Gilly had her first triathlon one week after mine. I was just as nervous for hers :)
She rocks.
Some pics...
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Monday, August 18, 2008
RACE DAY
Vineman Ironman Triathlon, Sonoma, CA
Cliff Notes Version:
What a day!
Definitely experienced all the ups and downs of the race, joy and pain. With the unexpected 97 degree heat it turned into a sufferfest, the medical tent was overflowing. Fortunately I avoided the tent but unfortunately I didn’t avoid ‘gastrointestinal issues’, cramping on the bike, vomiting and other misadventures on the run portion of the race.
I felt strong otherwise, but I missed the last run time cut-off by 13 minutes and 36 seconds and wasn’t allowed to complete the last loop of the run. It’s a quirky rule peculiar to this specific race venue. So it wasn’t a fitness or mental letdown, it was of all things, a nutritional letdown.
People have asked if I was crushed that I wasn’t able to ‘officially’ finish the race. Well, it takes a little more than missing a time cut-off to crush my spirit. I mean, I raced in my first triathlon, an Ironman(!) in brutal conditions and was only 13 minutes away from accomplishing what I thought was ‘impossible’ less than a year ago. I’ll take it! (Though I have some unfinished business with Ironman next year ☺) I’m mostly proud of the fact that I never gave up, especially with reports of other racers who quit mid race, unwilling to continue. Mostly I'm humbled and grateful that I'm healthy and strong enough to even attempt an Ironman.
Under the bright lights and loud cheers of the finish-line transition area, when the race official informed me of missing the cut-off and that my race had ended, I sought out my family and team. Before I could find them, a man I’ve never met came up to me, introduced himself and said ‘I know you may be disappointed that your race didn’t turn out the way you wanted, but I’m being treated for leukemia and I wanted to thank you for being such an inspiration to me and other cancer survivors.’
As my coach observed and recounted to our team the next day …”I watched this conversation between Roman and a complete stranger, and after racing for 14 plus hours, instead of just collapsing in exhaustion like others understandably would have done, Roman put his hand on this man’s shoulder and asked, ‘what’s your prognosis, how’s your treatment, how are you feeling?’ They walked away in discussion, and I knew it was the perfect day and the perfect race for Roman.”
Ironman was one of the hardest yet most gratifying things I've ever done in my life. And my coach is right, it was a day I’ll never forget.
RACE REPORT- War & Peace Version:
After 10 months of training-156 total miles of swimming, 3,485 miles of biking, and 700 miles of running, it was time to get it on. That's 4,341 miles of training. The race is only 140.6 miles, piece of cake. Yeah, right.
I’m up at 4:00 AM, about 5 hours of sleep. Breakfast is a glass of recovery drink and a PB-banana-chocolate chip sandwich. This will be the last solid food I’ll have for the rest of the day.
TRANSITION SET-UP
5:30 I’m at the beach, I get body marked, say hello to friends and teammates then set up my transition area. Lots of nervous tension around me with the other racers, some people need to chill out. I’m relaxed, focused. I go through my checklist, set up my gear, take a sodium pill and gu, water.
My goal is to finish the race under the time cut-off of 16 hours or less. My plan is to keep moving forward, enjoy the day, assess & adapt and mostly, have fun!
SWIM
My wave is about to start so I get in the water and take some warm up strokes, feel the cool water on my face. It’s a floating start so we’re all treading water, waiting for the start gun to go off. It’s the calm before the storm so other racers turn and start wishing each other good luck, to have a great race, have great swim. I do the same to others around me. A nice moment. My goal is to finish the swim in under 2 hours, I’ve done the course before in a practice swim in 2:02.
I hear the crowd counting down 10, 9, 8….3, 2, 1, GO! And we’re off. OMG, I’m doing an Ironman!
I’m prepared to be kicked, punched and climbed over so I relax and swim in my ‘bubble’. With the excitement of the race I knew my heart rate would climb so I relax and find my pace and tempo. Stroke…breathe…sight. The group starts thinning out, kayaks are lining the course.
After the first of two loops I’m under pace, wow. So if I just maintain this I should be close to my goal. Twinge of a cramp. I relax my legs. I’ve had cramps on long swims before and they’re not fun.
Stroke, breathe, sight. It’s a beautiful morning, almost peaceful. I see the shore and know I’m going to make the swim cut off. I finish the swim in 1:54. The team is yelling, ‘under two hours!’ Hahaha, that’s awesome! Slow, but awesome for me. I couldn’t even swim 10 months ago, ha!
TRANSITION
I strip off my wetsuit and walk to my bike. I don't run to keep my heart rate from spiking. I’ve been horizontal for 2 hours then suddenly upright so I don’t want to overly stress my system this early since it’s going to be a long day.
BIKE
I start the course in an easy, comfortable gear, manage my heart rate, take in food after 15 minutes so my legs get the blood before my stomach. I tuck in to my aero bars. People are passing me but I let them go, it’s a long day, the juice isn’t worth the squeeze. I stick to my nutrition plan and take in some Tums for cramps and start my sodium regimen earlier than planned. I allow myself a few moments to relish in the fact that I finished the swim, my main concern before the season began. I begin to tear up a little, how far I’ve come, why I’m racing, 5 years of remission from leukemia. When I was diagnosed I wasn't even guaranteed to make it this long. Enough of that for now, stay focused.
I ride through vineyards and beautiful countryside. I’m familiar with the course since we’ve trained here numerous times in preparation. I get to the halfway point, mile 56 feeling good. I see my Dad but am going too fast to spot the rest of my family. I’m under my time goal, yes! I want to have enough time and energy saved up for the run, so I’m in good shape so far. How quickly things change. Two miles later I feel a twinge in my leg followed by a full blown leg cramp. Argh. I get off my bike to stretch my leg. I realize how hot it’s become. I slap on some more sunscreen and take in more Tums and water as other bikers stop in the shade for some relief as well. I’m itching to get going again, I don’t want to waste more time but my leg is still cramped.
I try to stay positive and adapt. I adjust my nutrition to get in more fluids and sodium. I soft pedal to keep from cramping. I had planned to pick up the pace on the second loop but with the heat and cramps I need to actually slow it down. Rats. I come to gradual incline and put it in my easiest gear but even the small effort starts my legs cramping again. There’s no shoulder on the road so I have to jump in a two foot ditch, sitting on dirt and leaves, grimacing in pain as I try to massage and stretch out both of my legs from spasming(?). This sucks. I'm in a bad way.
I would have to stop a couple more times to try to get the cramps under control. Many riders were having the same problems. Even though I’ve increased my fluids I haven’t had to pee in a while, which is a concern. I start drinking more Gatorade at the rest stops, a decision which will come back to haunt me.
I get to the top of a climb and I see my coach, Rand. He runs besides me and says I need to at least keep my pace in order to make the 5:00 PM bike cut off. There’s about 25 more miles until the finish. If I pick up the pace, the effort may trigger my cramps again. But if I hold back I may miss the cut off. I have no choice but to hammer.
I stop at the next water stop for ice and water for my last push to the bike finish. I catch up to some other Team in Training teammates and they look absolutely horrible-salt on their faces, exhausted and miserable. I’m thinking, ‘OMG, do I look like that? This is bad.’
I say to them, ‘guys we gotta go, gotta make the time cut-off.’ They say, ‘oh no, the cut off is at 5:30, we’ve got plenty of time.’ I tell them that my coach just said that the cut off is at 5:00, not 5:30. One of them says, ‘Well I think he may be misinformed.’ I think to myself, ‘well what if YOU are the one who’s misinformed.’
Who do you think I’m going to listen to? The one I’ve entrusted to train me for the biggest race of my life, or someone I’ve just met.
I’m outta here, see ya! I hammer start passing people for a change. I make the cutoff with time to spare. My coach is at the transition yelling ‘you did it!, great job!’
Even though I make the cutoff, my ‘insurance’ time has been eaten up. With my slower pace, cramps and more water stops I lost 50 minutes on my second loop which I wanted to have for my run.
TRANSITION 2
I’m a little ‘wonky’ now so I take in some ice water and go through my transition so I don’t forget anything. Change into my running shoes, put on more sunblock, grab my running hat and fuel belt, down some Advil, Tums and sodium pills and head to the run course for a little ‘cool down’ run, just a marathon in front of me now, ha!
RUN
As I leave the transition, coach is yelling, ‘stick to the plan Roman!’ My original plan is to walk through each rest stop every mile. The way I’m feeling, I might have to walk more than that. I’m thinking with this heat, my plan is out the window, already readjusted my nutrition regimen.
I’ve feeling light headed. I’m guessing this is pretty normal after 10 hours of racing in the heat so I press on. As I start to run, my fuel belt feels a lot heavier than in training so I grab my sodium pills and gu and ditch my fuel belt and bottles at the first water stop. I’ll just drink at the water stops instead.
