Friday, September 23, 2011

Race Report Archives: The Big Dance - Kona 2004

With my departure for my annual pilgrimage to Kona just around the corner I find myself reflecting on the first time I made the journey.

A combination of a good day and good luck earned me a Kona slot at my first Ironman. The 2004 Ironman World Championship would be my second ever Ironman. From the moment I took my first step off the plane and onto the tarmac the Big Island captured my heart and soul. I've blown the dust off of the race report I wrote after that life changing experience...

The Big Dance

0445 10/16/04 found me and the other athletes standing in line for body marking and access to the Kailua-Kona pier that would be the staging area for the race start and both transitions. My swim cap and timing chip were my admission tickets to the Dance. Dozens of volunteers, using big rubber stamp numbers and ink pads, carefully applied race numbers to our arms and legs. As we filed from the body marking tent to the pier our chips were scanned, recording all who crossed that first timing mat as official starters. I had made it.


On the pier athletes busied themselves with last minute preparations: pumping tires, filling bottles, placing nutritional needs into drop bags. The atmosphere was intense, focused. What little conversation that could be heard was carried out in hushed tones and in many languages. Expressions on the faces around me were a mixture of eagerness and fear as each person visualized what lay ahead on this day. Starting an ironman is always, at least in part, a leap into the unknown. But this is especially true in Kona, where the Island dictates how the day will go and her rules are constantly changing. Mark Allen and Dave Scott, former Ironman World Champions with six wins each, were both on the pier circulating amongst the athletes. After receiving good luck wishes from both, I felt like I would surely be blessed with the best of luck.

This year, for the first time ever, in a controversial attempt to ensure a clean race for the pro women, the pro start would be fifteen minutes ahead of the age group field. The pro start was at 0645, no one else was allowed in the water until they were away. The canon fired for the first time and the pros were off to the roar of the crowd. There were now less than 15 minutes to get 1700 athletes into the water from the narrow strip of sand known as Dig Me Beach and out about 150 meters in the water to the start line. There was no way to pull that off. A huge bottleneck at Dig Me Beach left a fair number of athletes stranded on the pier or just making their way into the water when the canon fired for the second time at 0700. I was relatively lucky and had at least gotten my feet into the water, but was still 150 meters shy of the start line when the race started. Ah well, I had less congestion to deal with in the early going. As I struck out toward the race course and the open sea I caught sight of frantic athletes leaping off the pier in my peripheral vision. I don’t think the race organizers will be making that mistake again.


The swim was beautiful, even relaxing. The visibility was even better than it had been in the practice swims the days before. The sea was calm, no serious chop, just long lazy swells that lifted me upward then gently let me back down. The motion was hypnotic and I kept catching myself losing focus on the race and dreamily admiring the colorful fishies darting around below me. Around three quarters of the way out I lost sight of the bottom and I was looking down into the most incredible shade of deep blue that went down into forever. The brightly colored sail of the Fairwinds, the boat at the turn around, would alternately appear and disappear between the swells. I began to feel very small, not in a bad way, but in an “awed wonder” sort of way. Then I was at the turn around and as I swam around the boats marking the turn suddenly there were spectators, people leaning over the railings, looking down at us, cheering their hearts out. What a trip! It was surreal to encounter a cheering throng in the middle of the ocean.

On the return I was able to bring my focus back onto the race. It helped that I was now in the mix with people swimming close to my pace. It was time to find some slightly faster feet to try to get a bit of a draft. I swam harder coming back. I reached the pier with a smile stuck on my face. The swim had been a blast! Feeling like I’d had a great swim, I glanced down at my watch and was shocked to see 1:33. OK, no wetsuit, an extra 150 yards swum because the canon fired just as I was entering the water, some extra yards because I swam a bit wide…but 1:33?? I couldn’t account for the slow time with anything more noble than just enjoying myself a little too much out there. Oh well, so what? It didn’t bother me for more than a few seconds, then I let it go.








