunscreen on my face was affecting the seal. Lesson learned, I guess?

(Sidenote: I also got kicked in the face once during the swim. No biggee.)

Final swim time: 46:36  Once again my worst 70.3 swim split, despite my strongest swim fitness ever.

The Bike

Here was my chance to shine. In February I purchased a brand new, fancy-schmancy, tri-specific, carbon-fiber, beautiful and elegant Isabella. The Trek Speed Concept 7.0 in all her glory. Not only that, but I had put in nearly 600 miles on her, most of which was in the last few months. I felt like a beast on the bike. I was averaging 19-20 mph on my training rides. I absolutely KNEW that I would break 3 hours on my bike split. The only real question was By How Much?

Based on my newly acquired heart rate zone knowledge, I was planning on trying to stay in zone 2-3 to help keep myself from overexerting, or "spending too many pennies" on the bike. After transition, which was within my time budget at around 5 minutes, I got cranking on the bike. Upon my first glance at my Garmin, I was in Zone 6. That's "All Out Sprint" effort. Not sure why my heart rate was so freakishly high so soon, but I immediately tried to calm myself down and get some steady spinning going. It worked...kinda. I was able to get back down into a more reasonable zone, but then I remembered, "Oh yeah, this course is really really hilly". I decided that I'd have to deal with occasional heart rate spikes with the hills. And then there was the wind.

The wind was incredibly stiff and consistent, coming out of the south. The bike course headed straight south for the majority of the first half of the 56 miles. At this point there was really no "conserve" option. All I had available was a "survive" option. On many portions of the course, there really was no "easy" pace that also involved the bike moving forward. I tried to maintain a semi-decent pace and hoped that once I caught the tailwind my average speed would increase enough to get close to 3 hours. It didn't.

I finished my bike split in 3:05:04. Yes, that is my fastest 70.3 bike split ever. By less than a minute. During my first triathlon...here 3 years ago...on a 10 year old entry level road bike...I rode a 3:06. Given everything I've told you about my training, the new bike, and my supposed "experience" as a triathlete, you can begin you grasp how disappointing this was.

And of course, the knowledge that I had most likely completely blown up my legs to do it. That wasn't reassuring.

The "Run"

 I had a decent transition. Could've been faster, could've fumbled around less, but I got in and out in about 2 minutes. I checked my total time as I exited transition and my watch read 3:59. An entire minute faster than this point last year. Absolutely thrilling to have put in so much time to gain myself a pitiful 60 seconds. The demons in my head were having a field day and my confidence and spirit were more or less nonexistent.

Not that it mattered.

The plan was to start my run at a 9:00 min/mile pace, and then gradually speed up as the legs loosened up and my running gears got warm. Seeing as how I couldn't even START that fast, you can see how a plan like that would fall apart fairly quickly. With much effort, I was able to hold a 9:30 pace for a couple miles, but when it became apparent that my legs were not capable of continuing that for any longer, everything shut down. I walked.

It was clear to me that I was in for a miserable few hours. And I had defeated myself mentally when I was on the bike and I was certain that this would happen. Would it have made a difference if I were blissfully unaware that I was riding too hard? I guess I'll never know.

All of my goals went out the window fairly rapidly as my average pace fell and fell. 5:45...gone. 6:00....yeah....gone. PR? Nope. At a certain point I briefly cared about not finishing with my slowest time ever. Only briefly though. The only thing I wanted was to be done. I thought about quitting, but not seriously. Apparently the only reasonable option for me to be done was by crossing the finish line.

The next few hours consisted of me alternating between walking and "running", which I put in quotations because it probably wasn't much faster than my walking pace. I was not happy. I was not enjoying myself. I was not having fun. The only high points were passing Delaware's campsite where several people whom I care about deeply were hanging out to cheer for me, and the few aid stations where some good friends were volunteering. Erin, a friend from Lawrence, was at one of them and made several desperate attempts to cheer me up. As little as I showed it, I did appreciate the effort. Several Mudbabes and Trail Nerds were staffing another aid station, including Megan M and Indika M. On my second loop Indi even walked with me for awhile, which really meant a lot.

Of all the wonderful people who were there to support me, the VIP award goes to Allison. And once I get into what happened after my race, you'll see why. She agreed to give up her Sunday to come watch me race, and even snapped some pretty awesome photographs before it became apparent that my race was becoming a nightmare(appropriately enough, her last picture was of me leaving T2). Once the sufferfest began, every time I passed the campsite, she was there asking me how I was feeling and what I needed. Unfortunately, I was way too out of it to even know what had gone wrong, and what I needed to make it better.

