Nick Brown

Ironman St. George was the most challenging race for me yet. It was also the most fair race I’ve ever seen and the race I’m most eager to do again (excluding Kona, for obvious reasons!).  This is a hard course, and if you chose to do it in the future, don’t expect to set any personal bests.  I wouldn’t recommend it to folks worried about making the 17 hour cutoff.  But if your the type who likes to rise up under austere conditions, this is the race for you.

My goal for St. George was to qualify for the Ironman World Championships; “Kona”. I was unsure as to the number of slots available for my age group, but I assumed that I would have to at least finish in the top five, possibly the top three.

I cannot say enough good things about the town of St. George and the surrounding area. It was beautiful, clean, and the people were amazingly polite and kind.

I arrived in St. George on Tuesday night / Wednesday morning of race week after four long days of school work. I had to work hard and sacrifice some sleep so that I could have all of race week to focus. Ryan Denner had convinced my Wildflower campmates of the past two years to go in on a vacation home for the week. This paid off huge dividends. The house was awesome and it was great to have a full-sized kitchen/garage to work with.

Race morning started very early. I woke at 3AM and was on the road by 0440 (I enjoy quality time with my coffee in the morning). Since T1 and T2 were not co-located, everybody had to take a shuttle from the finish line to the swim start and T1 at Sand Hollow Reservoir. The water for the swim was a cold 58 degrees. The wind that had been battering us during the week was reasonably calm and the water’s surface was clean. I prefer to swim in a “farmer john” style wetsuit because I feel less constrained but I opted for sleeves on race day. I calmly went through my pre-race routine at T1 and lined up in the water with about four minutes to spare.

The first turn in the swim was a left about 1000m from the start, but I still started a good ways to the right to avoid congestion. I felt strong right away and focused on a high turnover as opposed to the gliding stroke that has been drilled into my by years of age group swimming. I found clear water very quickly. Instead of sighting the turn buoy in the distance, I just kept pace with the pack to my left and gradually moved over to them. I can’t get over how good this swim felt. It was by far the most comfortable of any of my 2.4 miles swims, despite the water temperature. I was even relaxed enough to take in the panoramic views with each breath and ponder the view from the race coverage helicopters overhead. This was the first time I’ve been able to feel like I could build my effort instead of just survive the swim. I was sure that I would best my IM Arizona time of 54 minutes, but I was surprised to hop out of the water after 56 minutes. Since I was two minutes slow, I expected that a large group of my 25-29 competitors were ahead of me. I had no idea I was the third of my age group out of the water!

I got through T1 efficiently, taking time to put on socks and arm warmers (I think it was still below 50).

The bike course was tough. After about 25 miles of rollers you started a 45 mile loop which was to be covered twice. The loop featured a long and gradual stair-stepping ascent and slow asphalt. Two significantly steep climbs (which had to be covered twice) provided ample opportunities to over-exert yourself. Total ascent was around 6300 feet, quite a bit for a triathlon. We rode through lava fields and climbed up and under the summit of two volcanic ash cones. Once above St. George, we plummeted back down to earth over 15 miles of highway descent. I spent large periods time over 40mph and hit 55 on the second lap. While the course was hard, the views continued to be amazing. Everything is big in Utah, the sky, the mountains, the space.

You can look the course profile and all of my data here:

http://connect.garmin.com/activity/32204687

I must have quickly ate up the two age groupers in front of me on the on the way out to the loop. After the race I learned that I spent the majority of the bike in first (for my age group) though I never knew it. I even made the Ironman-Live blog at one point. Still, I was passed by many 30 to 45 year-olds during the bike and I assumed that there was a group of my competitors ahead which I never saw.

I was riding a 12/27 which was a good call. At one point I was sitting at 300W and 55 RPM (my targeted climbing threshold was 250W).

I feel like I executed my race plan very well. I was aiming for 210 watts on the flats (which is deceptive, because there really were no flats) and limiting myself to 250 watts on steeper climbs. My heart rate remained right where I wanted it, between 155 and 160 BPM. Nutrition did not go as well. I was sipping Infinite from two water bottles every ten minutes at a caloric rate of 300 calories/hour. I was hitting the water hard to avoid nausea problems, which meant that I had to pee. Often. Very often. Let’s not go there. I was also taking in additional sodium at about 100 mg / hour, putting my total sodium intake at 700 mg/ hour. This went well through 3/4 of the bike leg, when nausea crept up on me despite my efforts with water. I ended taking in about 1200 calories on the bike as opposed to the 1600 to 1800 I had planned for.

I came into T2 feeling a little worried about the nutrition thing and was greeted by very heavy running legs and the feeling that I was running on fumes. This was not really where I wanted to be to start the run. I was in first place in my age group, but I didn’t know it. I was still assuming that a group of my competitors were up the road who I had never seen.

The half mile to the first aid station felt like torture. I had to pee again, so I jumped into a port-a-john. Right after I closed the door behind me and started going about my business I heard the door in the neighboring port-a-john slam shut.

“Hey Nick!”

It was Marty Taylor. My greeting:

“Oh Shit”

Marty has been present at each of my Ironmans and has raced against me in two of them. We have a very healthy rivalry and I have managed to squeeze out a win both times. I usually get out of the water about 10 minutes before him, hold him off on the bike and then put more time into him on the run. Things weren’t going to work out like that today. I just didn’t have any fight in me.

“How you feeling?” he asked as we both started running again.

“Not good.”

“Well, I’ll run with you for a little bit.”

That lasted for about 100 yards, and then Marty was disappearing up the road.

The run course at St. George was similar to the bike in that it was never flat. We ran a gentle slope out of town, climbed a brutal section to get above St. George, and then ran on rollers to the turnaround at 6.5 miles. Then we turned around, and re-traced our footsteps. Then we repeated the 13 miles again. There was a strange “nub” in the course at each end that was covered each time you passed, four in all. The “nub” at the bottom of the course had a steep but short climb and the “nub” at the top rolled and winded through a small park.

I was immediately walking each aid station and running slow. When the course got steep, I walked. I was nauseas, exhausted and not happy. I needed calories desperately but couldn’t stomach anything at the aid stations.