The first transition was smooth. A quick rinse to get the salt water off. A run to the gear bags where volunteers had our bags out and ready to hand off with the help of sharp eyed spotters. Into the change tents where enthusiastic volunteers were waiting to help us switch from swimmers to cyclists. Another run down the pier to the bike racks. Volunteers steered us to directly our bikes, no thinking required on our part. When I reached my bike it was out of the rack being held for me to grab on the fly. A final run across the bike mount/dismount line and I was on my trusty wheels and off on a 112 mile journey into the lava.



The first 10 miles of the ride was an out and back loop through the town of Kona. Throngs of cheering people, tons of noise. Then a short, steep climb up Palani Road (Pay and Save Hill) and a left turn onto the Queen K. Abruptly the noise ceased. The world went preternaturally quiet. Only the sound of spinning wheels, the occasional click of a derailleur, the sound of my breathing. The buildings of Kona gave way to a vast expanse of black lava, the sapphire blue ocean to my left and the mountains rising up to meet the sky on my right. This was my first time on the Queen K in the morning and I noticed that the tailwinds I’d had riding here in the afternoons was lacking. In fact, I noticed flags pointing toward me indicating a headwind. The further I rode the stronger the headwind got. By mile 25 it was downright brutal. I didn’t need any flags to show me from which way the wind blew! Palm trees were bent in half. Aid station volunteers were desperately trying to hold their aid stations together while clutching their hats and loose clothing. A dropped water bottle travelled an alarming distance before coming to rest. Thankfully, my bike computer was disabled so I couldn’t see how badly the wind slowed me. I panicked momentarily. I questioned my ability to ride so far in this kind of wind, even though I train in the windy central valley of California. Then a calmer voice took over, saying “Just deal with it!” As taught by my coach, I shut up the negative chatter in my brain, turned negative thought into no thought and suddenly I was ok. Then, in that space of no thought, positive thoughts found their way in: “I don’t mind wind. I like wind. Bring it on! Come on Hawaii, show me what you can do, hit me with your best shot!” And she did! When we turned toward Hawi we continued to be hammered by a fierce headwind but also got hit with strong, unpredictable cross gusts. Some of these bursts from the side literally blew me across the road, even if I saw one coming (flattened grass or swerving cyclist ahead) and braced for it.



The turn around in Hawi, a small village turned cheering section for us on race day. Mingling with the roar of the wind the sounds of cheering and cowbells as I approached the turn. A brief moment of crowds and cheering that quickly faded behind me as I headed back down toward the Queen K and the lava. For a short time there was a tailwind, but it couldn’t be fully taken advantage of because there was the matter of trying to hold my bike on the road when a gust punched me from the side. It did give me a break from the feeling of grinding against a force trying to push me backward, a short rest for the legs. At Hawaikae the tailwind disappeared and with 30 miles to go the wind shifted. I found myself once again riding against the wind. It’s really true! There is a headwind in both directions! This had the potential to be a very long 30 miles…more headwind and now very hot. It was time to turn the brain off again and just pedal.


I left the loud silence and mystique of the lava and re-entered the frenzied crowds in Kona. Nonstop cheering for the entire final mile of the bike. T2 was more chaotic than T1 or maybe my perception was altered after so many miles of heat, wind and lava. A volunteer grabbed my bike from me. When I first started to run my legs and torso wouldn’t unfold. It was the most alien my body has ever felt transitioning from bike to run. The long run to the gear bags gave me a little time to re-acquaint myself with my legs and regain the ability to run on them. I had a bit too much help in the change tent. Volunteers were trying hard to be helpful but kept taking things I wanted and handing me things I didn’t need. Bless their hearts, they changed my socks for me but in the process, I later learned, removed my timing chip rendering me untrackable by friends and family. I finally got out of the change tent and onto the run.