So it went, I trudged through 13.1 miles in 2:47:39. My slowest half marathon ever, including my half splits from the full Ironman. At the end, I was able to muster a solid run down the finishing chute. I found Allison and gave her a sweaty kiss before I finished, and then with a little pep in my step I did some sort of goofy jump/kick/splits across the finish line(still awaiting event photos to see how this one turned out).

Final time: 6:46:43 My slowest half Ironman by almost 25 minutes.

The Med Tent

Allison was waiting for me after I got my finisher's medal and photo op. I don't know what I looked like, but it couldn't have been good. On my last loop she had asked me what I needed at the finish line. I'm fairly certain I gave her no useful information, but she suggested some gatorade and some food and I suppose that sounded reasonable. Had I even been remotely aware of what was going on I would have also suggested she grab my inhaler from my backpack. I didn't remember the point on my last loop where I was doubled over wheezing and having a coughing fit. If I had remembered any of that, I might have had better suggestions for her.

But as it stood, she was standing there with some gatorade and immediately found some chairs in a tent where we could sit and I could cool down. I remember surprisingly little of this, but I do remember at one point I rested my head in her lap and began quietly sobbing for some reason unknown to myself. Then a gentleman in a yellow shirt came up with a "Hey buddy, are you ok?" The ensuing conversation ended with a recommendation that I visit the med tent, which I am OH so familiar with. Of the 4 half-iron distance races I have completed, this now makes 3 visits to the med tent. And also 3 times this race has left me in tears.

I found a seat in the med tent and the first gentleman to see me recommended that I go ahead and lie down flat. The part of my brain that holds all of my nursing expertise was unfortunately not able to make decisions...but it knew that lying down flat was a bad idea for somebody who was in borderline respiratory distress. But that part kept silent for the time being. Within seconds of doing as the medical volunteer instructed, it started. I coughed once...and then again...and the irritation in my airways got worse and worse with each cough. Everything was tightening up really quickly. The guy immediately realized his mistake, apologized, and directed me to sit back up...but it was too late.

During football practice in 8th grade, I had an asthma attack and was subsequently diagnosed with exercise induced asthma. Since then, this condition has never been more than an annoyance. Occasional tightness in the chest following a hard workout on cold days. Nothing more.

Until this moment.

As my coughing became uncontrollable, I noticed that my inhalations were becoming more and more labored...more desperate. I came to the not-so-calm realization that I was fucking suffocating. This set off alarms in my brain and my attempts to breath became even more desperate and pitiful. My eyes began to water and I sobbed ever so slightly between ineffectual gasps for air. This occurred over the course of about 10 seconds, at which point the volunteer asked if I had asthma...I was able to kind of choke out "exercise induced" but because I was unable to breath, I wasn't really able to fully explain how "mild" my condition was.. There's some irony in there somewhere, I think.

Allison held my hand the entire time and was able to kind of translate for me that albuterol would help, and they set me up with a nebulizer treatment and an shot of benadryl into my deltoid. My breathing slowed gradually, and my airways opened back up.

With the asthma attack rapidly resolving, I began to take stock of the rest of me. I was still mostly out of it, but knew that I must be dehydrated based on my knowledge that I hadn't peed since I finished swimming, and that I had stopped sweating at some point during the run. I knew my electrolytes were out of whack as well because both of my hands were tingling and to my horror began to slowly cramp up, contorting themselves into a grotesque position, giving the appearance of rheumatoid arthritis. They were so tense that the volunteer couldn't even get an accurate blood pressure. Allison was prying one hand open while the volunteer worked on the other. Once those subsided, Allison began hand feeding me pretzels and holding the gatorade bottle to my lips because I was too weak to hold it myself. I'm fairly certain I have never felt so helpless, and at the same time I was reminded how grateful I am to have somebody like her in my life.

At some point, I got enough fluids and salt that I woke up from my delerium. I'm not sure what I did...I might have made a stupid joke, or maybe it was that bizarre techno remix of "Jump In The Line" that caught my attention and caused me to start air drumming or something...but Allison immediately noticed the improvement in my level of consciousness and said "Hey, you're back!"

I was able to figure out a plan to get my car moved, because I was in no condition to drive, and Allison drove me home and got me fed and into bed.

 The Aftermath

Besides a sunburn and disappointment, it's hard to know what to take away from this. Everyone insists to me that the conditions were just THAT bad and there was nothing to do about it. I feel like there is more to it, and that there is something I did wrong that caused this whole trainwreck. I know for certain that I need more fluid on the bike. I am looking into adjusting my hourly electrolyte intake. CC tells me that I need MORE work on the bike, and a DailyMile friend reminded me of the biggest most important detail that I completely forgot. The reason I do any of this ridiculousness. It's supposed to be fun. I'm not such a hardcore athlete that I need to race for any other reason. Setting a new PR doesn't matter. Beating my brother's time doesn't matter. None of it matters unless I'm actually enjoying what I do. I suspect one of the reasons my first full Ironman was such a success is because I had a blast every single minute of it. I need to get that back in a BIG way, otherwise I suspect Ironman Florida will be a day worth forgetting.