I know it will be a few miles until my legs feel closer to normal so I just push on ahead until my body adjusts. Only it’s not adjusting quickly enough. My new plan is to walk the hills, run the downhills and run on the flats. As I reach the turn around of the first loop, I’m behind on my race pace. I know I need to pick it up if want to finish under the time cut off. I’m feeling awful. Duh, Roman, did you think it was going to be easy? It's a freaking Ironman. I see a couple of my teammates up ahead and they’re walking, slowly, with their hands on their hips. And these are the ‘runners’ on the team. Oh boy, everyone’s suffering out here. If those guys are walking, I’m in deep doo-doo. I catch up and walk with my teammate a while. She says this is the worst she's ever felt in her life. I believe her. We encourage each other to stay strong. At the moment, we’re in survival mode, just finish the race in one piece.
I see a friend cheering on the side of the road. He asks how I’m doing and I say feel like crap. He says, just put that out of your mind. I’m thinking, easy for you to say. If had the strength I would have slapped him upside his head. Man, fatigue makes you cranky.
I pass through the water stop where most of my friends and family are camping out. They’re whooping and hollering and I smile and wave as I go through. What awesome support, I would need it.
Another friend runs beside me and say I look bloated. What the heck does that mean? When it gets hot, your body’s digestion system shuts down is unable to process food efficiently. So all that sugar in the Gatorade I’ve been drinking hasn’t processed, it’s ‘stuck’. That’s why I feel so awful.
I just keep moving. As I pass other Team In Training teammates we high five or Go Team! By the end of the race it’s just grunts and groans, haha. Suddenly I have to stop, go to side of the road, bend at the waist and start heaving my guts out. Good. I actually want to throw up so I’ll feel better. The other racers are probably thinking, yep, that’s what happens in an Ironman, poor chap.
I get to turn around point and I look at my time. I have to PR the next 5 miles if I want to make the cut off. I know it’s unlikely, but I didn’t come this far to give up. I start to run and try to block out the pain. I see another coach and participant and they ask how I’m doing. I say not good, I have to run the race of my life if I’m going to make the cutoff. They say let’s go for it and they’ll pace me in. So I run with their pace, nice and steady. One of them runs ahead and grabs coke and water for me so I don’t have to stop. What a guy. We start to settle into a nice rhythm. I’m actually feeling the best I've felt all day. What’s that about!? Where’s has this been?! Why only now?! I realize that it’s because it’s almost sunset and it’s a lot cooler now plus I was able to throw up.
It’s getting dark and I only have my (prescription) sunglasses. My regular glasses and headlamp are still at the aid station, I didn’t anticipate it getting dark so soon. They’re no street lights on the course since it’s a country road. So I can’t see. I’m liable to run into a ditch or a tree for all I know. Other runners are wearing glow sticks and they look like fuzzy UFOs whizzing by me in all directions.
So the coach turns on his headlamp and gets in front of me and my friend runs behind me. I feel like the President running with Secret Service Agents. I’m now at the mercy of my 'bodyguards now', if they run off a cliff, I’ll be right behind them. We're flying now and as we approach all our supporters at the water stop I say, 'do not stop, keep going!' They're screaming but I have to run through, head down, no smile, no wave.
As we round the final corner I see the glow of the finish line lights and hear the cheers and energy of the crowd. I’m exhausted but the crowd gives me a lift. I run toward the transition area and see the race official waiting. I know what’s next.
‘FINISH’
He asks how I’m doing and apologizes because he has to take my timing chip and ask me not to continue the race, I’ve missed the cut off. I say I know, thank you for being so gracious. I ask him how much I missed it by and we both turn and look at the race clock. About 13 and half minutes.
Argh. So close. That’s just a few less stops at the water stations, a few less stops to stretch my cramps, a minute here, a minute there. I find my coach and we hug, knowing my day is done. I meet a young man who has leukemia and he thanks me for racing and being an inspiration to him others with cancer. Wow.
Friends and family are starting to gather, hugs and kisses. Some are crying. This race meant as much to them as it did for me. I’m drained but surprisingly upbeat. Would I like to have made the cut off? Duh. But I know I raced my hardest, I managed my race well and stayed mentally and emotionally strong. It came down to nutritional issues.
Some people are saying I can still go out on the course and finish the race ‘unofficially’. There’s no doubt I could have finished the last loop, I can just walk it if want to. But I’m thinking ‘why?’ Just to say I finished? I mean, if that were case, I can just come back the next morning and finish. To me it’s also disrespectful to the race organizers' wishes and especially to the other racers who trained and raced the same course I did under the same conditions. Do I just set some arbitrary time limit for myself? I know it sounds a lot better to say ‘I finished an Ironman’ but my goal was to finish under the time cut off, and unfortunately I was just 13 and half minutes short. I would take no pride in an ‘unofficial’ finish, it would be a hollow victory.
So I grabbed some hot chicken noodle soup and a space blanket and cheered the other racers across the finish line and encouraged the ones who didn’t make the cut off. More tears, smiles, hugs and kisses.
Before I left, some one gave me a finisher’s medal. I greatly appreciated the gesture but I haven’t worn it. But I will when I earn it. This was just a temporary set back and will make my ‘official’ finish even sweeter. The next day, one of the other racers who heard my speech gave me an Ironman logo necklace. I’ll wear that for sure!
I would learn later that it was the second hottest day in the history of the race. There was even a waiting list for the medical tent and it looked like a war zone. Even the overall winner said it was one of the hardest conditions he had to compete in and he had to change his entire race plan to accommodate the heat. So it was tough, tough day for everyone.
WRAP UP
I feel so privileged to be healthy and strong enough to have raced in an event that most people neither have the desire, opportunity or ability to race. I’ve learned even more to respect the distance. I know what it takes, the training, the nutrition, the cumulative fitness and experience to be an Ironman.
I was only 13 minutes away from what seemed ‘impossible’ not so long ago. Not too shabby. The whole experience changes your mindset, it makes it very difficult to say ‘I can’t'. It enlarges your heart and broadens your limits of what is possible. It forges unbending bonds with your teammates and those who selflessly support your endeavor. It reminds you of the power and the passion of the human spirit.
I’m so excited for next year's race season.
Vineman Ironman Triathlon, Sonoma, CA
Cliff Notes Version:
What a day!
Definitely experienced all the ups and downs of the race, joy and pain. With the unexpected 97 degree heat it turned into a sufferfest, the medical tent was overflowing. Fortunately I avoided the tent but unfortunately I didn’t avoid ‘gastrointestinal issues’, cramping on the bike, vomiting and other misadventures on the run portion of the race.
I felt strong otherwise, but I missed the last run time cut-off by 13 minutes and 36 seconds and wasn’t allowed to complete the last loop of the run. It’s a quirky rule peculiar to this specific race venue. So it wasn’t a fitness or mental letdown, it was of all things, a nutritional letdown.
People have asked if I was crushed that I wasn’t able to ‘officially’ finish the race. Well, it takes a little more than missing a time cut-off to crush my spirit. I mean, I raced in my first triathlon, an Ironman(!) in brutal conditions and was only 13 minutes away from accomplishing what I thought was ‘impossible’ less than a year ago. I’ll take it! (Though I have some unfinished business with Ironman next year ☺) I’m mostly proud of the fact that I never gave up, especially with reports of other racers who quit mid race, unwilling to continue. Mostly I'm humbled and grateful that I'm healthy and strong enough to even attempt an Ironman.
Under the bright lights and loud cheers of the finish-line transition area, when the race official informed me of missing the cut-off and that my race had ended, I sought out my family and team. Before I could find them, a man I’ve never met came up to me, introduced himself and said ‘I know you may be disappointed that your race didn’t turn out the way you wanted, but I’m being treated for leukemia and I wanted to thank you for being such an inspiration to me and other cancer survivors.’
As my coach observed and recounted to our team the next day …”I watched this conversation between Roman and a complete stranger, and after racing for 14 plus hours, instead of just collapsing in exhaustion like others understandably would have done, Roman put his hand on this man’s shoulder and asked, ‘what’s your prognosis, how’s your treatment, how are you feeling?’ They walked away in discussion, and I knew it was the perfect day and the perfect race for Roman.”
Ironman was one of the hardest yet most gratifying things I've ever done in my life. And my coach is right, it was a day I’ll never forget.
RACE REPORT- War & Peace Version:
After 10 months of training-156 total miles of swimming, 3,485 miles of biking, and 700 miles of running, it was time to get it on. That's 4,341 miles of training. The race is only 140.6 miles, piece of cake. Yeah, right.
