This was my first Ironman distance triathlon, and because I am capable of writing three pages for a mere Sprint, this will be longer. So, feel free to skip to the parts that interest you!
Pre-Race
I used to be kind of annoyed with all the shout outs that other people put in their race reports, but I can’t thank enough my wife Rachel (who gave me the green light last September, put up with all my training and too much talking, and accepted this trip to Quebec as our summer vacation), my son Liam (who tolerated the long rides and early mornings in Canada without complaint) and my cousin Rob Falk (who inspired me into triathlons, stayed with us during the week and managed to keep me, and therefore Rachel and Liam, sane). “Sherpa “doesn’t do them justice. They were unbelievably supportive. I mean, can you imagine me on taper mouth?
After a few days in Montreal, we got to Mont Tremblant on a Wednesday, and the lake and hillsides are absolutely gorgeous.
Was glad I slept well on Friday night because, as expected, I got about 4 1/2 hours the Saturday night before the race. Not anxious as much as visualizing the start of the swim…
For breakfast, bulletproof–style coffee, applesauce with protein powder, power bar sports drink, and a banana. Casually walked (ha!) with wetsuit, etc., the 15 minutes to transition. Body marked, pumped up the tires (at least 3 racked bikes were reported to have blown up the day before), got on the bathroom line, walked back to the swim start, another Porta Potty (like voting, “poop early and poop often!”), wetsuit, and dip in! Perfect, 71 degree water. Canadian national anthem (we tread water but no one removes their swim caps)…
The Swim
Crowd into the coral (some 250 in my age group plus all other “50+ men”) and bravely move up to the fourth or fifth row, on the far right side. My strategy is to avoid getting crawled on (which means I have to be faster than the crowd behind me!) and to leave the buoys to the left, instead of to the right as directed, in order to get relatively clear water. And the cannon goes BOOM!
The buoys are bright yellow and plentiful – the first I leave to my left, but the rest are wherever the pair of feet I’m following will lead me. The first guy scarcely kicks, just rolls from side to side, “engaging his core”; the next guy kicks light but steady; the next guy is all over the place, and tactically does a frog kick when I touch his foot. But shameless drafting / joining the school of fish is the route to the finish line. And nothing is better than passing the guys with the swim caps from the next wave: red, then green, then gray?! I’m passing the younger guys who started 9 minutes ahead of me? After the sainted red buoy – OMG, almost halfway done!! –shoulders started tweaking so I started breathing on my left side. It’s less comfortable for me, and I lose sight of The Feet of my drafting target, but apparently more powerful; I bury my head down more, lift my head less on breathing, and pull past the victims within a few strokes.
A couple of times at the end, guys who clearly aren’t sighting swim on top of me – I arch my back to get away, and my legs start cramping horribly. Pretty damn scary. So, I imagine what it feels like to stand in the shallow end of the pool in li’l ol’ Hastings on Hudson – and I relax out of the cramps. The finish comes sooner than I expect – and shallow! – and I’m out!! Get my arms out, volunteers strip off the rest of the wetsuit, start running, and I literally start laughing out loud – I just swam 2.4 miles! in open water! After getting inspired by Rob’s first IM, 10 years ago!
I had planned on swimming the course in 1:20; the awesome Coach Debi predicted 1:15; and I actually finished in 1:11. I am ahead of my goal of breaking 12 hours! (But of course I didn’t know this until the race was over; I hadn’t set my watch properly, and was manually resetting it from Swim to Bike as I ran…)
T1
We run a full kilometre from the swim to the banquet tent transition area, wetsuits in hand, red carpet the whole way, people screaming! Shouting! and here’s Rob with a solid high five (“Primo!”) and I am absolutely giddy. I hunt for “1906”, grab my bag, run down the rows of bags to the men’s changing area; dump out everything; finally take off my prescription goggles and put on my “racing” glasses with cables to wrap over my ears; dry feet with orange towel, put on socks, bike shoes, New! Sunglasses!, helmet, click clack down the aisle to the exit, get a volunteer to slather me with sunscreen, run out the tent; the side lines are packed with more cheering people; click clack to the second aisle, up to the third row, across to the fifth rack – and almost everyone ‘s bike in my area is still there. So, I am among the first in my age group out of the water! (Post-race data shows I actually swam 55th in AG. Ah, well, ignorance is bliss).