I want to thank Del, Jess, Alan, Erin, Megan, Indi, and everyone else who cheered for me on Sunday. Your presence and spirit helped me through an incredibly difficult day. I also want to thank everyone on Facebook who helped pump me up for this race, congratulated me on finishing, and expressed sympathy and concern over how my day ended. And lastly, there really aren't any words for Allison that I haven't already told her a hundred times.

Thank you all for reading, and for your incredible support!

Bonus pictures

Rough swim, but happy to see my gal!

Chatting with Delaware in transition.

Heading off down the road.

Running off into oblivion.

Belated Training Update...AKA "A Blogger's Remorse"

I have to admit that I'm only a casual blogoteer, and knowing many others like me who only post every now and then, I realize that we cannot live up to the standard set by the daily/weekly folks out there. I'm no writer, so I have to WAIT for good stuff to come rather than coming up with it on a scheduled basis.

With that said, I really ought to just make a template for the first paragraph of any new post.

<Hey I know I haven't posted in a long time, but I've been really busy/depressed/without internet/etc and haven't gotten around to writing. Sorry! > There, that should cover all our bases.

Checking something off of my Bucket List.

It looks as if I haven't posted anything of substance regarding training since ...December. Well, some things have happened since then. Things I probably should have written about right after they happened. Like the week I spent in Puerto Rico doing awesome things with awesome people (yoga, acroyoga, surfing, slacklining, rock climbing, living Pura Vida, etc). Luckily, Adi, the retreat organizer, wrote a blog about that week so I didn't have to. That's me at the top doing a headstand on the beach. So that was awesome.

I have mentioned this before, but I am now working as a nurse at St. Luke's in Kansas City and really really starting to love it. This was not always the case. In February, I had a meeting with my supervisors and orientation coordinators in the Medical ICU and was told I simply was not ready to work on my own in that setting. They recommended I interview on another unit, a stroke recovery/neuroscience unit. This was a very tough pill to swallow and I kind of sank into a bit of a funk as a result. I tried to compensate by focusing my energies on training for a new half marathon PR, but I ended up catching a cold to end all colds and was more or less out of commission for about a month. This is an excuse, I realize. I COULD have trained through that cold, but I chose not to. If I didn't have a fledgling career and a professional reputation that I was working on building from scratch, I would have just said "To hell with it" and gotten in my miles. But I am concerned about being "that guy" who always calls in sick(and I had to a few times). For once, I have to give priority to this new-fangled "job" thingy.

So anyways...my original goal for Rock the Parkway was 1:35...and then it was "beat my brother's time"(1:33 something?). Well, when race day rolled around my goal was "try and hang with the 1:40 pace group, and if I feel good at mile 10, try for a PR". I didn't hang with the pace group and ended up with my 3rd fastest half marathon(1:41:45). Not disappointed though. I think I ran well considering my circumstances and choices.

Deep in the Pain Cave at Rock the Parkway

Coming up on the Land's End aid station

The following week was the Free State Trail Runs, the same series where I did my first 40 miler a year ago. I signed up at the last minute(race-day morning) for the half marathon. I nearly got a sub-2 hour trail half marathon at Perry last fall, and I wanted a shot at redemption. Well, long story short, I got it...but I didn't get it.

Let me explain... I ran well. I ran REALLY freaking well(~8:30 pace on technical trails). I got good separation from the pack before we hit the singletrack, and I entered the woods in 6th place. Only 2 people passed me the entire race. So when I crossed the finish line and my watch said 1:35, I thought "Wait a minute...that probably wasn't a full 13.1 miles". I inquired with the race director and he admitted that the course was on the short side. Based on my perceived effort and pace, I'd guess it was around 11 miles. Still, if I had held my pace for 2 more miles, I still would have finished under 2 hours.

As of last week, though, I am now officially in Tri Mode until November. I swam on Thursday, and I had my first official brick of the season today. One hour on the trainer, followed by a 4 mile run at 70.3 race pace(8:00/mile). Legs felt really good, and I feel like I'm basically injury-free heading into this racing season, which is a definite bonus!

I'm excited for my upcoming races, but I'm also pleased to hear about friends doing cool things. At some point last year, Rachael, a girl from my hometown, asked me for advice about training for a half marathon. I gave her an earful and answered her questions along the way. She finished her race, and then I asked when she'd be doing a full marathon. Well, a few weeks ago, she did exactly that. Her first full marathon...something she was completely skeptical of when I first suggested it. Another runner friend, Indika, trained for and completed her first 40 miler last weekend. A fellow Fun Police friend, Megan M, completed her very first half marathon at Rock the Parkway, and then ran the Free State "half marathon" as well the following weekend. Congratulations to all of them!