I’m up at 4:00 AM, about 5 hours of sleep. Breakfast is a glass of recovery drink and a PB-banana-chocolate chip sandwich. This will be the last solid food I’ll have for the rest of the day.
TRANSITION SET-UP
5:30 I’m at the beach, I get body marked, say hello to friends and teammates then set up my transition area. Lots of nervous tension around me with the other racers, some people need to chill out. I’m relaxed, focused. I go through my checklist, set up my gear, take a sodium pill and gu, water.
My goal is to finish the race under the time cut-off of 16 hours or less. My plan is to keep moving forward, enjoy the day, assess & adapt and mostly, have fun!
SWIM
My wave is about to start so I get in the water and take some warm up strokes, feel the cool water on my face. It’s a floating start so we’re all treading water, waiting for the start gun to go off. It’s the calm before the storm so other racers turn and start wishing each other good luck, to have a great race, have great swim. I do the same to others around me. A nice moment. My goal is to finish the swim in under 2 hours, I’ve done the course before in a practice swim in 2:02.
I hear the crowd counting down 10, 9, 8….3, 2, 1, GO! And we’re off. OMG, I’m doing an Ironman!
I’m prepared to be kicked, punched and climbed over so I relax and swim in my ‘bubble’. With the excitement of the race I knew my heart rate would climb so I relax and find my pace and tempo. Stroke…breathe…sight. The group starts thinning out, kayaks are lining the course.
After the first of two loops I’m under pace, wow. So if I just maintain this I should be close to my goal. Twinge of a cramp. I relax my legs. I’ve had cramps on long swims before and they’re not fun.
Stroke, breathe, sight. It’s a beautiful morning, almost peaceful. I see the shore and know I’m going to make the swim cut off. I finish the swim in 1:54. The team is yelling, ‘under two hours!’ Hahaha, that’s awesome! Slow, but awesome for me. I couldn’t even swim 10 months ago, ha!
TRANSITION
I strip off my wetsuit and walk to my bike. I don't run to keep my heart rate from spiking. I’ve been horizontal for 2 hours then suddenly upright so I don’t want to overly stress my system this early since it’s going to be a long day.
BIKE
I start the course in an easy, comfortable gear, manage my heart rate, take in food after 15 minutes so my legs get the blood before my stomach. I tuck in to my aero bars. People are passing me but I let them go, it’s a long day, the juice isn’t worth the squeeze. I stick to my nutrition plan and take in some Tums for cramps and start my sodium regimen earlier than planned. I allow myself a few moments to relish in the fact that I finished the swim, my main concern before the season began. I begin to tear up a little, how far I’ve come, why I’m racing, 5 years of remission from leukemia. When I was diagnosed I wasn't even guaranteed to make it this long. Enough of that for now, stay focused.
I ride through vineyards and beautiful countryside. I’m familiar with the course since we’ve trained here numerous times in preparation. I get to the halfway point, mile 56 feeling good. I see my Dad but am going too fast to spot the rest of my family. I’m under my time goal, yes! I want to have enough time and energy saved up for the run, so I’m in good shape so far. How quickly things change. Two miles later I feel a twinge in my leg followed by a full blown leg cramp. Argh. I get off my bike to stretch my leg. I realize how hot it’s become. I slap on some more sunscreen and take in more Tums and water as other bikers stop in the shade for some relief as well. I’m itching to get going again, I don’t want to waste more time but my leg is still cramped.
I try to stay positive and adapt. I adjust my nutrition to get in more fluids and sodium. I soft pedal to keep from cramping. I had planned to pick up the pace on the second loop but with the heat and cramps I need to actually slow it down. Rats. I come to gradual incline and put it in my easiest gear but even the small effort starts my legs cramping again. There’s no shoulder on the road so I have to jump in a two foot ditch, sitting on dirt and leaves, grimacing in pain as I try to massage and stretch out both of my legs from spasming(?). This sucks. I'm in a bad way.
I would have to stop a couple more times to try to get the cramps under control. Many riders were having the same problems. Even though I’ve increased my fluids I haven’t had to pee in a while, which is a concern. I start drinking more Gatorade at the rest stops, a decision which will come back to haunt me.
I get to the top of a climb and I see my coach, Rand. He runs besides me and says I need to at least keep my pace in order to make the 5:00 PM bike cut off. There’s about 25 more miles until the finish. If I pick up the pace, the effort may trigger my cramps again. But if I hold back I may miss the cut off. I have no choice but to hammer.
I stop at the next water stop for ice and water for my last push to the bike finish. I catch up to some other Team in Training teammates and they look absolutely horrible-salt on their faces, exhausted and miserable. I’m thinking, ‘OMG, do I look like that? This is bad.’
I say to them, ‘guys we gotta go, gotta make the time cut-off.’ They say, ‘oh no, the cut off is at 5:30, we’ve got plenty of time.’ I tell them that my coach just said that the cut off is at 5:00, not 5:30. One of them says, ‘Well I think he may be misinformed.’ I think to myself, ‘well what if YOU are the one who’s misinformed.’
Who do you think I’m going to listen to? The one I’ve entrusted to train me for the biggest race of my life, or someone I’ve just met.
I’m outta here, see ya! I hammer start passing people for a change. I make the cutoff with time to spare. My coach is at the transition yelling ‘you did it!, great job!’
Even though I make the cutoff, my ‘insurance’ time has been eaten up. With my slower pace, cramps and more water stops I lost 50 minutes on my second loop which I wanted to have for my run.
TRANSITION 2
I’m a little ‘wonky’ now so I take in some ice water and go through my transition so I don’t forget anything. Change into my running shoes, put on more sunblock, grab my running hat and fuel belt, down some Advil, Tums and sodium pills and head to the run course for a little ‘cool down’ run, just a marathon in front of me now, ha!
RUN
As I leave the transition, coach is yelling, ‘stick to the plan Roman!’ My original plan is to walk through each rest stop every mile. The way I’m feeling, I might have to walk more than that. I’m thinking with this heat, my plan is out the window, already readjusted my nutrition regimen.
I’ve feeling light headed. I’m guessing this is pretty normal after 10 hours of racing in the heat so I press on. As I start to run, my fuel belt feels a lot heavier than in training so I grab my sodium pills and gu and ditch my fuel belt and bottles at the first water stop. I’ll just drink at the water stops instead.
I know it will be a few miles until my legs feel closer to normal so I just push on ahead until my body adjusts. Only it’s not adjusting quickly enough. My new plan is to walk the hills, run the downhills and run on the flats. As I reach the turn around of the first loop, I’m behind on my race pace. I know I need to pick it up if want to finish under the time cut off. I’m feeling awful. Duh, Roman, did you think it was going to be easy? It's a freaking Ironman. I see a couple of my teammates up ahead and they’re walking, slowly, with their hands on their hips. And these are the ‘runners’ on the team. Oh boy, everyone’s suffering out here. If those guys are walking, I’m in deep doo-doo. I catch up and walk with my teammate a while. She says this is the worst she's ever felt in her life. I believe her. We encourage each other to stay strong. At the moment, we’re in survival mode, just finish the race in one piece.
I see a friend cheering on the side of the road. He asks how I’m doing and I say feel like crap. He says, just put that out of your mind. I’m thinking, easy for you to say. If had the strength I would have slapped him upside his head. Man, fatigue makes you cranky.
I pass through the water stop where most of my friends and family are camping out. They’re whooping and hollering and I smile and wave as I go through. What awesome support, I would need it.
Another friend runs beside me and say I look bloated. What the heck does that mean? When it gets hot, your body’s digestion system shuts down is unable to process food efficiently. So all that sugar in the Gatorade I’ve been drinking hasn’t processed, it’s ‘stuck’. That’s why I feel so awful.
I just keep moving. As I pass other Team In Training teammates we high five or Go Team! By the end of the race it’s just grunts and groans, haha. Suddenly I have to stop, go to side of the road, bend at the waist and start heaving my guts out. Good. I actually want to throw up so I’ll feel better. The other racers are probably thinking, yep, that’s what happens in an Ironman, poor chap.
I get to turn around point and I look at my time. I have to PR the next 5 miles if I want to make the cut off. I know it’s unlikely, but I didn’t come this far to give up. I start to run and try to block out the pain. I see another coach and participant and they ask how I’m doing. I say not good, I have to run the race of my life if I’m going to make the cutoff. They say let’s go for it and they’ll pace me in. So I run with their pace, nice and steady. One of them runs ahead and grabs coke and water for me so I don’t have to stop. What a guy. We start to settle into a nice rhythm. I’m actually feeling the best I've felt all day. What’s that about!? Where’s has this been?! Why only now?! I realize that it’s because it’s almost sunset and it’s a lot cooler now plus I was able to throw up.