I slogged through the first six miles, and after a while I was really only running on the descents. Several guys from my age group passed me, and I figured I was in 15th place at best. On my way back to town on the first lap I was in a deep mental hole. I assumed that qualifying for Kona was out of reach. I thought about quitting, but quickly realized that there were well over a thousand people behind me, many of whom would keep moving until well into the night. I had plenty of time to finish, and so I pushed the thought of quitting out of my head and kept moving forward.

I finished the first half of the marathon in a miserable two hours, but my luck was about to turn. As I was passing the aid station where Marty had greeted me I spotted I tray of sandwiches in the back. They were the first thing I had seen on the course that looked appetizing.

“Can I get one of those?” I asked the volunteers.

“Sure! Its Jimmy Johns!” a polite lady answered as she offered me a third of a sub.

That sandwich was the single best thing I have ever eaten. Bar-none. Period. It may have even been lunch for the volunteers, but God bless the Mormons and their inability to turn away a struggling triathlete.

I was licking my fingers as I started slogging up the road again. In less than five minutes, my attitude changed. I felt so much better with food in my stomach. I think my blood sugar rose and I know my energy returned. My feet got lighter and I found my pace. I was able to run again!

I would do so until my heart rate rose above 165, usually on only the steepest parts of the course. At this point I could almost feel my body switch the fuel it was using and start screaming at me. I would start walking. When walking, I would play the “walk one cone, run two” game I learned at Kona last year. I leaned forward on descents and made the most of them.

While I was still on my way out of town for the second time, my buddy Greg (a spectator for the day) spotted me and yelled:

“Hey Nick! You’re in third!”

Greg was getting updates from Ironman.com on his phone. I didn’t believe him for a second, but for some reason that comment bolstered my morale. (After the race we figured out that he was probably looking at information that was 45 minutes to an hour old).

Now I was excited. I didn’t think I was actually in third, but I was going to catch somebody who was having a worse day than me. I got my fight back.

And I did pass people. Lots of people. Lots of people who had passed me earlier in the race. The carnage was way worse out on the course now. And I fed off of it. I was feeling better by the minute, and some of my competitors were crashing. I was devastating the aid stations now, taking in fistfuls of pretzels, potato chips and cookies. I was downing cola and water.

Thanks to compression socks, I wasn’t sure what age group everybody was in. But I did catch one person with a 25 or a 26 marked on their calf. He looked terrible. I moved past him fast and he didn’t respond.

I finished the second half marathon ten minutes faster than the first. I crossed the line smiling with my hands in the air. I still figured that I had placed somewhere between 10th and 15th and that Kona was out of the question.

Before I continue, there is one other event from the run that I have to write about:

The “nub” at the bottom of the course was one of the most painful parts of the course. It was here that we ran through a parking lot for an Elks Lodge. There were several old men sitting in lawn chairs watching the race. The first time I went by them I was walking, probably with my head down. One old man yelled:

“Come-on Navy! Get to it! Hup, two three four! Don’t they teach you how to run in the Navy!”

“Tell me your an old Marine” I replied, to which they all slapped their knees and started howling with laughter. I smiled, started running and they cheered. I passed them three more times and each time they had a smart-ass comment for me. Once they busted into “Anchors Away”. The last time I passed them I was close to the finish and feeling great. I waved to them, called them the “best peanut gallery ever” and thanked them for their encouragement.

Moments after I had finished, I was astonished to find out that I had placed fourth. After reviewing the results, I think I fell from 1st to 6th during the first half of the marathon, and then fought my way back to forth thanks to Jimmy Johns. But I still didn’t know if that was going to be good enough to get me to Kona.

Minutes after I finished, my stomach turned on me again. I took up my usual place in the medical tent, until some nausea meds fixed my stomach and I could enjoy some post race pizza and beer, courtesy of Marty Taylor (He had a great race and I never did catch him, but we will race again !)

The next morning was an exercise in math for my friends and I. Based on the total number of entrants, the number of competitors in my age group and the number of slots available we estimated that there were 3.8 slots for my age group. But we didn’t know what Ironman did with remainders. Did they round up? Do they lump them all together and give more slots to the biggest age group? To the smallest age group?

Marty had to go in to claim his slot, and I went along to check on my fate. When I saw the results posted with “4 qualifying slots” scribbled next to my age group I …..well…..I got a bit emotional.

So that’s that. A cold, relaxing swim; A tough bike and a brutal 26.2 miles. I finished in 10:32, stood atop the podium in 4th for my age group and qualified for Kona! The people and town of St. George were great. The race was well organized and went off without a hitch. Thanks to Greg and Pat for showing up and supporting Myself, Marty, Erin, Daemeon, Ryan and Michelle. Thanks to Matt Simpson for showing up to cheer on all his friends. Thanks to Liz, Melinda, Ed, Joe, Kathy, Sarah, Little Felipe (Fred), Elaine and the rest of the breakaway crew for all the support. Thanks to Jenny and CDR Lagerquist for feeding me the night before the race. And finally thanks to everybody who was wishing me well from home.

First Off - Special Thanks to Marty, Linda, Dave and Lalita. I’m so glad you were all in Hawaii with me.

So I know this is very late. Let me try to offer up an excuse. I missed my second week of graduate school to race at Hawaii and PAID FOR IT when I returned. Life wasn’t much more then eating, sleeping, and scholarly deadlines.

On the plane home from Hawaii, I pecked in these notes. If you want to know what I thought about the race, try to decipher what is below.

Getting to Kona was what makes 2009 a success. I’ve cut my teeth and next year I want to be competitive. I’ve already mentally moved on to 2010 so I don’t feel like cleaning this up.

Congrats to my Breakaway Training friends who Kicked Ass at Clearwater Today!

POST RACE NOTES

Pre

Triathletes on the plane. Nick from Specialized. Tuesday run (bad), Wednesday ride (good) . Thursday off. Southern point Friday morning. Navy. Dave and Lalita. Andy Potts, Carl Cringle. Underpants run. Interviewed. Bike and gear bag check in. Finish Line.

Race morning.

Granola. Navy Parachute Team. National Anthem.

Swim.