But there’s a long way to go, of course, and momentary delusions will not interfere with doing MY race.
The Bike:
My goal for the bike was to stay in Z1 (that is, heart rate zone one, 121-131 bpm) for the entire 112 miles. That’s what’s needed to survive the marathon that would follow. At the same time, I wanted to average 17.3 mph so that I could complete the bike in 6:30 hours, and the race in 12 hours or less. Bottom line: I had to keep Coach Debi happy with a low HR (or suffer her I -Told-You-So’s), but hit 17:20 minutes or less for every 5 miles that my watch would report, to keep ME happy.
So, it is a lovely day, around 70 degrees when we start, partly cloudy, and I tuck into my aero bars, and everything is beautiful and speedy. Lots of shade (to start – the warehouse parts of the closed highway come later), I do the first 5 miles in something like 15 minutes, the next in 17, the next in an unbelievable 12 minutes, so I’m banking a lot of time and staying in Z1.
And suddenly my hips start cramping.
This makes no sense, since I already drank a 28-ounce torpedo/sippy cup of sports drink in the first 15 minutes, and I haven’t been biking for long yet, but the pain in both piriformes (to be exact) is so severe that I can no longer tuck. And I suddenly remember Debi’s advice: If you’re cramping, or nauseous, and your sweat isn’t salty, take a salt tablet. I had bought a few –with caffeine – took one, and was back in action pain-free and zooming along. (Doggamn, I have the right coach.)
And I am tooling along at excessive speed but staying in Z1. The roads are fantastic and mostly smooth and not technical (no sharp turns). Guys and some gals pass my on the up hills (z1, baby, patient, patient) but I’m “on your left!” on the downhills, sometimes passing while coasting, at one point passing a younger guy with a USAT team kit, and I realize: I’m not skinny; I’m aerodynamic!
At some point I stop to pee – tried but failed to do it while coasting, I’ve been potty-trained too well – and realize I will never again wear a one-piece with short sleeves (or one-piece at all!) on a long race – whatever speed it gives me, I lose taking it off and on in the outhouse!
After the first lap, banking into and climbing out of transition area, I’m giddy again, and I actually tell another rider, “OMG, I’m doing an Ironman,” and I realize I should shut up, because that’s much more interesting to me than to anyone else. I stop briefly for my special needs bag, grabbing a couple bites of my almond butter and honey sandwich (now, THERE’s some calories) and more salt tablets (like Underdog’s Secret Super Energy Pills – which I had previously assumed were made of amphetamines, but now know they were made of salt. And caffeine).
Ok, the second and final loop at around mile 80 is getting tiring and folks are grumbling about the heat, and there’s a little headwind for a few miles, but I’m joking with other riders that we’d be complaining about the rain or whatever, this is just hard work, right? There’s that steeper hill again at the end, I’m suddenly in the high end of Z2, even though I’m spinning slowly in the lowest gear I have, but I’ve been saintly for most of the race, and I am listening to my body, and I get to the end feeling strong.
And finished in 5:58! A huge result! I could run just 9 minute miles, do a 4-hour marathon, and break 11:30!
Ah, But if only could slog as fast as 9-minute miles…
T2
I knew that volunteers would take my bike when I finished the ride, but here was my second mistake (after wearing the speed suit): I hadn’t mentally prepared for what that meant. So I’m cheerfully running to the transition tent and realize: my Garmin (with HR monitor) is still on the bike. And my extra salt tabs. But what am I going to do? Run around the racks of bikes looking for the nice man who has my bike? Mistake no. 2: Yes. Or, when I saw Rachel and Rob and Liam, I should have said, “Get me Salt!” Or I should have asked other racers for salt tabs…. Put on Aquafor between my toes, changed socks and shoes, grabbed hat and clip-on sunglasses, race belt with gels (and only 3 tabs) and go cheerfully into…
The Run
So, I’m feeling pretty pumped up, and decide I know my heart rate well enough I can get by without the watch, just listen to the body and if I feel I can go faster, Don’t Do It. And I see my family in the corner in front in front of our condo and get revved up, and ask a guy how fast we’re going, and he says 9 minutes, cool, that seems doable. I stop for my second portapotty – I had probably 10 bottles on the bike – losing time, but necessary.