It’s getting dark and I only have my (prescription) sunglasses. My regular glasses and headlamp are still at the aid station, I didn’t anticipate it getting dark so soon. They’re no street lights on the course since it’s a country road. So I can’t see. I’m liable to run into a ditch or a tree for all I know. Other runners are wearing glow sticks and they look like fuzzy UFOs whizzing by me in all directions.
So the coach turns on his headlamp and gets in front of me and my friend runs behind me. I feel like the President running with Secret Service Agents. I’m now at the mercy of my 'bodyguards now', if they run off a cliff, I’ll be right behind them. We're flying now and as we approach all our supporters at the water stop I say, 'do not stop, keep going!' They're screaming but I have to run through, head down, no smile, no wave.
As we round the final corner I see the glow of the finish line lights and hear the cheers and energy of the crowd. I’m exhausted but the crowd gives me a lift. I run toward the transition area and see the race official waiting. I know what’s next.
‘FINISH’
He asks how I’m doing and apologizes because he has to take my timing chip and ask me not to continue the race, I’ve missed the cut off. I say I know, thank you for being so gracious. I ask him how much I missed it by and we both turn and look at the race clock. About 13 and half minutes.
Argh. So close. That’s just a few less stops at the water stations, a few less stops to stretch my cramps, a minute here, a minute there. I find my coach and we hug, knowing my day is done. I meet a young man who has leukemia and he thanks me for racing and being an inspiration to him others with cancer. Wow.
Friends and family are starting to gather, hugs and kisses. Some are crying. This race meant as much to them as it did for me. I’m drained but surprisingly upbeat. Would I like to have made the cut off? Duh. But I know I raced my hardest, I managed my race well and stayed mentally and emotionally strong. It came down to nutritional issues.
Some people are saying I can still go out on the course and finish the race ‘unofficially’. There’s no doubt I could have finished the last loop, I can just walk it if want to. But I’m thinking ‘why?’ Just to say I finished? I mean, if that were case, I can just come back the next morning and finish. To me it’s also disrespectful to the race organizers' wishes and especially to the other racers who trained and raced the same course I did under the same conditions. Do I just set some arbitrary time limit for myself? I know it sounds a lot better to say ‘I finished an Ironman’ but my goal was to finish under the time cut off, and unfortunately I was just 13 and half minutes short. I would take no pride in an ‘unofficial’ finish, it would be a hollow victory.
So I grabbed some hot chicken noodle soup and a space blanket and cheered the other racers across the finish line and encouraged the ones who didn’t make the cut off. More tears, smiles, hugs and kisses.
Before I left, some one gave me a finisher’s medal. I greatly appreciated the gesture but I haven’t worn it. But I will when I earn it. This was just a temporary set back and will make my ‘official’ finish even sweeter. The next day, one of the other racers who heard my speech gave me an Ironman logo necklace. I’ll wear that for sure!
I would learn later that it was the second hottest day in the history of the race. There was even a waiting list for the medical tent and it looked like a war zone. Even the overall winner said it was one of the hardest conditions he had to compete in and he had to change his entire race plan to accommodate the heat. So it was tough, tough day for everyone.
WRAP UP
I feel so privileged to be healthy and strong enough to have raced in an event that most people neither have the desire, opportunity or ability to race. I’ve learned even more to respect the distance. I know what it takes, the training, the nutrition, the cumulative fitness and experience to be an Ironman.
I was only 13 minutes away from what seemed ‘impossible’ not so long ago. Not too shabby. The whole experience changes your mindset, it makes it very difficult to say ‘I can’t'. It enlarges your heart and broadens your limits of what is possible. It forges unbending bonds with your teammates and those who selflessly support your endeavor. It reminds you of the power and the passion of the human spirit.
I’m so excited for next year's race season.
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Monday, April 14, 2008
Wildflower Half-Ironman Course Race Report, Lake San Antonio CA (updated video)
Friday 4/11
It's amazing all the gear you need for a triathlon, especially one in which you're camping for three days. So after hours of packing, checking and rechecking my race gear, nutrition, camp gear and other miscellaneous items, we headed down to Lake San Antonio for our Half Ironman distance practice triathlon on the world famous Wildflower course.
Lake San Antonio is about a 3:30 hour drive south from Benicia through Gilroy and Salinas, and north of San Luis Obispo. Wildflower is known as the Woodstock of triathlons and on race weekend about 7,000 people cram into a state park for three days of racing, camping and fun. It's one of the hardest Half-Ironman Races in America, an extremely challenging, hilly course. About 250 Team In Training triathletes would be there, from Redwood Wine Country (my team), Silicon Valley, Monterey/Santa Cruz and Orange County. Since we would do our practice race three weeks before the 'Official' race, we'll practically have the whole campgrounds to ourselves. Arriving in the afternoon, we quickly found our teammates and set up camp. There are already dozens of tents set-up, with a bunch of hardbodies getting gear out of their cars and $5000 tri-bikes off their roof racks.
After settling in, the team had a quick 30-minute bike ride followed by a 10-minute run. This gave us a chance to check for equipment problems and to make sure our bikes and gear were in good working order. It's a good thing, the team had flat and punctured tires, and bent rims. Better to sort those things out now instead of during the race. The warm-up also was intended for a 'glycogen dump'. You basically do a quick warm-up the day before a race to flush out gylcogen (energy stores) in your muscles. Immediately after you refuel and your muscles act like super-sponges and 'tops off the tank' with gylcogen, ready for racing tomorrow. At least that's the theory, it was getting hot and I would have rather rested under a tree instead, haha.
Dinner, team meeting to go over the race, and into bed for a restless night of sleep, typical pre-race nervousness and excitement, not to mention dozens of partying campers. I'll party tomorrow night, AFTER my race. Ear plugs are a godsend.
Sat 4/12 Race Day
I'm up at 5:00 AM, no need for an alarm clock as everyone's tent zippers rouse the troops in unison. I have my usual race day breakfast of peanut-butter/banana/honey sandwich and a recovery drink. I'm feeling rested and excited. Today I'll swim 1.2 miles, ride 56 miles, then run 13.2 miles.
At 6:15 we all drive down to start line about a mile away from camp. It's going to be a pretty warm day. I check in at the starters tent and a volunteer body marks my arms and calves for identification. They put your race number on your arm and your age on your calf so everyone know who's in your age group when you're racing-racing. I'm racer no. 25, age 42. The volunteer actually thought 25 was my age instead of my race number and put it on my calf, thank you very much :). So I have a 25 on one calf and a 42 on the other. I start setting up my transition area, making sure my bike, running shoes, gear, etc. are all set up properly. I greet other team members, 'good luck', 'have fun' 'see you at the finish', 'kick butt', 'go team', and start getting my wetsuit on, bodyglide and heart-rate monitor chest strap intact, grab my goggles and cap, then head down to the water with the other racers.
I spot the three colored buoys we're to swim out to then loop back. They run parallel to the shore and last one is hidden from view because of how the shore curves around. We'll be swimming counter-clockwise with the buoys to our left. They look FAR. I get in the water to warm up and the temperature's surprisingly, comfortably warm. All season we've been swimming in low 50's water so this is a nice change. Countdown begins then we're off.
SWIM
After bumping into several people, our arms and legs swimming over each other, I settle into a comfortable pace. The water's full of these psychedelic little jellyfish-looking organisms floating in the water, thousands of them. I don't even want to know what they are. I've asked people what they think about during a long open water swim. Their responses vary, 'Beating everyone, especially the guys' or 'I think about my to-do list' or 'I wrestle alligators and say hello to the mermaids.' Usually I think about my form and breathing until I can get into a nice rhythm. Then it's all about getting to the next buoy, then the next one. At a favorite beach of mine, there's a little rock formation that I've always wanted to swim out to but haven't yet. So I pretend each buoy is that rock, and swim out to it.
I hit the first (white) buoy and try to sight the next one. No such luck so I just swim towards the kayaks until I see the next buoy. Still a way to go until we hit the turnaround in half a mile. The second buoy comes into view (it's orange). As I pass it I'm thinking, 'nice job Roman, one more to go then turn around and do it again.' I'm probably 25 minutes into the swim now as I approach the final buoy, a red one, a welcome sight. Out of nowhere I suddenly feel two 'hands' grab the top of my head. What the ?#@! Are there freaking giant otters or something out here? It was another swimmer who had 'stopped' me, thinking I was someone else and wanting to say hi. He apologized so I decided not to slap him upside his head for scaring the crap out of me.
I get to the last buoy and as I start to make my u-turn around it, I kick 'sideways' a little to get my body turned in the other direction. Instantly my right hamstring cramps up, ack! 'Okay Roman, relax or it will get worse.' I'm floating on my back until the cramp goes away, but it's not like you can stretch out your leg in the water like on land.