Speedzoot. Green Sweedes. One piece Zoot below. Aggressive. Not in the first few seconds, but definitely in the first 400 meters. Pack swimming for the whole thing. Chicks are the worst. Got dunked - whished flat wheels and cramps on him. Leg cramps. Currents (Started left, pushed right up against the buoys before I expected. Pushed inside buoys on way back). Felt really good after feeling bad from 65% to 100%. Caps in the water.

Bike. LOTS OF AGE GROUPERS IN FRONT OF ME. Solid line of cyclists on Queen K. Way out wind was negligible, let average wattage creep upwards of 216ish. Calmed down by Captain (sel) Jones. Not to hot at first. High speed kept spirits up into climb at Hawi. Wind increased during the climb but wasn’t too bad. Getting hotter. Special needs after turn around. FAST decent. Buffeted by the increasing wind. Back on Queen K. WIND and HEAT. Flags at top of climb. Average wattage dropped, but continued to make passes and bridge BIG gaps alone. Good aero position. Comfortable. Got better at airport. It was there I realized how taxing the course had been.

Run. Hurt from the beginning. Walking and running, but still took some time to run slow. Lots of pain in entire lower body. Kept spirits up on Ali’i drive. Out on the Queen K - stomach turned against me. Porta-poty. Carnage. Running aid station to aid station proved difficult, at times resorted to walking. Captain (sel) Jones. Focused on just getting to Energy Lab. Energy Lab: Small hill! But so painful! Not so much hill and heat, but location on the course. Miles 16 to 20 are tough enough without the added challenge. Back on the Queen K my difficulties continued and I lost site of a sub-10 hour finish. HOT! At one point running two cones walking one cone. So happy to make it back to town. Ran last mile (everybody is a hero for the last mile!).

What happened? Not enough recovery? Nutrition? Head not in the game? Pacing? (thought my numbers were good?) Elements? (strong possibility). I didn’t respect how easy I had to go to perform in the heat.

Need to figure out the Nausea thing.

Post.

Nausea continued until next morning. Worthless until awards ceremony. Chrissy Wellington. Great speech. Crowie - Classy character. Great to meet them both, if only for an instant. Props to Andy Potts for sticking out a tough race.

HARDEST IRONMAN yet. Not satisfied with finish time, but glad I stuck it out. Still only about 45 minutes off what I thought I was capable of (8%?) Finished in top 50 AG. Icing on the cake for the year. Cut my teeth. Have some business to finish on the big island next year. Want to race cut and lean at 160 lbs and finish in under 9:30. Will be my focus all year. Race IM St. George,- registering for a late year IM only if necessary.

Month off. Then it’s time to get settled in and get some work done.

Before I dig into my race recap, let me first profess my love for Wildflower.  Last year was eye opening, and this year was just as much fun.  Camping with about 4,000 fellow triathletes/nuts in one of California’s most beautiful settings…what could be better?  What a great excuse to skip out of 1.5 days of work and blow a bunch of money at REI.

It was great to hang out with Marty Taylor (who came out of his hole in the the mid-west), meet his girlfriend Linda, and goof around with Denner (implants), Patrick, Bryan, Greg (the tree hugger), Damian, Carl (I’m invisible to chicks when standing next to him), Sandra, Paul, Carrie and everybody else at our TNT alumni campsite (of which I am an impostor).

I skipped out of work early Thursday to drive up and meet Marty at the Wal-Mart in Paso Robles.  After stocking up on food (we bought beer but forgot dinner for two of our three nights), we headed towards Lake San Antonio to set up camp.  We showed up just in time to unload the vehicles before it got dark.  The campsite grew as a steady stream of various acquaintances streamed in.

Friday morning was devoted to race prep, which was smart because Friday afternoon brought rain.  A bunch of us were hoping it would hold out until race morning, hoping to feed off of everybody elses collective discomfort.  It didn’t, and race day ended up being pretty ideal.

My goals for the weekend were to 1) Have fun and relax (mission accomplished) and 2) race smart enough to run hard.  I have vivid memories of the horrors of miles four through six on the run left over from last year.  This year I had dreams of effortlessly bounding up the ranks as everybody else succumbed to the grade and the trails.  This was to be a “B” race for me (Oceanside was my early season priority, and my next major focus will be Ironman Louisville), so placing well wasn’t as important to me as the self confidence boost that would come from tearing up the run course.

The swim was realitively uneventful. I finished in just over 28 minutes (slower than last year, a bit concerning), continued my trend of slow and awkward T1s and started what was supposed to be a calm bike leg.  I did a pretty good job avoiding some early idiocy and settled into what I thought was a good tempo which would leave plenty of gas in the tank for the run.  Nasty grade would have its way with me though, and even when trying to hold back the last 15 miles or so of the course took a rough toll on my legs.

I finished the bike and moved quickly through T2.  I could tell I was in trouble as my “cruise” pace wasn’t so easy to maintain over the first four miles.  Sure enough, when the trail turned up and away from the lake things went south for me.  I ended up walking the same sections as last year and my moral plummeted.  As I emerged beaten into the meadows above, I was not a happy camper and plotted along the flats at about 7:30 minute miles.

The quiet thuds of a big approaching group snapped me out of my funk.  I looked back to see a bunch of female pros I recognized from the bike leg, approaching in a pack.  “Why not?” I thought as I tried to latch onto my overtakers.  Amazingly, after following for a few minutes I ended up in front, shoulder to shoulder with a shorter and seemingly floating woman.  We built off each other and soon enough we had dropped the group behind.  I had my rabbit and I didn’t want to let her go.

It is pretty common for me to end up mixing it up with the lead females, especially since I’m usually in one of the first age group waves to start the race.  Their race always seems more important than mine, and I get uneasy when I think I might be in the way.  So as we made our way along the course I was being very mindful of the line I was following and the line she was following.  I tried to stay unobtrusive through aid stations and shared the trail when we were side by side.

And the 7:30 pace dropped to 6:30.  We were hauling ass.

We exchanged names; I didn’t recognize hers.  “Gina”.  In my year and a half in this sport I’ve become familiar with the identities of some pros.  Since I didn’t know who my guide to the left was, I figured she was a mid-level pro.  Turns out she was also a 40 year old mother of two!  A fact made even more impressive as the miles wore on and she drove the pace harder and harder.  When the broken and labored conversation turned to past races she surprised me again.  She had finished 4th at Kona!  In under 9:30!  CRAZINESS!!!