During the first half mile my ears were ringing from the screaming crowds. Friends and team mates jumped out of the crowd to cheer me on. After a few twisting blocks I was running along Ali’i Drive. ALI’I DRIVE!!! Protected from the wind it was hot and muggy. I found I liked the feeling of sweat rolling off my body, it felt like a spiritual cleansing. I focused on my turnover, drumming a steady beat with my feet.


Around mile ten I ran back up the hill on Palani Road that I had biked up so many hours before and back out onto the Queen K for one more trip into the lava. The sun was getting low and heat was no longer a major factor. It was still warm and muggy but had lost the potential to be debilitating. I was running a bit faster than I had at Coeur D’Alene, I could feel it, but I was also closer to the edge this time. The bike ride had definitely sapped my reserves and by midway through the run I was relying on a pretty steady supply of sugar in the form of cola to keep the engine running. But I kept running. No walking. None. Not even through aid stations. I feared if I allowed myself to walk I’d want more of it.


Darkness had settled in fully by the time I made the turn toward the Energy Lab. I had to laugh at myself running to the Energy Lab a few afternoons earlier in the heat of the day to see what it would be like. What was I thinking? There was no way I would be reaching this point while the sun was high in the sky. It actually did prove to be helpful, however, because it was so dark in there that it was like running into a black hole. At least I had a mental picture of where I was going and I knew what to expect in there.


The turn around at the Energy Lab. I was flying high. As hard as this was I was having the time of my life. Then I came upon a team mate, a pro, she was walking. I was shocked and a bit sad to see her having such a difficult time. I told her how tough she was to keep going when most pros would have quit. She urged me onward toward the finish line saying “I’ll get there, it’s just going to take a while.” I left her and ran on but spirit a bit damped. Then the aid stations ran out of cola. I was relying heavily on this easy to stomach instant energy source. My confidence wavered as I climbed the long grade away from the Energy Lab. My mantras came back to rescue me – “Deal with it.”, “Turn negative thought into no thought.” Deal with it: I replaced cola with GU, harder to choke down but worked just fine once in the stomach. Turn negative thought into no thought: I let my mind go quiet, thought no further than my next step and opened my senses to my immediate surroundings…

I am floating along the Queen K in the pitch dark. Glowing arm and neck bands drift toward me as I approach the unseen runners who are wearing them. Water, GU. Run, run. Follow the white line marking the edge of the road to guide my feet. Run, run. The lights of Kailua-Kona in my field of vision. Run, run. Turn on Palani Road. Crowds, cheering, noise. Run, run. I can hear the announcer. Run, run. Turn left. Turn right. Run, run. Turn onto Ali’i Drive. Run! Run! Mike Reilly is revving up the crowd as the clock ticks. Will anyone else break 13 hours? he asks. I am coming! I know I will! Run! Run! I’m in the final stretch. The clock ticks towards 13 hours. The crowd roars. Arms reach out to high five me, to touch me. I reach back. I throw my arms in the air. I stop for a moment to take it all in. RUN! RUN! Across the line into the arms of my catchers, my angels. A 20 year old fantasy comes true.





“…the winds became the most influential element in each athletes’ outcome. Headwinds, side winds, headwinds, tailwinds, more headwinds…it was never NOT a factor. Slow times? Just add wind. Demoralized athletes? Just add wind; ever present, pushing, shoving wind that forced everyone to concentrate on holding a straight line the entire bike ride. Forget finding “the zone”. Space out for even a moment and a swirling unseen shove can make you look like a drunk trying to tackle a sobriety test…It only takes a quick glance at the carnage to get an idea of what really went on out there on the closed roads of the lava (29% of the pro field and 12% of the amateurs failed to finish, the highest drop rate in race history). And when crossing the line demands focus of such extreme proportions, that singular task placed finishing on this day squarely in the realm of purely extraordinary.”
-Mark Allen on the 2004 Ironman World Championships



Friday, September 16, 2011

The Other Thing I Do...work

I actually have a very cool career. As a veterinary anesthesiologist at a major teaching hospital every day is an adventure. Some say anesthesia is long periods of boredom interspersed with shots of adrenaline but I'd beg to differ. I'm rarely bored.