For some reason, my other leg locks up too. Crap (that's my default euphemism for s#!t). I wave to the kayak who paddles over to me. He says 'what's going on?' 'Cramp.' 'Grap the nose (of the kayak), not the side.' Yeah, I don't want to be tipping over my 'rescuer.'
I just hang on for while until my legs start to feel 'normal'. I don't intend to swim another half mile with cramped legs. He offers to row me to shore which isn't far, so I can stand up in the shallow water and stretch out my legs. We quickly do that and as I stretch, the tightness and pain seem to subside. I start swimming a little bit and I feel okay. Mr. Kayaker says to stick close to the shore and wave if I need him. He then paddles off to another swimmer who is having some sort of issue behind us.
I'm not worried about my time, just not cramping up again. So I take it easy and actually have a faster split-time on the return loop, go figure. But after a few minutes, it feels like a little piranha is swimming next to me and biting me on the back of my neck every few strokes. The velcro on my wetsuit must have moved around. I kept tugging on my neckline to no avail. Very distracting and irritating. I would later have a big purple monkey bite on the back of neck, my first wetsuit hickey.
I see the dock and the swim finish and in my haste, promptly swim right into the reeds on shore, 20 yards from the finish. It's very easy to swim crookedly without lane lines to look at. I need to work on that.
Coach Rand helps me out of the water, high fives all around, I find my slippers and start walking/running to the transition. My team manager yells out from across the parking lot, 'nice job Roman, you just swam 1.2 miles, stud!' I do my best Schwarzenegger then Rocky pose.
Transition 1 and BIKE
I find my bike quite easily as there are only a few riders left in transition. Strip out of my wetsuit and put on sunblock, sunglasses and bike gear. I also pop a Thermolyte pill (salt tablets) so my cramps don't show up again on the ride. I get on my bike and start riding out of transition. I'm yelling for the volunteers/coaches to tell me which way to go. One says turn left, another says go up the hill. So I get to the end of the parking lot then start spinning my way up the hill. It's camp sites, it doesn't look right. So I decide to turn around I ride back to the transition area and start yelling again, where do I go? They say look for the yellow arrows on the road. So I start up the same hill and can't find any arrows. As I'm getting to the top I'm guessing the road veers off, only it dead ends and I have to go back down, again!
Great, I just wasted time, energy and heartbeats on a hill I did twice just for extra credit. As I'm speeding down the hill, I'm mentally searching for the perfect curse word, but will refrain from revealing the choice few ones I did select. Once I get back to the bottom, another volunteer sees me and is screaming and pointing, 'THAT way Roman!' Other people got lost as well, but it was my fault for not studying the course map more carefully.
So, I'm finally on the real course then I see the 'real' hill, the first of many for the day. Beach Hill is a steep bugger of climb, you wouldn't want to walk up it, much less ride up it. As I'm grinding up the mid portion of the climb, a blonde hardbody passes me and she asks, 'so are you 25 or 42?' I reply, 'Guess. Nah, 42.' 'Cool' as she disappears easily over the crest. Ah yes, power-to-weight ratio in action.
A nice descent, then out of the park for miles of rollers and flats. I'm tucked in my aerobars, and it's much more comfortable and easy to stay out of the wind. Plus, you even 'feel' fast. I pass a few riders and chat. Others pass me and nod. It's starting to get warm so I roll my sleeves up and unzip my jersey a little to stay cool. My nutrition target is 300 calories an hour, plus 1000 mg of sodium. So I sip my Perpetuem and Carbo-Pro mix every 20 minutes, along with 2 Thermolyte pills and water spiked with Nuun. I remember to drink more water because of the heat. I use my bike computer and heart rate monitor to pace myself at 90 RPMs cadence, and 130 beats/minute.
I mentally break the ride down to three 20-mile sections. Rollers, flat, hills, rollers. Just get through each one, one at a time, piece of cake. Yeah, until mile 40 and 'Nasty Grade' and 'Cardiac Hill, a long steep 5-mile climb with 1000 feet of elevation. It's pretty hot now, so I unzip my jersey all the way to (try to) stay cool, dump some water on my head, inhale a packet of Jelly Belly Sports beans, drop down in my gears, and start to climb.
Now before the race, all the race veterans kept telling me how hard the course was, the hills on the ride and run. You know, why would I want to know how hard it is, the distance alone tells me how hard it is. I don't want things like 'Nasty Grade' in my psyche to play havoc with my mind before I even do the race. I mean, someone took the time to name these parts of the course (and others), pass them down to the next wave of racers year after year, even making it on to the course brochure. It can't be a good thing. So I renamed 'Nasty Grade' to 'Magical Marshmallow Mountain'. As I climbed I kept saying, 'this is Magical Marshmallow Mountain.' Doesn't make for an intimidating course description, but it works for me. Slow, strong and steady and I'm up the hill in no time (figure of speech for sure.) I've climbed harder hills in training (Mt. Diablo being the best/worst), but at this point of the ride, on a hot day, with a 13.1 mile run ahead of you, it really can be 'nasty'.
Quick stop to top off my water bottles with ice(!) water, zip up my jersey and time for a long, fast, fun descent, the best part of the climb. The view of the lake and valley from the ridge is breathtaking. Before the descent I pass a road sign that says 'CAUTION ICE'. Very funny on a 91 degree day. Not. Going downhill at 40+ mph is no joke, you have to be relaxed and focused, constantly scanning the road, looking where you want to go, not where you DON'T want to go. You never want your mind to drift into the 'I'm going really fast right now, if I crash it won't be good.' That's the worst thing you can think about, just stay in the moment and enjoy. I love to bomb the downhills, I probably got up to 45+.
I ride the last 10 miles back into the park and pass meadows with splashes of colorful wildflowers overtaking the bland, brown grass (thus the race's 'Wildflower' moniker.) No camera, so mental click will do. Before the park entrance there's a sign that says 'Prepare to Stop'. Man, I've been preparing to stop for fours hours now, my body would really like to, but I still have a Half Marathon I need to run. What's the deal with these signs? :)
Transition 2 and RUN
I roll into transition and am surprised to see two of my teammates. Good, I'll have someone to run with. I put on my running shoes, grab my Fuel Belt, hat and Garmin 201 (my GPS/pace/heartrate watch), stretch out my back and legs, then head for the run course. My Fuel Belt is filled with Nuun-spiked water, plain water, a couple of Gu packets (energy gels) and Thermolytes. I ask my teammates, 'why are you guys still here, let's go.' They both need to stop at the park's convenience store for 'something' so I figure they'll catch up with me. My plan is to run the first 3 miles way below race pace so my heart rate can settle and my body and legs adjust, then the next 7 miles at race pace, then the final 3 miles at whatever I feel (run/walk/sprint/crawl). Nice plan, out the window at mile 2. Cramps are back, upper inner thigh now. I sit down under a tree on the curb and start trying to massage and stretch my legs back to normal. A lady passes me and asks if I'm okay. I say yes, thanks, cramps. She offhandedly suggest I take more Thermolytes. I grunt as she runs off. Gee, thanks for that suggestion Einstein...and all this time I thought you take LESS sodium for cramps. I'm sure she was just trying to be helpful but I guess cramps, heat, fatigue and blatantly obvious statements make me cranky.
Alrighty then, only 11 more miles to go. I duck into a campground bathroom to pour some water over my head and neck and start moving. I walk up the hill to the aid station at mile 3, and one of the coaches starts asking me how I'm doing, seriously. I said I'm doing okay accept for the cramps. 'Are you taking Thermolytes?' (that question again.) 'Two every 20 minutes.' She gives me an extra Gu, I put ice down my shirt and under my hat, and head for the trails. The next 6 miles are mostly single-track dirt trails, along the lake and up and over a 'mountain'. Since there won't be another water stop the next 3(!) miles, on the hardest, hottest part of the run course, I have to do my best to allot the water I'm carrying.
I start jogging and see boaters on the lake floating lazily on by, not a care in the world. I just want to jump in the lake right now. I can't keep a decent pace as my heart rate keeps jumping into my throat. I change my plan to doing intervals, just run 2 minutes, walk 1 minute. It's so hot I find myself looking to run from one shady spot to the next. I get to a hill at mile 5 and just stop and stare. It's a mostly shadeless 6-foot wide dirt trail that goes straight up. Are you kidding? I thought I took a wrong turn and strayed off course. This can't be part of the race. I start 'hiking' and can barely catch my breath once I get to the top. My time goals are out the window. The heat seems to have zapped all the energy out of my legs. I am now firmly entrenched in 'just finish', survival mode. My mantra, 'don't quit Roman, keep moving."