Gina was awesome.  She was adamant about how thankful she was to have somebody to run with, even though I felt like I was just hanging on.  I guess some women pros have their own regular age group men to work with and she was happy to stumble into me.

Somewhere around mile 11 the course descends and then runners backtrack up the hill.  At the bottom we caught Rachel Challis (another mother of two) and Gina surged.  I guess she didn’t want Rachel to latch on.  I couldn’t match Gina’s effort and Rachel and I were left on our own.

Although Gina dropped me like a bad habbit, I fought through the last mile or so and salvaged a pretty decent run.  Gina greeted me in the finishing chute and I got a big ‘ol hug.  She had fought her way into 7th place and got to take home a bit of cash.

I finished in 4:49:49.  Seven minutes and four seconds faster than last year.  Improvment isn’t as easy or rapid as it used to be.  I’m not to worried though, since I was more “rested” than “tapered” for this race.  The big positive from race day was running alongside an American Ironman Champion, who, more importantly, turned out to also be a very kind and good human being.

Ryan Denner had an awsome race.  Like breakthrough awsome.  He finished a scant minute and change behind me.  When we passed on the out and back on the hill, he looked VERY strong.  I’m sure if we would have started together, I would have been in his sites and he may have run me down.  If his calves weren’t so damn huge he may have had the power to weight ratio to overtake me in the hills.  I can only hope that this is the beggining of a very, very competitive relationship (in the most healthy of ways).

I stumbled around for the rest of Saturday (consuming several “Wildflower Burritos”) and splurged on a few beers that night.  Sunday I watched the Olympic Distance Race with the friends who were left before heading home.

A Solid Weekend.

Here we go.  Race Report.  Its a week late and these can be kind of bland so I will try to keep this brief.

The night before the race I had to get all dolled up in my choker whites to put on a little S-word arch for my buddy Bill Wohead’s wedding.  The timing was bad, as I would have preferred to be off my feet resting at home, but a buddy is a buddy and I was happy to be part of the event.  Even by taking two days off work, I still felt rushed with everything I had going on.

I spent the night of the race at the Simpson’s place in Oceanside, for which I am very thankful.  Having him to talk to calmed the nerves.  I couldn’t have picked a better person to crash with.

Race morning was cold, which made the 59 degree water feel warm for the swim.  Still, I had a hard time finding rhythm.  I started off the hip of Chris and Eric, but fell off their pace and ended up in no-mans land between groups.  Out of the water, I had a hard time moving through T1.  For some reason I am always pretty messed up after ocean swims.  I have trouble getting my bearings and my heart rate seems to peg as soon as I stand up.

Once on the bike, it took me about 40 minutes to calm down and start to feel normal.  There were two significant climbs in Camp Pendleton and the trip south seemed slow (probably the wind).  As soon as the course turned East (last ten miles?) the offshore breeze was at my back.  I felt like I had to make up time. I was happy to hammer along and was tangling with female pros.  In retrospect, not the smartest move.

The run was tough from start to finish.  The twice out and back course looked pretty fast and I would like to think that if I had played my cards right on the bike I may have ran well under 1:25.  I gutted out a 1:28 run split and finished exausted and with a very bloody right foot.

I love to run w/o socks, but if I get blisters or break skin I only ever notice AFTER I’ve stopped.

I finished in 4:34 and 8th in my age group.  It was a pretty solid race, though I think I could have squeezed out a few more minutes had I been smarter.

Afterwords, I had the chance to register for a summer Ironman.  I picked Ironman Louisville to give myself plenty of time to prepare.  While at least 20 people asked for every other M dot race, strangely only three of us asked for Louisville.  What do they all know that I don’t?.

It doesn’t matter.  Louisville will be my last shot at qualifying for Kona this year.  Even if the Navy gives me a slot, I want to feel like I earned it.

Its been since I’ve raced, so I was looking forward to “blowing out the pipes”.  I felt strong coming in since work and rain had kept my training volume down the week prior.

While I felt good and was eager to race, this wasn’t really an “A” level event for me.  I figured I might as well learn a thing or two about my abilities and risk pushing to hard or “blowing up”.  Race day weather turned out to be ideal.  Earlier showers had passed, the weather was cool and the emerging sun never became a factor.  Breakaway had a good showing, with both Dave’s, Shaun, Chris, the coaches and many others running.

The race starts with a gradual descent for about a mile, then rolls until you hit the turn around (which thanks to an extra little “dog leg” is at about 8 miles).   The way back is a rolling descent until that last mile, which is a bit abrupt on the legs that late in the race.  Scenery throughout is gorgeous.

Turns out I would spend a lot of time looking at Chris.  We started together, but as soon as the course started to climb he gaped me.  He put about a minute on me on the climb out (miles 2 through 8 ) that I couldn’t get back on the return.  I never really lost sight of him for more then a few seconds at a time though, and he served as a good carrot to keep my effort level up.

I learned after taking a VO2 max test a few months back that my “aerobic threshold” is supposed to be at about 174 bpm.  Beyond this, I’m supposed to rapidly run out of energy stores in my working muscles and accumulate dreaded “lactic acid”.  Well, I kind of let myself forget that during this race just to see what would happen.  My heart rate was surprisingly real low for the first mile of descent (cross talk from the monitors around me?) but when I started climbing it seemed to hover at about 180 to 182 bpm.  The pace was uncomfortable, but sustainable.

As the pain in my lungs and legs climbed from about miles 10 on, I started to worry, but I was able to hold on.  I certainly didn’t have much kick, and my speed up the last climb wasn’t great, but I held on.  It wasn’t pretty (pics to follow!), but a solid effort none-the-less.  I didn’t have a pace device, but judging by my position around my fellow runners, I would say it stayed pretty consistent.

I finished in 1:22:33 with an average pace of 6:18/mile.  My average heart rate was recorded at 1:77 but I think this is low due to the strange mile or so where my monitor read below 100.  Once I had believable data, my hr was only below 180 while descending, and even then it was in the high 170s.  My max hr was 190.