Probably the most common question I'm asked when folks find out what I do for a living is "What is the most unusual animal you've anesthetized?" I'll get back to that one. The majority of our case load is just your average dog, cat or horse with a smattering of birds, bunnies, cows, goats, etc. What is not average is that this is a tertiary care referral hospital and, although we see any patients, many of our patients are referred to us because we have diagnostic, therapeutic and surgical capabilities not found in the average veterinary practice.

We like to joke with our human counterparts that they could not do our job but we could easily do theirs. We have to manage a huge diversity of species ranging from small:


To large:


From avian:


To reptilian:



And yet more diversity within each species. For example there are cats...


And then there are CATS:




Doing a person would just be doing another species, not unlike:


Back to the question of the most unusual. That is always a very tough one to answer. Is a 26 foot long Anaconda more unusual than an anteater? An elephant more unusual than a polar bear? I need to delve into my photo collection but I'll post a few that may represent "unusual".


Black Swan


Serval


Anteater


Monday, September 12, 2011

What Happens in Vegas...Ironman 70.3 World Championship race report


The move of the venue for the 70.3 World Championships to Henderson and the date to four weeks before Kona might elevate this race to true World Championship status. For sure there was more depth to the age group field than previous editions of this race with many near their peak of fitness from their Kona prep.

The course has the potential to be “epic” with all the required ingredients: hills, heat, wind and breathtaking vistas. We got lucky this year, it was only in the low 90’s and the wind didn’t show. Still a tough course in its own right but it could have been oh so much harder.

This race was the culmination of my down year season. I came into it feeling like I had peaked for the year at Vineman. My training since then had been inconsistent for a variety of reasons. My running still on the improvement curve since my foot surgery, but cycling fitness and swim technique on the downswing. I did not arrive at what I would consider a World Championship level of fitness. I was still excited to have a go at the new course.

Course summary: Single loop swim in 82 degree murky waters of Lake Las Vegas. Bike course was either up or down, nothing super steep but lots long rollers and false flats with a net elevation gain. The first 40 miles in Lake Mead Recreational area and visually stunning, very Kona-esque in its stark beauty and vast open space. The last 16 miles kind of dull as you wind through Henderson back from the park to T2. The run is 3 loops on one long hill which you are either running up or down, mentally best thought of as 3 x 2 mile hill repeats with the downhill as “recovery” (as much as one allows oneself to recover in a race!). Let me just say, the third time up really, really hurt!

Swim:



Bike:



Run:



It was an early race start and I was in the first amateur wave going off at 6:35. Waiting for the start I was oscillating between profound apathy and excitement. I’m not sure why apathy was worming its way into the mix. Was it because I knew I had passed my peak for the year and I lacked confidence in my fitness? Was it because I knew I would do poorly in a nonwetsuit, freshwater swim? Or was it nothing more than the 3 AM wake up call? I did know for sure that I would be super happy to get the swim done and get out of the water.

A moment of silence in remembrance of 9/11/2001, a stirring rendition of the National Anthem, then a blast of a cannon to send off the first pro wave. Women’s 45+ were not allowed in the water until the pro women were sent off giving us a whopping 3 minutes to get in and lined up – no time to really warm up. Then we were sent off. My group spread out quickly. In hindsight it was probably just me getting dropped quickly. The result was no body contact, but also no opportunity to draft. I swam basically solo the whole way. Any feet I found to draft were not swimming straight enough to warrant following.

