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.)