My takeaway from the race though, is that all heart rate monitors and heart rate “zones” have limits and don’t compare to perceived exertion.  More so, pain tolerance is a skill that can improve with time.  I have more faith in my bodies ability to naturally find the fastest pace I can sustain over a distance.  That probably goes for all of us, so if your feeling good, don’t sweat the heart rate monitor!

Oh yea, 1:22:33 is a substantial PR, down from 1:26 at the same race last year.  One of these days I’ll try a flat half marathon….

Better late than never, the race report:

The Buildup

Chris Berg and I packed up and headed East Thursday morning, early.  Chris would be my loyal servant through the week, and all he asked for was a couch to crash on in my hotel room.  The drive through the desert was uneventful.  Once we ran out of triathlon stuff to talk about the conversation degenerated as only a conversation with Chris Berg can.  Big rocks and little rocks, snakes vs. spiders.  If you know Chris, you know what I mean.  As immature as things got he did a good job keeping my nerves in check.

Once we got into the hotel and recovered a bit, we headed down to the expo to register.  It was still early Thursday afternoon, and I didn’t have to wait in a single line.  Afterwards, we headed out for a quick ride on the race course.  I did SOMA here about a year ago.  While the swim and transition are in the same spot, the run and bike courses are both a little different.  The bike course makes a couple of 90 degree turns until it dumps you on the “Beeline” Highway  From there it is about a 13 (I’m guessing here…) miles out and 13 miles back on the highway.  It starts flat and gradually climbs.  While the climb doesn’t compare to anything at Wildflower or Torrey Pines, it is long and sustained enough to push you out of the saddle.  We drove out to the Highway and road it for about 45 minutes.  Chris hung out on my wheel and verbally kept me sane, and controlled.  He offered plenty of encouragement.  I felt really strong and I seemed to easily find my 21 mph goal pace, even on some false flat sections.

Friday I rose early and jumped in the “lake” for a quick swim.  The water was cold and I only spent about 20 minutes.  Ice Cream Headace Cold.  Friday night we took in the festivities and free food at the pre-race dinner.  It was here that we ran into Kathy, Joe, Dave and a whole host of other breakaway racers.

By Saturday I was starting to freak out but stayed quiet in an effort to not expose my angst.  I don’t know if that worked or not.  Chris and I rode again, this time from the hotel to the expo and then on the first part of the course.  We took it really easy only did about 45 minutes.  I had not ran since Tuesday, which made me a bit anxious.  Chris kept reassuring me that the best thing I coud do at this point was stay off my feet.

Saturday night was dinner at Oregano’s.  I frequented this restaruant twice during Soma and this was my second time here during this trip to Tempe.  When Chris and I came earlier in the week we were locked in a typical immature conversation walking out.  We passed a group of college kids waiting for a table in the parking lot.  As we walked by my ears picked up the joker of the group trying to antagonize the girls of the group.  All I heard was “Why can’t Helen Keller drive?”  Without breaking my stride I paused my conversation with Chris, blurted “because she’s a women”, and then resumed my conversation with Chris.  I never slowed and never made eye contact. The group erupted in laughter.  Its rare, but every now and then, I have a smooth moment.

Anyways, back to Saturday night.  I had pasta and a bit of chicken.  The crew was Marty, Kelsey, Sharon, Dave, Chris, Lalita and I.  Marty, being the typical bad influence that he is, was taking bets on the next day’s finish times for Dave and I.  None of us were allowed to share our guesses with the rest of the group and Marty collected the napkin ballets and recorded it all.  Here are the group’s bets on my finish times:

Marty -9:40

Chris-9:41

Dave-9:48

Sharon-9:52

Me-  9:54

After dinner I came back to the room with Chris and went through all the race stuff I had not dropped off at the course about a million times.  Then I mentally went through all the stuff I had dropped off, about a million times.  Chris found plenty of humor in my stress induced anal state.  Once I was satisfied that I hadn’t forgotten anything, I did my best to fall asleep while mentally rehearsing my plan for the race. I actually slept pretty well.

The plan I was rehearsing in my dreams went as follows:

Swim - Stay cool and find a good pair of feet to draft.  Stay relaxed and the time will take care of itself.

Bike-EZ through the first 50 miles!  Let the cyclists go.  21MPH or 145 BPM (whichever is faster if the conditions are good, HR in bad heat or wind)  Expect the hr to climb after 60 miles and focus on pace.  Stay comfortable, hydrated and fueled.

Run-Get through the first 13.1 miles in at a steady and relatively comfortable pace.  Hopefully hold 7:45 miles as long as possible.  Suffer in a controlled manner through 18 miles.  Gut through the last 8 mile lap.  Finish in under 10 hours.

Sunday morning I woke at about 4 AM.  After a breakfast of water, coffee and 2 snickers marathon bars, A very sleepy but still supportive Chris and I loaded up the truck and headed to transition.  After checking out the bike and borrowing some sunscreen (the one item I had forgotten) Chris and I found a relatively quiet place to chill.  The weather was cold and Chris was freezing.  I was secretly dreading the sensation of wetsuit swet being replaced by cold lake water.  As the race time neared, I realized I was on the wrong side of the transition area to get in the water, and had to quickly dump my stuff with Chris and scrample over to the water entrance.  The stress caused by the confusion warmed me up and made my water entry pretty easy.  I swam right over to the front row of swimmers and before I knew it…

Boom!

Swim

I only had traffic for about the first 800 meters.  I was quickly run over by three pretty quick swimmers, and then I started fighting for a good pair of feet that were being dragged along by somebody who was holding a pretty good pace.  After that 800 meters I decided that enough was enough and fell off the lead pack of age groupers and enjoyed the clear water in no-mans land.  I felt tight through my back, a problem that would come back later.  As we swam past the Sun Devil stadium the turn around on this out and back course seemed like it would never come.  Of course it eventually did, and after I turned the buoy somehow I ended way right.  I felt like I was continuously swimming left the whole way back.  My navigation worries made the time go by faster on the return trip and before I new it I was clawing my way up the stairs out of the lake.