I did not have high expectations for the swim. I’m not a strong swimmer and all of my past races I have either a wetsuit or salt water to help my body position. But I felt like I was swimming pretty well. The first inkling I had that perhaps I was not was that it felt like I was swimming forever. On the way out when I was certain I was at the turn buoy I would look up and see yet another buoy beyond…really? It easily felt as long as an ironman swim. I had no watch and saw no clock coming out of the water but the post race results tell the story…I felt like I was swimming forever because I was. The swim split does include a very lengthy run around the end of the lake to transition, but even allowing for that my swim was nothing short of pathetic.





Luckily I was blissfully unaware of just how badly my swim had gone but I did notice there were very few bikes left racked with my wave. Racing against so much talent, this was not a group of women that I would be able to hunt down on the bike. At that point I knew I was out of the mix, waaaay out of the mix and the competitive fire went out. I still intended to give it my best effort but it isn’t quite the same when you are so far out of the race.

T1 split looks long because T1 was long, including an interesting uphill switchbacky thing we had to push our bikes up, perhaps the most technical part of the entire course.





I tried to bike hard but kept losing focus. Occasionally something would spark me back to life - a friend or team mate passing me looking super strong, remembering I was part of something exciting in the inaugural running of this race on this course, the energy of the land – and I would bike strong for a while. I’d like to say I deliberately dialed back my effort to cope with the hills and heat but truthfully it was that laziness kept creeping its way back into my ride and I’d find myself looking for desert tortoises instead of focusing on riding hard. I could have ridden harder and been just fine. My bike leg was not horrible, actually fairly solid, but it was less than I am capable of.




T2 would have been fast but an unavoidable pitstop added an extra minute.

As much as my bike was uninspired, my run was driven. I gave the run course everything I had in me. I had a clear goal…to go under two hours on a tough course in the heat which would represent the best I think I’m capable of with the training I’ve done this year. The run out of transition was uphill on a dirt path and I stumbled up that feeling weak legged. Uh oh! But a nice downhill mile gave my legs a chance to find themselves and I was feeling good by the time I hit the bottom of the hill.

First hill repeat I focused on finding the fine line between flaming out and wussing out. I felt like I nailed it. Two miles of down hill made my heart and lungs happy but not my legs and feet. I tried to recover while still pushing the pace. Second hill repeat, tougher this time, flirting with flame out, glad there’s some shade on the uphill side. Second time down, feet and quads are screaming but still sort of recovering. Third and final hill repeat. OUCH!! I really only have the run endurance base for a strong 10 miler and the 10 mile mark is at the bottom of the hill. OUCH!! The wheels are threatening to come off. OUCH!! Fast feet, lift the knees with muscles screaming and lungs burning. OUCH!! Just. Make. It. To. The. Top. I did…just. If the hill had been 100 meters longer I’m not sure I would have. I did my best to hammer down the last downhill mile and crossed the line under my minimally acceptable goal of going under 6 hours (5:51).

Much like my last race I was disappointed with my swim, ok with my bike and thrilled with my run. If I could have found it in me to race the whole morning like I did the run I would have been happy no matter what the outcome. I felt like I was slacking a bit until I got onto the run course.

Every race teaches me something. The take home lesson from this one is that I really need a private swim tutor! All the years and yards I’ve spent in the pool have not taught me to swim.

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Race Report Archives: Coeur D'Alene 2004

Always an avid sports fan and a distance runner since junior high I was captivated by Ironman Hawaii since NBC sports first began to cover it.  But I never thought about actually doing it...until I moved to Dave Scott country (Davis, CA) in 1991.  Then I met real live human beings who had actually done this race.  The seed was planted and I took a stab at training in 3 sports.  My first ever long course triathlon was Vineman in 1993 and I was overtrained, underprepared and had the bad luck to race on the hottest day in Windsor history.  Midway through the run, doing the death march, I swore off triathlons for good.  What possessed me to think I wanted to do The Ironman?  It's hot in Hawaii and racing hot is miserable!

