Ironman Canada update from an AS Athlete

Ironman Canada Race Report by Rob Williams
Sunday, August 29, 2006

The day began early. My first alarm rang at 4:01 am, but I was ready. I hopped right out of bed without needing the second ring or the second alarm set for 4:05 am. I had been getting to bed between 8:30 and 9:30 pm most nights recently, and combined with about ¼ of my normal exercise load for the past 2 weeks I was ready to get on with the day.

I threw on the race shorts that would adorn me for approximately the next 14 hours, then sweats and on to breakfast. We had made a boatload of waffles the previous day so I toasted one of those and had my standard race day (actually any day) breakfast: uncooked oatmeal mixed with yogurt and fruit overnight. The goal was to be finished with breakfast as close as possible to 3 hours before the race, and since the start was planned for 7:00 am, I was on target.

The previous day I had checked in my bike, my swim to bike transition bag and my bike to run transition bag, so all I needed to carry was my post race bag (consisting of the clothes I was currently wearing) and the special needs bags containing extra nutrition that I would pick up approximately half way through the bike and the run. I threw on a warm fleece cap as I walked out the door since the sun was not yet up and though it was summer in the Okanagen (the desert wine country on the east side of the Cascade mountains), it is still cold in the morning in the desert.

I was curious what the weather would be like. It had been getting warmer and warmer each day we came, and if there was no wind or a south wind the valley would fill with the smoke from the forest fires burning to the south. I did not spend too much time obsessing about the weather because there was nothing I could do and it would affect us all the same. While walking down to the transition area it was calm and the stars above foretold a clear day. The wind would be a mystery, but the swells on the lake from a couple days before were likely gone.

I took a page out of Erica’s book by getting to the transition area early. By 5:00 am I was in the transition area already having been body marked (had my race number applied) and dropped off my special needs bags. There was almost no one there and the quite calm was relaxing. After checking my bike I went for an easy 15 minute jog and felt like a salmon running against the stream of athletes walking towards transition area. I had plenty of time to stretch, make a couple trips to the port-a-johns, then with an hour before race time I drank the espresso I had picked up the night before.

No matter how much time you have before a race, there is always a rush that happens near the start, but despite the magnitude of this race it was not that bad. I found myself just before 6:45 am with my toes in the water of Lake Okanagen waiting for the cannon to signal the start for the pros. As I looked around I had to catch my breath and force myself to relax. There were over 2,200 people crammed into a small beach area and I was worried about getting clobbered on the head and having to fight my way around the swim course. After the pros started we had about 10 minutes for warm-up and the feel of the water gliding over my wetsuit helped restore that calm. I decided that I had nothing to loose by getting on the front row, so that was where I started at 7:00 am as the cannon sounded for the second time that morning.

After the first 500 meters I was quite surprised to find myself swimming smoothly in open water. Not only that, I was doing a three count bi-lateral breathing sequence that meant I was pretty relaxed. I did not feel the need to do much sighting in the first few hundred meters since the mass of people would probably generally be headed in the right direction. As I finally popped my head out to get a better perspective I was shocked to find myself in the front group of approximately 15-20 swimmers breathing relatively easily. I continued here for about 2/3rds of the first leg out when I either eased off, lost my focus, or drifted a bit off course without sighting properly. Despite the reason I lost the good draft I had and though I felt strong in the water, never really regained it. When I came to the swim finish my time was 1:01:38. It was a bit disappointing because I had set 1 hour as my goal time and was secretly hoping to break that by a couple minutes, but I was certainly in the ball game.

I ran up the chute, pealed my wetsuit off the top of my body and flopped down at the feet of two volunteer “wetsuit strippers” who grabbed the rest off of me quite efficiently. It was a bit more of a production to get my swim to bike bag, but then it was into the changing tent. For some reason I thought they would have towels in the tent, but luckily the guy to my left was kind enough to lead me his. I did a quick towel off of the feat, pulled on my socks, snapped on my helmet, put on sunglasses, and zipped up my bike jersey. (I wear a full jersey to cover my shoulders because they always get fried by the sun and I’m convinced that zaps energy, also I only have one bottle cage on my bike because there is no space on the aero down tube; therefore I just my bike jersey as my second nutrition bottle and an aero bottle on my handlebars just for water which I fill at every aid station.

As I mounted the bike I was not prepared for the crowd up main street – I had never experienced anything like it. Granted the Alp d’Huez crowd stretches on for miles, but this crowd was a similar boisterous tunnel that ushered you out of town. I knew that with the exception of one moderate hill, the first 40 miles were relatively flat. Though anyone can hammer down that stretch, the key is to be able to keep yourself in enough control for the hills the followed and the remaining 72 miles. I had therefore changed my bike computer to only give me the elapsed time (so I could take my nutrition and water every 20 minutes) and my heart rate. I had told myself to keep my heart rate under 150, but even at that rate I felt like I was thundering though people too quickly, so I reduced that upper limit to 145 and settled in for the long haul.

The first 40 miles were relatively uneventful, except for the aid station in Oliver where a guy went down HARD right in front of me (there is an unmistakable sound of carbon hitting asphault). I had one hand on my handlebars and the other taking a water bottle from a volunteer but miraculously made it around the tangle of athlete and bicycle on the ground. I was just marveling how I had made it when the guy behind me said, “Man, how did you get around that guy, I almost bought it and I was behind you.” I figured that with two rather serious bike crashes earlier this year my time on the pavement had passed for a bit.