I don’t remember seeing a clock but somehow I knew I had finished in 54 minutes.  Somebody must have shouted it to me.  I was expecting about 56, so 54 minutes was a mental boost, especially since I had felt that I was off course for half of the swim.  I do remember hearing my name being mentioned with “Navy” over a loudspeaker.  In my rush through transition I missed the wetsuit strippers, but took the top of my two piece De Soto T1 off as I ran to the change tent.  Once in the change tent I had my very own volunteer to help get the bottom piece off, bike shoes, bib, sunglasses and helmet on.  I charged out of the tent and was surprised to have somebody actually hand me my bike!  Out of transition, I mounted the bike and was off.

Volunteers rock.  I made it through T1 in under 4 minutes, something I never considered possible in my pre-race estimates.

Bike

I spent the first twenty minutes repeating “stay cool” as a steady stream of guys (and maybe an occasional chick?) sped by.

My heart rate monitor wasn’t working, and it never did.  I think the signal was initially blocked by the layer of body glide I had coated myself in.  While racing, i didn’t have the clarity of mind to figure out how to get the watch to search for the strap again.  I’m very proud of the fact that I did the whole race off of feel.  Remember, this is Me.  Mr. numbers.  I did a 140.6 mile race with no HR data, just percieved effort.  Fricking Amazing.  If I would have known my HR monitor was going to fail me the night before the race I would have lost it.  But during the race it was just, “oh well” and on I went.

By the time I made it out to the highway, my lower back was knotting up, a problem that would stay with me the whole ride.  To my disdain, there was a steady breeze blowing out in the desert.  It was in our face during the climb up to the turnaround.  I executed as planned and didn’t freak out when my speed dropped to 16mph because of the climb and wind.  I drank my mix of Infinit steadily (on the first lap, quite tasty) and plain water often from my aerobottle.  It was great to spot the turnaround the first time and once I rounded it, instant speed.  Effortless 30 MPH.  Awesome.  Before I knew it I was off the highway and headed back into Tempe in good spirts.

The corners on the way back to Tempe were an opportunity to get out of my aerobars and give my lower back relief.  I loved the corners.  Once, you were through, you could even justify getting out of the saddle to accelerate.  Heaven.

As I came into town I knew I wouldn’t have to worry about looking for Marty, Felipe, Luke, Chris and the whole crew.  They would make it obvious.  Sure enough, on my way into town I could hear Marty screaming illegibly on the other side of the street.  Then on my way out of town I would swear I almost ran over his goofy ass.  Stay on the sidewalk man….sheesh.

The second lap I realized i was probably drinking a bit to much, as the first urges to urinate hit me.  I’m not going to go into this in detail again.  To Matt, my faithfull Mechanic: Don’t worry man, I took some 409 to the saddle.

I was continuing to get passed more then I was passing people.  This was my first hint at how fricken fast this race was this year.  There were some “groups” that seemed to be pushing the 10 meter envelope.  I remember one pack that was in clear violation, at least while it was passing me.  I saw plenty of penalties getting handed out, but in my humble opinion, a 4 minute trip to the penalty tent is not severe enough in a race this long.  I think I saw some folks who were happy to risk a single penalty for a free trip into the wind.  Maybe i’m just slow and bitter, but in Marty’s words, “I’m just sayin.”

Again, it was slow on the way out and then super fast on the way back.  Again, the trip trough Tempe was a huge mental boost.

The third trip out was definitely the hardest.  My back was still in knots and now I was climbing out of the saddle every 10 miniutes or so just to stretch it out.  I think my bike fit may be partially to blame but it started early on the bike and I even remember it from the swim.  Part of me thinks it was just stress and tension.

I swear to god, as soon as I summited the hill the third time, the wind stopped.  No push on the way back down for me.  I had really been looking forward to cruising into transition and a bit of a respite before the marathon, but Mother Nature wanted to make me work.  Sure enough, when I came through Tempe the last time, the American flag in front of the stadium was just hanging with gravity instead of flapping in the wind.  Damn the luck!

While I had no heart rate data I did have my watch and I knew I was going to come well under my 5:20 21mph goal.  Another mental boost.  I ended up finishing the bike in 5:16.  The overall race time was about 6:19 as I came into transition.  I had about 3:40 to get through transition and finish the marathon to get under 10 hours.  So far so good, but I still had so far to go.

When I came into transition I was already out of my bike shoes.  I dismounted and handed off the bike and started running for the tent.  It felt so good to be off the bike!  I vividly remember how great the cool grass felt to my bare feet.

Again, I had a volunteer savior to get me through transition.  While I was putting on socks he had my shoes out of my T2 bag and switched out my sunglasses.  He handed me my visor and I was off.  I flew through T2 in 1:18.  That was my fastest T2 to date.

Run

I had been dreading the first few steps of the marathon for weeks.  This was mostly because of how difficult the brick runs after my century rides had been.  If 30 minutes of running after 100 miles on the bike was such torture, how was I ever going to manage 3+ HOURS after 112 miles?

But I went through the first mile almost effortlessly.  I still had no heart rate data, so all I had to go off of was the mile split off my watch at the first marker.  I remember it was well under 6:50.  “Wooaaaa!!!!” I thought.  “Cool it Man!, It might feel easy now, but you know you can’t hold this as far as we have to go today!”  (This was the beggining of an internal dialog inside my head between me and myself that would take me through much of the run)

It took me about 4 miles to slow myself down to a 7:40 - 7:50 pace, which was what I thought I could sustain.  I was finally passing people, which felt great!  Through the whole run, I only remember being passed by 3 or 4 folks.  At least one was a pro who had a 10 minute head start anyways!  Being able to continuously pick off people for the entire marathon is a great position to be in!

Much of the course was familiar to SOMA.  But this one included a trip through a park which included a much unanticipated hill.  It wasn’t a big deal on the first lap, and was a minor annoyance on the second lap.  On the third lap…it was the work of the devil himself.

Between the eighth and 9th mile I finished the first lap and again I knew I wouldn’t have to look for the breakaway support crew.  I remember passing Chris and Luke first.  I think I saw Sharon.  I know I saw Marty becaeuse he about mobed me as I ran past.  Then he ran with me and I had to “sho” him away before somebody claimed he was pacing me.  Felipe offered a “Dood…goud job, don’t stop” as I ran past.