Fast forward 10 years.  In 2003 I was a chronically injured, has been runner spending as much time in the pool and on the bike (cross training) as I was running.  Some running buddies had decided to enter Coeur D'Alene the following summer.  The memory of the trauma of Vineman had softened enough for me to allow myself to be talked into joining them.  Older and wiser, this time I found a coach - the best in the business IMHO - Mark Allen.  In 2004 I raced my first ironman.

What follows is the report I wrote after this experience....


Race report:

In the days leading up to race day I felt surprisingly calm and relaxed. Even as the town of CDA swelled in size with the arrival of 2000 triathletes and their friends/family.  Even as the pent up nervous energies of many of these athletes began to feed on each other and become a "thing" bigger than the sum of its parts.  With a quiet detachment I walked through the IM decked streets of CDA and hung out in Athlete's Village listening to IM veterans and IM virgins tell tales of training and racing adventures and debate philosophy and methodology.  I stayed calm through the check-in process while my ID was checked and double checked, while my timing chip and many numbers were given to me (5 for gear bags, 3 for the bike, 1 for bike helmet and 2 to wear on my body), while my official wristband was permanently affixed, while my bike was inspected and racked in the transition area and while I dropped off my transition gear bags.  I was still feeling tranquil race morning while I filled my fluid bottles and packed my "special needs" bags with supplies I might want midway through the bike and run courses.

45 minutes before the start everything was set.  I pulled on my wetsuit and joined the flow of athletes walking to the beach.  We had to access the beach through a narrow archway at which point we crossed our first Champion Chip mat of the day.  With the screeching noise of our Chips being scanned, recording us all as official starters in IMCDA, the first butterflies began to dance in my belly.  We were given 15 minutes to warm up in the water.  I got my first taste of exactly how intense a mass swim start would be.  The butterflies began to dance harder.  At 6:45 we were all called back to the beach.  The pros were to start in the water, the rest of would run in from the beach.  As the final 15 minutes ticked down my butterflies went into their final frenzied twisting and writhing. When the cannon went off the butterflies froze and were still.

All the "I love you, man" and "good luck out there" sentiment shattered with the cannon blast.  2000 triathletes let loose their pent up energy onto the water and onto each other and the aquabrawl began.  I was clawed, I was kicked, I was pulled back and pushed under, I was pummeled by feet, fists and elbows.  I had my goggles knocked off twice, the collar of my wetsuit ripped open and my timing chip nearly yanked off my ankle.  In the midst of this chaos my sense of calm detachment returned. I felt like my mind had separated itself from my body and was somewhat amused by what it saw happening to my body in the water. In this state I was able to actually enjoy the swim in a sick sort of a way.  I never panicked or got angry or upset about the beating I was taking in the water.  It was just the way it was and I just kept swimming.

Before I knew it the swim was over and I was running (staggering) up the beach towards T1.  I had started my watch but was oblivious to time at this point.  A funnel of volunteers steered us into T1.  Once there we lay on the ground whilst "strippers" peeled our wetsuits off.  More volunteers had our gear bags ready and handed them off to us then guided us into the changing tent.  In the changing tent each athlete had a volunteer to assist with switching from swim stuff to cycling stuff and handing us water and gatorade.  Outside the tent more volunteers were waiting to apply sunscreen to us and to give us more water and gatorade while steering us toward our bikes.  Another human funnel led us out onto
the bike course and across the "mount/dismount" line.

I had a bit of a scare that began in T1.  As I ran my bike to the mount line my left quad was seized in a cramp such that I could hardly run.  I expected it to pass when I got on the bike.  It didn't.  Instead the right quad cramped as well.  A few minutes later my right glute cramped, followed shortly by both hip flexors.  I could barely spin the pedals. What the f...?  I had to laugh at the possibility that it would all end before the first mile on the bike course. Then I vowed to keep spinning the pedals until I couldn't.  The bike would have to topple from lack of forward motion before I would quit.  With calm determination I forced my cramping legs to keep spinning without giving any thought to what lay ahead, just keep them spinning right now.  Slowly the cramps began to dissolve away.  By mile 10 the last little twinge subsided and I never cramped again.  There was a good side to the cramps, they ensured a conservative start to a very long bike ride.