Thinking I might need the extra calories because of the heat, I eat a Gu earlier than planned. Bad idea. I would later learn that in the heat, your digestive system actually shuts down and can't process food efficiently. So this 1.4 oz Gu felt like a brick in my gut, side cramps ensue. Our coaches teach us to Think and Adapt, so I switch to plain water only and take the tablets every 15 instead of every 20. I get back on pavement and it feels like I have tacks in my shoe. I take off my shoe and my sock has a little seam that runs under the ball of my foot. Funny how it never bothered me in training. I didn't want to take my socks off so I decided to just deal with it.
It was only until mile 9 where I felt half way normal and was able to run in to the finish. Alicia from my team found me on the course and ran the last 4 miles with me (she had already finished.) What an angel. The last mile is downhill then into the finishers chute. Why is it that you can run faster when you're so close to the finish?
Cheers, smiles, hugs and high fives all around. 9:30 hours, what a day. One of the first things out of my mouth was, 'wow, that was one of the hardest things I've ever done.' A 'bad' race for me, but I finished. Time to party, I just finished a Half Ironman. Coach Rand said congratulations to everyone for finishing one of the world's toughest Half Ironman courses in extremely challenging conditions. Bring it in...on three...1, 2, 3...IRONTEAM!
POST RACE
We all drove back to the campsite to get ready for our All-Team catered dinner, with all the participants and volunteers from around the Bay Area and O.C. Once everyone was served, Sarah, the OC Director, welcomed and thanked everyone for making it a great training weekend. She then introduced me and I was privileged to tell my story and say thank you on behalf of other honorees and their families for the difference they've all made in our lives. Unknown to me at the time, Raquel from our team videotaped my talk and put in on Youtube. If I had known, I would have either sabotaged her camera or tweaked my speech a little instead of freestyling. I haven't watched it, but I'll be brave and post it if you want to check it out. Thanks Tri-girl.
Part 1
Part 2
http://youtube.com/user/raqarmas
Once my speech was done, I could finally relax and celebrate. I phoned my daughter Gillian and she says 'Hi Daddy! How was you're 'game' today?' I told her I won. 'Cool, Dad!'
There's nothing better than sitting around a campfire (or lantern :) in the great outdoors, 'hydrating', swapping race stories, laughing, listening to music and being among friends. When I finally turned in past midnight, I had the best sleep in a long time, slept like a rock. I wonder why?
What I learned:
- Transition setup check-lists are our friends. So are coolers with ice and aerobars.
- Leg cramps in the water feel exactly like leg cramps on the bike, only wetter.
- Knowing the bike route out of T1, good. Not knowing and doing two extra hill repeats up the same hill before finally finding the course, bad.
- Heat = kryptonite.
- The WF Course Director must have some serious personal issues and should seek professional help (see Beach Hill, Nasty Grade, the Pit and especially 'Steep Hill' at mile 5.5 on the run.)
- A strong mind is as important as a strong body.
- Finishing is sweeter than quitting.
- Post race breakfasts are transcendent.
- Team In Training rocks. (But I already knew that.)
Friday 4/11
It's amazing all the gear you need for a triathlon, especially one in which you're camping for three days. So after hours of packing, checking and rechecking my race gear, nutrition, camp gear and other miscellaneous items, we headed down to Lake San Antonio for our Half Ironman distance practice triathlon on the world famous Wildflower course.
Lake San Antonio is about a 3:30 hour drive south from Benicia through Gilroy and Salinas, and north of San Luis Obispo. Wildflower is known as the Woodstock of triathlons and on race weekend about 7,000 people cram into a state park for three days of racing, camping and fun. It's one of the hardest Half-Ironman Races in America, an extremely challenging, hilly course. About 250 Team In Training triathletes would be there, from Redwood Wine Country (my team), Silicon Valley, Monterey/Santa Cruz and Orange County. Since we would do our practice race three weeks before the 'Official' race, we'll practically have the whole campgrounds to ourselves. Arriving in the afternoon, we quickly found our teammates and set up camp. There are already dozens of tents set-up, with a bunch of hardbodies getting gear out of their cars and $5000 tri-bikes off their roof racks.
After settling in, the team had a quick 30-minute bike ride followed by a 10-minute run. This gave us a chance to check for equipment problems and to make sure our bikes and gear were in good working order. It's a good thing, the team had flat and punctured tires, and bent rims. Better to sort those things out now instead of during the race. The warm-up also was intended for a 'glycogen dump'. You basically do a quick warm-up the day before a race to flush out gylcogen (energy stores) in your muscles. Immediately after you refuel and your muscles act like super-sponges and 'tops off the tank' with gylcogen, ready for racing tomorrow. At least that's the theory, it was getting hot and I would have rather rested under a tree instead, haha.
Dinner, team meeting to go over the race, and into bed for a restless night of sleep, typical pre-race nervousness and excitement, not to mention dozens of partying campers. I'll party tomorrow night, AFTER my race. Ear plugs are a godsend.
Sat 4/12 Race Day
I'm up at 5:00 AM, no need for an alarm clock as everyone's tent zippers rouse the troops in unison. I have my usual race day breakfast of peanut-butter/banana/honey sandwich and a recovery drink. I'm feeling rested and excited. Today I'll swim 1.2 miles, ride 56 miles, then run 13.2 miles.
At 6:15 we all drive down to start line about a mile away from camp. It's going to be a pretty warm day. I check in at the starters tent and a volunteer body marks my arms and calves for identification. They put your race number on your arm and your age on your calf so everyone know who's in your age group when you're racing-racing. I'm racer no. 25, age 42. The volunteer actually thought 25 was my age instead of my race number and put it on my calf, thank you very much :). So I have a 25 on one calf and a 42 on the other. I start setting up my transition area, making sure my bike, running shoes, gear, etc. are all set up properly. I greet other team members, 'good luck', 'have fun' 'see you at the finish', 'kick butt', 'go team', and start getting my wetsuit on, bodyglide and heart-rate monitor chest strap intact, grab my goggles and cap, then head down to the water with the other racers.
I spot the three colored buoys we're to swim out to then loop back. They run parallel to the shore and last one is hidden from view because of how the shore curves around. We'll be swimming counter-clockwise with the buoys to our left. They look FAR. I get in the water to warm up and the temperature's surprisingly, comfortably warm. All season we've been swimming in low 50's water so this is a nice change. Countdown begins then we're off.
SWIM
After bumping into several people, our arms and legs swimming over each other, I settle into a comfortable pace. The water's full of these psychedelic little jellyfish-looking organisms floating in the water, thousands of them. I don't even want to know what they are. I've asked people what they think about during a long open water swim. Their responses vary, 'Beating everyone, especially the guys' or 'I think about my to-do list' or 'I wrestle alligators and say hello to the mermaids.' Usually I think about my form and breathing until I can get into a nice rhythm. Then it's all about getting to the next buoy, then the next one. At a favorite beach of mine, there's a little rock formation that I've always wanted to swim out to but haven't yet. So I pretend each buoy is that rock, and swim out to it.
I hit the first (white) buoy and try to sight the next one. No such luck so I just swim towards the kayaks until I see the next buoy. Still a way to go until we hit the turnaround in half a mile. The second buoy comes into view (it's orange). As I pass it I'm thinking, 'nice job Roman, one more to go then turn around and do it again.' I'm probably 25 minutes into the swim now as I approach the final buoy, a red one, a welcome sight. Out of nowhere I suddenly feel two 'hands' grab the top of my head. What the ?#@! Are there freaking giant otters or something out here? It was another swimmer who had 'stopped' me, thinking I was someone else and wanting to say hi. He apologized so I decided not to slap him upside his head for scaring the crap out of me.
I get to the last buoy and as I start to make my u-turn around it, I kick 'sideways' a little to get my body turned in the other direction. Instantly my right hamstring cramps up, ack! 'Okay Roman, relax or it will get worse.' I'm floating on my back until the cramp goes away, but it's not like you can stretch out your leg in the water like on land.
For some reason, my other leg locks up too. Crap (that's my default euphemism for s#!t). I wave to the kayak who paddles over to me. He says 'what's going on?' 'Cramp.' 'Grap the nose (of the kayak), not the side.' Yeah, I don't want to be tipping over my 'rescuer.'
I just hang on for while until my legs start to feel 'normal'. I don't intend to swim another half mile with cramped legs. He offers to row me to shore which isn't far, so I can stand up in the shallow water and stretch out my legs. We quickly do that and as I stretch, the tightness and pain seem to subside. I start swimming a little bit and I feel okay. Mr. Kayaker says to stick close to the shore and wave if I need him. He then paddles off to another swimmer who is having some sort of issue behind us.