The second lap took some focus.  The internal dialog continued.  “I’m doing good…I’m doing good…I’m doing good…Sweet, an aid station…eat…eat…eat…drink…drink…drink…I’m doing good…I’m doing good…I’m doing good…”  That pattern turned into “Just get to 13.1…just get to 13.1…just get to 13.1…”  Which turned into “just get to 20…just get to 20…just get to 20″.  I was still hitting anywhere from 7:30 to 7:50 and things were going well.

As I finished the second lap things were starting to hurt.  And by things I mean my entire body.  It happened all at once.  I went from “hold back, be patient and and race smart mode” to “oh my god this hell and i never want to run again mode”  in about 3 steps.  I put up a false facade as I ran through the crowd near the lap mark and again, I picked out friends in the crowd.  This time Felipe’s comment was “Dood, just one more lap!”.

Note to Felipe:

There is no “just one more lap” when the lap is over 8 miles long and you have 112 miles of cycling and over 17 miles on your legs.

Somewhere around this point I threw a mile split.  It dropped from 7:50 to 8:50.  I was dying.  I stayed surprisingly calm and walked the next aid station, taking in as much fluid and food as I could stomach and always making at least some forward progress.  The sentences in my internal dialog were now single words.

“cookie…cookie…mmmgood…melon…melon…coke…coke…water…water”

Once I passed the aid station I started running again.  I surprised myself at the next mile marker, as my split, including the aid station, was just over 8:20.  I was running the same pace I had been the entire time and the “break” at the aid stations only added about 30 seconds/ mile.  This was how I managed the rest of the race.  Suffer to the aid station,  recover, fuel, repeat.  It worked and I hung on, didn’t give up much time and was only passed by one person that I didn’t get back.   8:20s and 8:30s were much more acceptable then say…10 minute miles.

In this manner I suffered my way through the last lap and through the finish (at the last mile I even managed another 7:40).  As I came through the finish chute and saw 9:40 the flood gates let loose in my mind.  I had to hold back my emotions.  In the finish picture on the breakaway blog my arms are up but my head is down because I couldn’t believe I was holding back tears.  That few last strides was the culmination of of something I started 13 months prior and at the moment it was all a bit much to handle.

Afterwards:

I race for selfish reasons.  I do this because I love it and I want to see how good I can get.  So I don’t know why I get so damn emotional at the finish line.  There are people out there on the course who had to overcome way more then me to finish.  These people have super inspirational stories.  You name it.  Obesity, prosthetics, heart disease, cancer.  There are these types of people who suffer with me on the course.  I don’t know why I get emotional when I finish.  I’m no Lance Armstrong and I’m no Blazeman.  I’m a young guy with a steady job and some free time to devote to training.  I’m no big deal so why do I get so emotional over me?

It may be a selfish endevor but the magnitude of the distance and being around so many people focused on the same goal was an unbelievable experience.  I’m going to have to do this again.

9:40 was more then I thought I was capable of.  In the week prior, I was preparing myself in case I didn’t break 10 hours.  Everything came together so well.  My execution, nutrition, the weather, even the flawed heart rate monitor probably helped me in the end because I just focused on feeling controlled instead of stressing over a number.

This is a bit long already so let me keep this brief:

-The pizza at the finish line was the best pizza in the world.  Ever.

-I was extremely sore for three days.  It took me two weeks to get back in the pool and on the bike and three weeks to run again.

-I can’t believe how close Marty and Chris came to predicting my performance.  Unbelievable.

-I did not qualify for Kona.  In past years, 10 hours at AZ was usually good enough for my age group but not this year.  There were three slots available and the first three 25 to 29 guys went under 9:20.  I want it bad now, there will be another race.

-A typical day in the office is much more bleak after my race in Arizona.

-Congratulations to everybody who finished with me and thanks to the people who came all that way to support us.

I had a great weekend in Santa Barbara. After work on Thursday I was giddy about the potential of three whole days without work related stress. I love road trips and I couldn’t wait to race again on the upcoming Saturday.

PRE-RACE

Marty and I left for S.B. Friday morning. We had our two Cervelos and two very expensive wheel sets on a rack on Marty’s Dodge Charger SRT-8. Sweetness. We took our time on the way up, cruised the coast through Santa Monica, Malibu, Ventura and Santa Barbara.

Marty is a natural dork, and I’m a numbers geek so we had plenty to talk about as far as race predictions on the way up. Armed with our past splits and results from the previous year we were excited about the potential of placing really well in our age-groups. The race would be a 1 mile swim, 34 mile bike and a 10 mile run. Marty was thinking we could both pull 3:07s, I was thinking 3:09. Both would have put us easily into the top three in our age-groups (me - 25-29; marty - 35-39).

We arrived, registered, got a 90 minute ride in on the race course and a quick 10 minute run. Marty checked into his hotel (a sweet find about 500m from the transition area) and I met up with Laura and Emily at the Tait residence. I am very much in debt to the Emily’s family and can’t thank them enough for their hospitality throughout the weekend.

Race morning I woke up early (much to the dismay of Emily, Laura and Karim - who was also taking advantage of Tait lodging) grabbed a quick bite to eat (english muffin) loaded up Emily’s car and headed down to transition (with a stop at Starbucks. I didn’t want to deal with caffeine withdrawal headaches while racing). The weather was comfortably cool, the sky looked overcast in the darkness and there was almost a fine mist hanging in the air.

I got situated in transition while the sun came up and spent a good amount of time visualizing my race and fidgeting with gear. I took time to listen to the race brief and noted that the race staff seemed to be paranoid about the open bike course. An open bike course means that many of the roads we would be traveling over would be open to vehicle traffic. They made it very clear that traffic laws were to be followed and crossing a double yellow line would result in disqualification - no questions asked. Soon enough the national anthem was over and I found myself with the rest of my wave lined up at the race start.

I feel like typing so stand by for excruciating detail. If you don’t like long blogs, then bug off. I didn’t ask any of you to read this and its more for me than you anyways.

SWIM

My swim went really well. There was just a little bit of swell in the water and the conditions were very, very clean. The start wasn’t too crowded, intense or anaerobic. As I passed the first buoy and turned north up the beach I was very comfortable. My stroke felt very long and strong. I like letting my recovery arm complete about 75% of the stroke recovery before my other arm starts the catch-phase. When somebody swims next to me during races I usually find that I take about 1 stroke to their 1.75.