By now, it’s getting hot. Like, mid-80s and humid. (In Canada!) The course is pretty shady and very flat, and I get a sip of water at every rest stop (each a km or two apart) and a cup of ice – some cubes to chew, and the rest to throw down the back of my one-piece and settle into my pants – wow, that’s a wakeup call! But the gels and shot blocks are starting to taste way too sweet, and I take a salt tab and it’s good for a few miles but by 10 or 14 km I am slowing down, averaging 10 min/miles, and the slog begins… Out of the shade, past the family again (Hooray!) uphill into the race village and then a loop outside and around it (stopping at special needs to change my soakin’ socks) and then past that oh-so-tempting fork in the road: to the left, “Finish Line”, to the right “Second Lap”; but I’m wearing a computer chip, they’d know it if I skipped the last 13.1 miles…
And I realize a third mistake: I hadn’t really mentally prepared for this second half marathon. Physically, I was ready, but to avoid thinking about how huge this thing was, to keep some measure of calm, I hadn’t processed that the race would be like the 18- and 20-mile runs I had enjoyed while training. I had pictured the beginning, and the glorious Finish, but not the middle.
And this middle just wiped me out. I tried dividing it into 4ths (thank you, Lori Carlo!) but each km felt farther away. I walked every rest stop, taking pretzels and oranges and more ice in my pants; another potty stop, trying to settle my stomach (Darn this one-piece!); slogging getting slower; and with around 8 km to go was suddenly dangerously dizzy. Face and hand felt tingly, lightheaded floatiness comes over me, and I am suddenly aware that if I am not careful, I won’t make it. Managed to get to the next rest top, but no pretzels were available – just chicken soup, but not for me, I haven’t had chicken since 1981 – so I keep getting slower, afraid if I stop I simply won’t start again, and besides, Age Group-mate Howard (friend of Stephen Grossman) has been leap frogging with me all day and is on my tail. Make it another kilometre to a stop, walk a few minutes while I take some pretzels and water, ANOTHER pit stop (Howard: “we’re gonna break 12 hours!”; my thought balloon: maybe you will, but…) And it’s starting to get dark, and I should take off my sunglass clip-ons, but that takes too much time and energy…
And I’m out of the path! Going past the corner where Rachel, Liam and Rob had been – they must be at the finish line! And up the hill towards the race village, down past the swim start, up again and around that damn loop; and down, down, downhill along cobble stones into the chute, and people are screaming! Shouting my name (Rachel, of course, but I didn’t know it), and I pull off the sunglass clip-ons and hold up my hands and ROAR as I. Cross. The. Finish. Line.
And despite my 4:27 run (I had been shooting for 4:00) I’ve made my goal by breaking 12 hours – 11:49, to be exact. Doggamn. I did it. I’m a stumbling mess and Rob works his way in to the “athlete’s only” recovery area and gets me to the massage area and then some delicious poutine. (French fries, cheese and for today only, vegetarian gravy. Salt! Salt! I am human again!). And Rachel and Liam are just outside the tent. God bless ’em. And I am an Ironman.
Stats
11:49 total, 42/237 AG (= top 18%), 564/2,352 OA (= top 24%).
Swim, 1:11:30 (= 1:34 min/100 yds.), 55th AG.
T1: 7:46
Bike: 5:58:27 (= 18.75 mph), 65th AG
T2: 4:24
Run: 4:27:18 (= 10:12/mile), 42nd AG
Post-Race
Now, a few days later, the endorphins have worn off, I’ve had some sleep, and I’m feeling reasonable: There are things I would have done differently; I would have liked to enjoy and perform better on the run; I will never leave home again without a supply of salt tablets. But I exceeded my expectations on the swim and bike, and really had fun for 2/3 of this huge day. And, because I met my goal, I don’t feel compelled to do another Ironman.
But, then again, I might anyway.