And yesterday, I did this: 

"I love it when a plan comes together!"

Until next time...Kill the Bear, my friends!

New Year's post

My annual New Year's rant contains some athletic stuff, but mostly personal life stuff, so it exists over on my "normal folks blog". You can read it here.

Happy New Year, everyone! I always liked this commercial...even more so since I became a runner!

Lately, The Road To 12 Hours, and What's Next?

So yes, it's been quite a while since I wrote anything. When I last checked in here, I was slowly coming out of a bit of an athletic funk involving a lack of both motivation and physical health. Some nagging injuries and a VERY bad race left me kinda directionless athletically. I had been planning to do my first 50 mile ultra this fall, and that definitely was never even close to being a healthy option for me.

Fall Fell 2011...loving the water crossing!

So I hit reset. And boy am I glad I did.

My 30 day yoga binge set me in the right direction. Doing "Kill The Bear" workouts with my roommates got me motivated, added strength and speed, and gave me that fire, that spark, that THING I'd been missing for several months. I was ready to crush again.

I certainly didn't rush back into running...to be sure, my mileage has been WAY down compared to this time last year(but last year was a whole different situation). I basically ran when it was convenient to me, and I only ran at a level that was comfortable. And my "comfortable" level began to be faster. And faster. To be honest, right now I'm about as fast as I've ever been in my life, as evidenced by getting 4th overall in my first trail half marathon, and running quite respectably in some other smaller races. I probably could have written about that race, but there really wasn't much to tell. I was shooting for 2 hours flat, came up a bit short, and made a funny face when the race director told me "Congrats, 4th place." It was a tough-ass course too.

Anyways, blah blah blah...been running fast and having NO pain whatsoever.

The BIG news...in Novemeber, during the 15 minute window before it filled up, I was able to secure a spot in Ironman Florida 2012! And not only that, but BOTH of my roommates, two of my best friends, another good training pal, and a KTB workout buddy also signed up for this race. In addition,  my brother is still toying with shelling out the dough for one of the Ironman Foundation slots which cost double(Come on....doooooo it!) Regardless, I couldn't be happier about the fact that several people I know will become an Ironman next November.

The other BIG news is that this time, I'm going balls out. For my first Ironman, my goal was to finish. And I did that with quite a respectable 13:29. Thinking about my next one, I knew I was going to want to improve on that time...but how much? 13:00 seemed reasonable, but when Delaware threw out 12 hours, I called him crazy and then decided that was the magic number.

12 hour Ironman...what will THAT entail? Well...seeing as how I have yet to manage a sub-6 hour HALF Ironman, it would seem that perhaps this isn't quite a reasonable goal...

...but when has THAT ever stopped me before? To hell with REASON...here's what it will take.

1:10 swim...totally doable, gain a little speed in the water and I'm there.
6 hour bike(18.6 mph average) - The Crux...but with a pancake flat course and hopefully an assload of bike training(and maybe even a proper tri bike)...it's doable.
4:30 marathon... totally doable, considering I breezed to a sub-5 marathon in Coeur d'Alene, which is hilly.
Throw in transitions no longer than 10 minutes apiece, and holy shit...why does that seem like no big deal?

Well, now that I'm out of school and working full time at my first nursing job, I believe I'll have the time necessary to get in that training I'll need to crush this race. And you'll hear about all of it right here, so stay tuned(or subscribed...since this isn't a television or radio station).

Some other goals I hope to achieve in the near future:
Run a sub-6 minute mile
New Half Marathon PR...thinking 1:35 to keep my bro off my back for a bit...his PR is 1:40.
MAYBE a new marathon PR...3:50 would reclaim the "Fastest Loental Marathon" title from my brother as well, but I think I could go 3:45...."Hear that, fucker? I've got your number!"

Oh yeah...and I suppose a sub-6 hour Half Ironman would seem appropriate...5:30 would be more reassuring though.

Not much else to say right now, however I would like to recognize an amazing friend's achievement. In May of 2010, I did a weekend bike ride called the Cottonwood 200. It was a beautiful ride through the Flinthills of Kansas, and I definitely needed the mileage heading into my first Ironman, but more important than that, I met a very amazing friend that weekend. Initially our friendship entailed sharing training and racing stories, and we even rode together a few times, but she now lives in Oklahoma and we occasionally chat when she's not too busy being Super Mom. Well anyways...last month she raced her first ever Ironman in Arizona. In front of her family and friends, she finished in an absolutely blazing 12:28. This is my blog shoutout to my amazing friend CC...I am so proud of you, and congratulations! You deserve it!