I'm not worried about my time, just not cramping up again. So I take it easy and actually have a faster split-time on the return loop, go figure. But after a few minutes, it feels like a little piranha is swimming next to me and biting me on the back of my neck every few strokes. The velcro on my wetsuit must have moved around. I kept tugging on my neckline to no avail. Very distracting and irritating. I would later have a big purple monkey bite on the back of neck, my first wetsuit hickey.
I see the dock and the swim finish and in my haste, promptly swim right into the reeds on shore, 20 yards from the finish. It's very easy to swim crookedly without lane lines to look at. I need to work on that.
Coach Rand helps me out of the water, high fives all around, I find my slippers and start walking/running to the transition. My team manager yells out from across the parking lot, 'nice job Roman, you just swam 1.2 miles, stud!' I do my best Schwarzenegger then Rocky pose.
Transition 1 and BIKE
I find my bike quite easily as there are only a few riders left in transition. Strip out of my wetsuit and put on sunblock, sunglasses and bike gear. I also pop a Thermolyte pill (salt tablets) so my cramps don't show up again on the ride. I get on my bike and start riding out of transition. I'm yelling for the volunteers/coaches to tell me which way to go. One says turn left, another says go up the hill. So I get to the end of the parking lot then start spinning my way up the hill. It's camp sites, it doesn't look right. So I decide to turn around I ride back to the transition area and start yelling again, where do I go? They say look for the yellow arrows on the road. So I start up the same hill and can't find any arrows. As I'm getting to the top I'm guessing the road veers off, only it dead ends and I have to go back down, again!
Great, I just wasted time, energy and heartbeats on a hill I did twice just for extra credit. As I'm speeding down the hill, I'm mentally searching for the perfect curse word, but will refrain from revealing the choice few ones I did select. Once I get back to the bottom, another volunteer sees me and is screaming and pointing, 'THAT way Roman!' Other people got lost as well, but it was my fault for not studying the course map more carefully.
So, I'm finally on the real course then I see the 'real' hill, the first of many for the day. Beach Hill is a steep bugger of climb, you wouldn't want to walk up it, much less ride up it. As I'm grinding up the mid portion of the climb, a blonde hardbody passes me and she asks, 'so are you 25 or 42?' I reply, 'Guess. Nah, 42.' 'Cool' as she disappears easily over the crest. Ah yes, power-to-weight ratio in action.
A nice descent, then out of the park for miles of rollers and flats. I'm tucked in my aerobars, and it's much more comfortable and easy to stay out of the wind. Plus, you even 'feel' fast. I pass a few riders and chat. Others pass me and nod. It's starting to get warm so I roll my sleeves up and unzip my jersey a little to stay cool. My nutrition target is 300 calories an hour, plus 1000 mg of sodium. So I sip my Perpetuem and Carbo-Pro mix every 20 minutes, along with 2 Thermolyte pills and water spiked with Nuun. I remember to drink more water because of the heat. I use my bike computer and heart rate monitor to pace myself at 90 RPMs cadence, and 130 beats/minute.
I mentally break the ride down to three 20-mile sections. Rollers, flat, hills, rollers. Just get through each one, one at a time, piece of cake. Yeah, until mile 40 and 'Nasty Grade' and 'Cardiac Hill, a long steep 5-mile climb with 1000 feet of elevation. It's pretty hot now, so I unzip my jersey all the way to (try to) stay cool, dump some water on my head, inhale a packet of Jelly Belly Sports beans, drop down in my gears, and start to climb.
Now before the race, all the race veterans kept telling me how hard the course was, the hills on the ride and run. You know, why would I want to know how hard it is, the distance alone tells me how hard it is. I don't want things like 'Nasty Grade' in my psyche to play havoc with my mind before I even do the race. I mean, someone took the time to name these parts of the course (and others), pass them down to the next wave of racers year after year, even making it on to the course brochure. It can't be a good thing. So I renamed 'Nasty Grade' to 'Magical Marshmallow Mountain'. As I climbed I kept saying, 'this is Magical Marshmallow Mountain.' Doesn't make for an intimidating course description, but it works for me. Slow, strong and steady and I'm up the hill in no time (figure of speech for sure.) I've climbed harder hills in training (Mt. Diablo being the best/worst), but at this point of the ride, on a hot day, with a 13.1 mile run ahead of you, it really can be 'nasty'.
Quick stop to top off my water bottles with ice(!) water, zip up my jersey and time for a long, fast, fun descent, the best part of the climb. The view of the lake and valley from the ridge is breathtaking. Before the descent I pass a road sign that says 'CAUTION ICE'. Very funny on a 91 degree day. Not. Going downhill at 40+ mph is no joke, you have to be relaxed and focused, constantly scanning the road, looking where you want to go, not where you DON'T want to go. You never want your mind to drift into the 'I'm going really fast right now, if I crash it won't be good.' That's the worst thing you can think about, just stay in the moment and enjoy. I love to bomb the downhills, I probably got up to 45+.
I ride the last 10 miles back into the park and pass meadows with splashes of colorful wildflowers overtaking the bland, brown grass (thus the race's 'Wildflower' moniker.) No camera, so mental click will do. Before the park entrance there's a sign that says 'Prepare to Stop'. Man, I've been preparing to stop for fours hours now, my body would really like to, but I still have a Half Marathon I need to run. What's the deal with these signs? :)
Transition 2 and RUN
I roll into transition and am surprised to see two of my teammates. Good, I'll have someone to run with. I put on my running shoes, grab my Fuel Belt, hat and Garmin 201 (my GPS/pace/heartrate watch), stretch out my back and legs, then head for the run course. My Fuel Belt is filled with Nuun-spiked water, plain water, a couple of Gu packets (energy gels) and Thermolytes. I ask my teammates, 'why are you guys still here, let's go.' They both need to stop at the park's convenience store for 'something' so I figure they'll catch up with me. My plan is to run the first 3 miles way below race pace so my heart rate can settle and my body and legs adjust, then the next 7 miles at race pace, then the final 3 miles at whatever I feel (run/walk/sprint/crawl). Nice plan, out the window at mile 2. Cramps are back, upper inner thigh now. I sit down under a tree on the curb and start trying to massage and stretch my legs back to normal. A lady passes me and asks if I'm okay. I say yes, thanks, cramps. She offhandedly suggest I take more Thermolytes. I grunt as she runs off. Gee, thanks for that suggestion Einstein...and all this time I thought you take LESS sodium for cramps. I'm sure she was just trying to be helpful but I guess cramps, heat, fatigue and blatantly obvious statements make me cranky.
Alrighty then, only 11 more miles to go. I duck into a campground bathroom to pour some water over my head and neck and start moving. I walk up the hill to the aid station at mile 3, and one of the coaches starts asking me how I'm doing, seriously. I said I'm doing okay accept for the cramps. 'Are you taking Thermolytes?' (that question again.) 'Two every 20 minutes.' She gives me an extra Gu, I put ice down my shirt and under my hat, and head for the trails. The next 6 miles are mostly single-track dirt trails, along the lake and up and over a 'mountain'. Since there won't be another water stop the next 3(!) miles, on the hardest, hottest part of the run course, I have to do my best to allot the water I'm carrying.
I start jogging and see boaters on the lake floating lazily on by, not a care in the world. I just want to jump in the lake right now. I can't keep a decent pace as my heart rate keeps jumping into my throat. I change my plan to doing intervals, just run 2 minutes, walk 1 minute. It's so hot I find myself looking to run from one shady spot to the next. I get to a hill at mile 5 and just stop and stare. It's a mostly shadeless 6-foot wide dirt trail that goes straight up. Are you kidding? I thought I took a wrong turn and strayed off course. This can't be part of the race. I start 'hiking' and can barely catch my breath once I get to the top. My time goals are out the window. The heat seems to have zapped all the energy out of my legs. I am now firmly entrenched in 'just finish', survival mode. My mantra, 'don't quit Roman, keep moving."
Thinking I might need the extra calories because of the heat, I eat a Gu earlier than planned. Bad idea. I would later learn that in the heat, your digestive system actually shuts down and can't process food efficiently. So this 1.4 oz Gu felt like a brick in my gut, side cramps ensue. Our coaches teach us to Think and Adapt, so I switch to plain water only and take the tablets every 15 instead of every 20. I get back on pavement and it feels like I have tacks in my shoe. I take off my shoe and my sock has a little seam that runs under the ball of my foot. Funny how it never bothered me in training. I didn't want to take my socks off so I decided to just deal with it.
It was only until mile 9 where I felt half way normal and was able to run in to the finish. Alicia from my team found me on the course and ran the last 4 miles with me (she had already finished.) What an angel. The last mile is downhill then into the finishers chute. Why is it that you can run faster when you're so close to the finish?