The bike course was two 56 mile loops over a variety of terrain.  We rode through town and out onto a lakeside out and back section which featured one hill in the middle so we could admire it from both sides.  Then we went through town again on our way to the meat of the course, a 42 mile loop through surrounding coutryside and the neighboring community of Post Falls, WA.  This section had some really hilly stretches and some "put your head down and hammer" flat stretches but was mostly moderately undulating.  Wind was a factor but never seemed straight at us nor directly behind us.  The course was fairly technical with lots of turns and some twisting, steep descents.  I focused on keeping my HR between 125-140 and did what I had to with gearing and cadence to keep it there. My computer was giving me speed but my mind never registered the numbers being displayed there.  Tons of people passed me on the first loop of the course.  I stayed focused on my effort and on my position (got to stay legal!).  The miles flew by.  In a flash I was pedaling through town for the third time, heading out for the start of the second 56 miles.  Far fewer people were passing me, I was beginning to pass a bit more often.


My nutrition plan had been for about 400 cal/hr on the bike.  I was going to eat every half hour and drink on 15 min intervals.  My "food" was going to start complex and evolve to simple as the day wore on.  I stuck to my plan for about 2 hours, then I found I couldn't eat nearly as much as I'd hoped.  I leaned more and more heavily on my electrolyte replacement drink for fuel.  The stuff I was using has a little protein in it and it stepped up to the plate nicely.  My total food/drink consumption on the bike was a PB and banana sandwich that I ate in the first miles while spinning out the leg cramps, 3 cans of Ensure, 1 Payday bar, ~4 bike bottles of Accelerade, 1 small can of V8 juice from my special needs at 63 miles, and about 2 bottles of Gatorade (from the aid stations).  I had no energy problems. In fact I negative split the bike despite warmer, windier conditions for the second loop.

I rode into T2 as high as a kite.  The bike had gone by quickly and relatively easily and I was feeling strong.  A funnel of volunteers guided me into T2.  Someone took my bike and handed me my gear bag.  I was guided into the change tent and again we each had a volunteer to help us and look after us in there.  More volunteers outside to steer us onto the run course, slather us with sunscreen and offer drink.

My legs didn't feel too bad.  No snap, no speed, but turning over.  I glanced at my watch for the first time that day, just to take note of how long the first mile took.  That's when I noticed I had ~5 hours to run the marathon and finish under 13 hours...my prerace time goal.  I could do it, no problem.  This I knew at mile 1 of the marathon.  That first mile took a little over 10 minutes.  I couldn't run any faster.  But neither was I going to walk or slow down.  That would be enough.  So I just kept running, kept clicking off steady 10 min miles.  I slowed a bit at each aid station, every mile, to get a cup or two but I didn't walk a step. I watched countless others around me coming undone...stopping, walking, wilting in the afternoon heat (around 90 degrees).  I kept my feet turning over like a metronome.  Relentless forward motion was my mantra.  The miles passed without being counted but by planning my menu at the next aid station.  Accelerade or Gatorade?  Coke or water?  One of each?  I ate 2 Powergels, one at the end of each out on the double out and back course, and drank another small can of V8 at ~mile 14.

With each passing mile I passed more and more failing bodies.  I passed over 400 people on the run, a quarter of the finishing field.  The double out and back course gave me a chance to see Steve, Diana, and Linda.  They looked good when I saw them which gave me a mental boost.  I was blissfully unaware of the problems they were dealing with.  I missed seeing the other Mad Cows even though we probably passed each other coming or going.