When I got to the Husky station and the 90 degree right turn that basically marked the beginning of the first substantial climb, Richter Pass, I did a quick check of my average speed and was happy to see that I was over 24 mph which boded well for my overall average goal of 21.5. Now my goal for the bike was basically a three part strategy: 1) keep it under control for the first 40 miles, 2) spin the hills in control and waste no excess energy, 3) charge the downhills. Now that I found myself at Richter a few people blew past me, but for the most part I felt like I was holding my own and spinning in a controlled fashion. I was very glad that I had borrowed the 11-25 cassette from a friend instead of the 11-23 because those couple extra teeth were making all the difference. Even if I was not using the, just knowing I had a couple easier gears was a nice feeling.

After Richter I forgot how hilly it was. I had ridden the course the year before, but not as hard as I was at the moment, and last year was a whole year ago. Needless tot say I pushed on and found myself gaining on the people in front of me with no one riding through. Either I was riding well, or all the fast people were already ahead of me, or both.

When I got to the special needs bag I took it and stopped. Having just seen a guy go down in front of me at an aid station and a couple others with some tell tale road rash, I decided that I could spare the 30 seconds to take my two nutrition bottles out of the bag and drop off my other bottles. Somewhere around this point, I honestly can’t remember if it was before this point or after but I was hitting that lull that is inevitable somewhere between 70 and 85 miles. I found myself thinking, “What am I doing? Do I really have to run a marathon after this….and am I seriously thinking about doing this all again in October?” Then as quickly as it came the sentiment was gone and I was approaching the next major climb of the course….Yellow Lake.

Again I was greeted with a mini Tour de France crowd that could not have been more encouraging. I had a bit of a cramp in my left hamstring, but as I focused on a smooth pedal stroke the tension passed and I was at the top before I knew it. The rest of the ride was mostly uneventful and punctuated by more wind and hills than I had expected in the last section. I was especially chagrined to find that the first start of Main Street on the way into Penticton was slightly up hill, and no hill felt slight at this point. Since I had a goal of 5:15 for the bike I was pushing this section and was happy to cross the “bike in” mat at 5:13.

As I was running with my bike one of the volunteers was cautioning “no running….walk please.” I was tempted to turn to him and say, “Is this a parade, or is this a race?” but it certainly did not matter and I knew negative thoughts did nothing but chew up energy, so I focused on finding my transition bag and getting into the changing tent.

As I sat in the chair something did not feel right. I was not quite sure what it was, but I just knew something felt different. I was in auto pilot now, however, so I switched my top, changed my shoes, threw on my running hat and started moving again. I stopped to get sprayed with sunscreen and took a water from the aid station, but as I began running, something definitely felt wrong. While on the bike I had a few tense spots, but a tightness quickly developed in the left lower section of my back and then felt like a string ran up my back and connected to my front ribs and I was either going to give birth to some alien baby out of my solar plexus or my rib cage might just collapse.

A lot of thoughts started running through my head and I put most of them out of my mind just to see if over the next mile or so that I could relax and make it go away. It did not take long before the primary though kept surfacing, “You have 26 miles of this?” Though it was not easy to walk away from the course in the middle of putting together a decent race, it ultimately did not feel like my day.

I remember in the past hearing about people dropping out of races and thinking, “That’s a mistake, you want to finish what you started,” or “You don’t want to quit a race because that sets a bad psychological precedent and it will be easier to abandon in the future.” It is clear to say that I no longer feel that way having a bit more relevant experience. Going into this race I was already having trouble justifying a trip to Kona this year both in terms of work (having already been away for a few weeks in Australia) and finances with an impending house purchase. The thought that Erica and I might attempt to qualify together was another sentiment that rose to the surface as I walked back to the transition area. I also immediately thought of a few local races that I could still do this season because I did not beat myself up with 26 miles of running.

So I walked back to the transition area, stretched, had a nice conversation with a couple volunteers, got some more water and Gatorade, walked back to the house where I was staying and showered, stretched, ate, and iced. I then walked back to the race venue and wondered into the massage tent. After explaining my situation the therapist indicated that I had come at a good time since he had seen on one yet and there was no line behind me. Because I had stretched, iced and warmed up again he said, “Let’s get to work.” He spent over an hour working on me, gently and but persistently doing muscle release. He explained the entire muscle compensation mechanism that had caused me trouble and was a byproduct of my past accident. The irony was that I had been getting active release therapy on my left proneus (sorry if my spelling and anatomy and spelling is less than perfect – just say it’s the muscles running down the outside of my left leg) which was likely related to the car accident and though I had some back issues they had not affected my racing to date. I specifically told to doctor that I wanted to leave them alone until after Ironman Canada because I was afraid of stirring up some trouble….oh well. Now I guess I can get on with that treatment. Though it has been a difficult road of dealing with a variety of issues I am happy to feel like I am well down the path toward recovery.

I know that in the Ironman arena a swim and bike split really does not mean anything until it is all put together with a good marathon. I also know that my run training this year has been hampered by injury so I look forward to another effort in the future once I have a bit more running base. I also know that I am looking forward to taking a year off of Ironman training and focusing on having more fun in shorter distance races and focusing on some other priorities. Kona is still a calling and one that I do not think I will be able to ignore, but for now I will put it on hold.