Cheers, smiles, hugs and high fives all around. 9:30 hours, what a day. One of the first things out of my mouth was, 'wow, that was one of the hardest things I've ever done.' A 'bad' race for me, but I finished. Time to party, I just finished a Half Ironman. Coach Rand said congratulations to everyone for finishing one of the world's toughest Half Ironman courses in extremely challenging conditions. Bring it in...on three...1, 2, 3...IRONTEAM!
POST RACE
We all drove back to the campsite to get ready for our All-Team catered dinner, with all the participants and volunteers from around the Bay Area and O.C. Once everyone was served, Sarah, the OC Director, welcomed and thanked everyone for making it a great training weekend. She then introduced me and I was privileged to tell my story and say thank you on behalf of other honorees and their families for the difference they've all made in our lives. Unknown to me at the time, Raquel from our team videotaped my talk and put in on Youtube. If I had known, I would have either sabotaged her camera or tweaked my speech a little instead of freestyling. I haven't watched it, but I'll be brave and post it if you want to check it out. Thanks Tri-girl.
Part 1
Part 2
http://youtube.com/user/raqarmas
Once my speech was done, I could finally relax and celebrate. I phoned my daughter Gillian and she says 'Hi Daddy! How was you're 'game' today?' I told her I won. 'Cool, Dad!'
There's nothing better than sitting around a campfire (or lantern :) in the great outdoors, 'hydrating', swapping race stories, laughing, listening to music and being among friends. When I finally turned in past midnight, I had the best sleep in a long time, slept like a rock. I wonder why?
What I learned:
- Transition setup check-lists are our friends. So are coolers with ice and aerobars.
- Leg cramps in the water feel exactly like leg cramps on the bike, only wetter.
- Knowing the bike route out of T1, good. Not knowing and doing two extra hill repeats up the same hill before finally finding the course, bad.
- Heat = kryptonite.
- The WF Course Director must have some serious personal issues and should seek professional help (see Beach Hill, Nasty Grade, the Pit and especially 'Steep Hill' at mile 5.5 on the run.)
- A strong mind is as important as a strong body.
- Finishing is sweeter than quitting.
- Post race breakfasts are transcendent.
- Team In Training rocks. (But I already knew that.)
Friday, February 22, 2008
HIKE FOR DISCOVERY
A follow-up to my previous post (HIKE! 2/1/08), here's a pic of the brochures and letters sent out as part of LLS's promotional marketing campaign. It's not the best shot, I just snapped a pic from my bulletin board. She's a cutie, huh? I think she was five when they took these pictures as a part of another promo piece. She just turned 7 last month, wow. (Yeah, I'm still bald-ish, haha, and sport different specs [glasses] now.)
(Another) funny story: I stopped in on a Hike Informational Meeting in Pleasant Hill that my sister was attending. I'm signing in at the registration table and the Hike Manager comes up to me and says, uh, hello? Why are you signing in, we know who you are, your face is only all over the place! (I've never met her.) So I got a chance to say hello and thank you to all the Hike participants.
And Trish signed up to hike Yosemite in July(?). Go Trish! Oh my gosh, their training is pretty intense. One of their training days they drive up Mt. Diablo, hike down, THEN hike back UP! Coach says that it's very difficult to 'emulate Yosemite'. Ya think? If you've ever been to Mt. Diablo, that's quite the climb. I've driven and biked to the top several times and it's always a lung-buster, though the breathtaking view from the top is worth it. On a clear day you can see the Golden Gate.
Trish is really excited to get all her gear and to start training. I'll post her website once it's up and running. Yosemite in July will be beautiful. So go do a hike (www.hikefordiscovery.org) or an endurance event (www.teamintraining.org).
Have fun, save lives (like mine). Thanks!
-R
A follow-up to my previous post (HIKE! 2/1/08), here's a pic of the brochures and letters sent out as part of LLS's promotional marketing campaign. It's not the best shot, I just snapped a pic from my bulletin board. She's a cutie, huh? I think she was five when they took these pictures as a part of another promo piece. She just turned 7 last month, wow. (Yeah, I'm still bald-ish, haha, and sport different specs [glasses] now.)
(Another) funny story: I stopped in on a Hike Informational Meeting in Pleasant Hill that my sister was attending. I'm signing in at the registration table and the Hike Manager comes up to me and says, uh, hello? Why are you signing in, we know who you are, your face is only all over the place! (I've never met her.) So I got a chance to say hello and thank you to all the Hike participants.
And Trish signed up to hike Yosemite in July(?). Go Trish! Oh my gosh, their training is pretty intense. One of their training days they drive up Mt. Diablo, hike down, THEN hike back UP! Coach says that it's very difficult to 'emulate Yosemite'. Ya think? If you've ever been to Mt. Diablo, that's quite the climb. I've driven and biked to the top several times and it's always a lung-buster, though the breathtaking view from the top is worth it. On a clear day you can see the Golden Gate.
Trish is really excited to get all her gear and to start training. I'll post her website once it's up and running. Yosemite in July will be beautiful. So go do a hike (www.hikefordiscovery.org) or an endurance event (www.teamintraining.org).
Have fun, save lives (like mine). Thanks!
-R
Thursday, February 14, 2008
HAPPY VDAY
Yes, I'm a romantic (Roman-tic, get it?) But not in the generic, mass-produced, Hallmark, Zales Diamond, overpriced bouquets, marketing-driven, consumeristic way (chocolate being the exception :) Those 'things' all have it's place. But more the everyday-romantic-in-me that celebrates some of the thoughts below:
True love cannot be found where it truly does not exist, nor can it be hidden where it truly does. - Anonymous
There is no remedy for love but to love more. - Thoreau
The way to love anything is to realize that it may be lost. - G. K. Chesterton
Love, and love alone, is capable of giving thee a happier life. – Beethoven
The day will come when, after harnessing the winds, the tides and gravitation, we shall harness for God the energies of Love. And on that day, for the second time in the history of the world, man will have discovered fire. - Teilhard de Chardin
Smile.
Yes, I'm a romantic (Roman-tic, get it?) But not in the generic, mass-produced, Hallmark, Zales Diamond, overpriced bouquets, marketing-driven, consumeristic way (chocolate being the exception :) Those 'things' all have it's place. But more the everyday-romantic-in-me that celebrates some of the thoughts below:
True love cannot be found where it truly does not exist, nor can it be hidden where it truly does. - Anonymous
There is no remedy for love but to love more. - Thoreau
The way to love anything is to realize that it may be lost. - G. K. Chesterton
Love, and love alone, is capable of giving thee a happier life. – Beethoven
The day will come when, after harnessing the winds, the tides and gravitation, we shall harness for God the energies of Love. And on that day, for the second time in the history of the world, man will have discovered fire. - Teilhard de Chardin
Smile.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
FREEDOM (training update)
There's something about the feeling of warmth of the sun on your face. Quite a change from my last 'monsoon/hail ride'. I was out on a solo 50-mile bike ride today from my house out to Fairfield. Most of the time a solo ride becomes an almost meditative affair for me. Just you, the beautiful outdoors and your thoughts (and cars).
As I rode through one of the neighborhoods, I passed a trio of 10-year old boys on their BMX bikes. Instantly, I was transported back to my summers as a kid, my buddies and I on our ten-speed bikes, with our handlebars rotated up (the 'cool' way back then), riding wheelies, racing around the block, getting home at sundown, but mostly that exhilarating sense of freedom, adventure and discovery.
I think there's still that kid in all of us. Really, that's what the sport of triathlon is, swimming, biking and running, what kids enjoy instinctively. Here I was on my 'serious' training ride, but besides $2000 worth of gear and a several decades of age (yikes), the kids and I were both the same, on our bikes, wind and sun in our face, the freedom to explore, not a care in the world.
There's something about the feeling of warmth of the sun on your face. Quite a change from my last 'monsoon/hail ride'. I was out on a solo 50-mile bike ride today from my house out to Fairfield. Most of the time a solo ride becomes an almost meditative affair for me. Just you, the beautiful outdoors and your thoughts (and cars).
As I rode through one of the neighborhoods, I passed a trio of 10-year old boys on their BMX bikes. Instantly, I was transported back to my summers as a kid, my buddies and I on our ten-speed bikes, with our handlebars rotated up (the 'cool' way back then), riding wheelies, racing around the block, getting home at sundown, but mostly that exhilarating sense of freedom, adventure and discovery.
I think there's still that kid in all of us. Really, that's what the sport of triathlon is, swimming, biking and running, what kids enjoy instinctively. Here I was on my 'serious' training ride, but besides $2000 worth of gear and a several decades of age (yikes), the kids and I were both the same, on our bikes, wind and sun in our face, the freedom to explore, not a care in the world.
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