Again, before I knew it, before I ever got to wondering when it was going to end, I was running into town for the last time, being directed to turn onto Sherman Ave. towards the finish line 8 blocks away.  Sherman Ave. was lined with screaming spectators and 8 downhill blocks away I could see the finish line and the huge archway with the Ironman logo on it.  A smile spread across my face and throughout my being.  I had arrived.  I savored every step of that homestretch grinning like a fool, high fiving
adults and low fiving little kids.  Every finisher gets to break the tape.  I broke the tape with my arms raised to the sky and a sh#teating smile on my orange Gatorade covered face while the announcer - that you've all heard if you've watched IM Hawaii on TV - bellowed "You are an Ironman!"



Every finisher gets two volunteer "catchers" at the finish line who help us through the chutes, getting our shirt and medal, returning the timing chip, assessing need for medical aid, fetching food and drink if we want it, staying with us for 10-15 minutes after finishing.  The volunteer effort behind this event was mind blowing.  I have never been so well cared for and pampered in any race I've done before.

My goals going into the race were, in order of importance...
1. To finish - accomplished
2. To finish on my feet and smiling - accomplished
3. To bypass the medical tent at the finish - accomplished
4. To finish while it was still light out - accomplished
5. To finish under 13 hours - accomplished
6. To feel well enough after finishing to stay to watch the last finisher at midnight - accomplished

Anything else would be icing.  Now for the icing...Finished in 12:28, was 5th in my division and earned a spot on the podium and a slot to the Ironman World Championships in Kona this Oct.  Lady luck (or was it the devil?) was smiling on me during the rolldown.  Yup, I'm going to do it again in a little over 3 months.

How could I turn down an invitation to the Big Dance?





Monday, September 5, 2011

Might give this blogging thing a try...


When I first heard the word "blog" I had no idea what it meant. What came to mind was some sort of gooey, sticky muck - nothing to do with computers or communication. Someone explained it to me and I thought it could be fun so I created a blog page (circa. 2008) and proceeded to never use it. Not once. I have had so much fun reading my friends' blogs the past couple of years I've finally decided to dust this empty blog site off and try posting to it.

My life is pretty much work, eat, sleep, train and race from time to time. No one wants to read about sleeping and eating so my focus will be on the other 3. As a veterinary anesthesiologist at a major university teaching hospital I do get some pretty interesting days at work. Most of my friends are athletes of one sort or another so writing about training and racing makes sense.

I've written tons of race reports over the years as a way to cement the memories of the races in my own mind. Some I've shared. Other folks seem to get something out of reading them. If I can figure out a way to put old race reports on this site I'll put some of them up here.
Otherwise I'll pick up my life less than a week from my final race of the 2011 triathlon season, the 70.3 World Championships to be held in the desert in Henderson, NV. Should be fun (windy), challenging (hot) and interesting (hilly). I gave myself a taste of all those elements on my final day of serious training yesterday. The day actually started the day before when I was on emergency duty at work. I ended up being in the hospital from 7 AM Saturday morning until 4 AM Sunday morning with no breaks. I got 4 short hours of sleep then woke up to swim, bike and run. I started with a half hour swim in a warm lake to simulate lake conditions in Lake Las Vegas then hopped on my bike for a short 30 mile ride that was packed with 3300 feet of climbing.


It was windy and in the upper 90's...not quite Vegas but close. After a bit of a break but while it was still in the 90's I headed out for a 60 minute run. I felt great for the first 30 minutes. Then the wheels fell off. Major BONK!! I had neglected to eat anything since breakfast and was firing off of only one glass of chocolate milk. Ouch! I ground out the last 30 minutes hoping this was *not* a Vegas simulation run.

Now it's time to rest and reflect on what has been an interesting season. It started with me recovering from major foot surgery unable to run a step. I literally raced my way into shape. Despite my slowest running season I actually managed to set personal bests at many races this year. My running is just beginning to come around now that the season is ending and I was thrilled to run faster in a 10k off the bike than I ever have just 2 weeks ago. I am excited about the prospect of everything coming together as I hit my new 55-59 age group next year!