About 500 m into the race my age-group’s lead pack started to run into speed bumps. And by speed bumps I mean people in the 45+ wave (dare I call them “old dudes”?). I have no idea why race organizers put the oldest racers in the second wave right behind the elite-pro wave. It seems cruel to them because some were destined to be run over almost immediately by the aggressive guys like me in the 18-35 year old male wave that left three minutes behind them. More then once I unexpectedly slammed into floating old dude feet. I don’t mean to call the master’s of triathlon slow (see the beginning of my run), and I certainly hope I’m still racing when I’m 55. I’m sure some of them didn’t appreciate being run over by kids half their age either. The race organizers save maybe 30 minutes on the back end by letting the “slower” age group go first and I just don’t think its worth clogging up the swim like that for such a small chunk of time when your talking about a race that can take as much as five hours. Just a thought. Maybe race organizer extraordinaire Karim can weigh in. Probably not, since he hates long blogs.

Anyways, as soon as my lead group ran into the first big pack of these folks we seemed to get pretty split up and I lost my drafts. No worries, I like clean water anyways. At one point I ended up right next to another guy who had to be from my wave. We seemed content to stay about even and a meter apart. I like to think we were working together, taking turns sighting, breathing towards each other and using each other to keep a straight line down the course.

I lost my buddy when I turned back south. We only had one buoy to sight off of and it was the left turn that marked the move towards shore and transition. Everybody seemed to want to hug the shoreline and I was all alone for the last 30% of the swim. I exited the water alone.

BIKE

Transition went well and I got onto the bike without any hitches. There were only a few other racers around me which was a bit unexpected. It took about 20 minutes for me to really feel like I had turned from swimmer to cyclist and get comfortable. A considerable portion of a 1.5 hour event, something to work on. The amount of time it takes me to get into my cycling rhythm is one reason I like long events vs. short ones. My issues may have been because the first part of the course was a gradual climb that led to a pretty gnarly decent. Toro Canyon Road.

Remember how I said the weather was overcast and misty? And how the race organizers were paranoid about crossing the double yellow line? I’ve done a bit of climbing and descending with Felipe recently (another blog I need to write) and I was pretty confident about my cornering ability as I crested the gradual and long climb. The mist seemed to thicken up there and the visor on my helmet coated with water, hurting my visibility. Regardless I started the plummet and was having a good time picking fast lines, moving my weight to my outside pedal and working the bike. There were no other cyclists or vehicles around me. I approached a wet patch of road right in front of a sharp corner and in the next few seconds an awful lot happened that would effect my mental health through the next few hours.

I hit the wet spot, felt the water spray off the tires and onto my legs, tried to slow into the corner expecting my tires to get loose, spotted a person wearing a red shirt and a reflective vest on the outside of the second half of the turn, noticed the camera he was pointing at me, focused on the person instead of my line, drifted onto the yellow line and inches over it, corrected and brought myself back into my lane and then saw the camera flash.

“He must be an official” I thought. The camera must have been to keep track of race numbers of the guilty as riders came speeding by. I figured my race had ended at that point. I slowed my descent through the rest of the canyon and my mind started racing on the flats below.

“Should I quit?

No. I can still learn from the race and I want to see what I’m capable of. Plus I can’t let Marty beat me.

“Should I hold back and save the intensity for another race?

Maybe.

Maybe they’ll lose the picture. Maybe I’m not the only one who accidentally deletes their film”

In the end I decided to just keep plugging along. Even if I was officially DQ’d, I wanted to see how I would finish. I wanted to run down Santa Barbarian’s.

After the descent, the course rode through a flat scenic below the mountains that shelter Santa Barbara. The course was an out and back that “looped” or separated inbound and outbound racers in three places. This included a loop at the far end of the course with another notable climb and more technical turns. The climbs and turns made it hard to maintain speed but a fun (though slightly dangerous) course to ride. When I doubled back on the course after the climb and descent on the far loop I got to see all the racers who started behind me. I was thankful to be riding so far forward where traffic was light. I was only passed by two riders along this stretch, one in a Cialis Team jersey.

The climb back up Toro Canyon was uneventful and the gradual descent back to transition was a ton of fun. My speed crept above 25 mph with spurts above 35 mph. The open course was a bit frustrating at times. I even found myself having to slow for traffic once. I can’t see how an open course can be fair since everybody is going to be affected by traffic in different ways. This was a fun course, but I wish it was closed to traffic.

Back on the beach and headed towards transition I was greeted by crowds and cowbell (my favorite). Again, I made it through transition relatively easily and headed out for the run.

RUN

So before the race I thought I would be lucky to fall into my marathon pace (6:52 min/mile) during the 10 mile run. I was a bit concerned when my garmin started showing me at a 6:10 pace in the first mile. I slowed a bit to stay under control and make sure I had gas in the tank to finish. Before I knew it I spotted the Cialis jersy up the course and I focused on reeling him in. The course left the flats along the beach and started a gradual climb up to the turn around. The halfway point was actually a few hundred meters down the other side of this hill. After the turn I caught my Cialis jersy and put some good distance on him back up the hill. On the way down the other side back to the beach I started to push and managed to keep a pretty good pace all the way through the finish line. I averaged 6:23 min/mile over the 10 miles, much better then I had hoped for.

AFTERWARDS

Props to the race organizers for getting the results up so fast. After I crossed the finish line I waded back into the ocean to get some icing effect on my legs. When I returned the results were posted and I saw that I had finished 3rd in my age group and 13th over all. But I was still convinced that the USAT officials would DQ me. Marty came barreling across the finish line a few minutes later and we reflected over a pitcher of beer at the nearby beach food stand. Only after the penalties were posted did I relax and start to enjoy the afternoon.

THOUGHTS

-Michellie Jones beat me by 12 seconds. I guess getting chicked by an Ironman World Champion and an Olympic Silver Medalist is ok. But not again if I can help it.

-Nobody younger than me beat me.

-My swim and run times were remarkably faster than what I thought I was capable of.

-There were two gnarly crashes out on the course. One sent somebody to the hospital. Nobody was eaten by a shark. Cycling is way more dangerous than swimming in the ocean.

-I can’t wait to race again.

-Pictures to follow

Garmin Data

Bike

Run

Numbers