Six weeks later, I finally feel ready to organize my recollections and put together my Ironman Canada race report. Our participation was inspired by the preceding year’s MightyMan Montauk, and the write-up from that event is here: http://undercoverathlete.blogspot.com/2010/10/mightyman-montauk-2010.html
The who would be my son Sean, his friend Cameron, and me. The where and when were decided by Cameron, who is trying to qualify for Kona and chose his home country Canada for the attempt. The why still needs a little work in my opinion.
I had nearly two years to train, counting the one year run up to the half-ironman, and I used it all. The first year was devoted particularly to swim training. The second year was primarily focused on running and improving my swim stroke. Along the way I made many good friends, had some great experiences, and learned a lot about what to do and what not to do in a triathlon.
Swim Training: I was most nervous about the swim, and began my survival training by doing laps on my own at the Fort Collins Club. I took a few lessons, improved my stroke, and was able to complete the swim portion at Montauk well. My big breakthrough came when I felt bold enough to join the morning Masters Swim team at my club. The synchronized files of capable swimmers doing laps in a single lane had intimidated me, but when I signed up for a full ironman I knew I needed to learn how to swim with the sharks. I was embarrassed at first to even admit that I had had the audacity to register for a full-distance event, but everyone in the pool was very welcoming and very encouraging.
I started off in the slow lane, and I’d like to report that I soon moved up to the intermediate lane and was pushing for a spot in the fast lane… but I stayed in the slow lane until race day. I harbored a not-so-secret ambition to make it to the intermediate lane by Christmas, which went unrealized, but I am still quite satisfied with my progress. I learned how to do flip-turns, I brought my legs out of the depths and am beginning to bring them into my stroke, and I stopped fighting the water so much. Still a long ways to go, but I did became a swimmer in time for Canada.
I first got to know the other swimmers at Masters by watching them underwater. I was impressed with how they kicked so well, and how they pulled away from me so quickly without seeming to be working hard at all. At that time I didn’t know what Kona was, or what it meant. Eventually I learned that my neighbors in the fast lane were all Kona qualifiers, one had placed third in her age group there, one had won his age group at Ironman Canada, and two had swam the English Channel. Now I know why they looked so good – they were!
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| Cub reporters for the UndercoverAthlete blog invading the fast lane at the Ft. Collins Club Pool. In the background are Gonda, who qualifies for Kona every year, and Mary, who has an awesome kick. |
Run Training: The run was another big weakness. Preparing for the Montauk half I developed hip tendinitis, and then tore my medial meniscus weeding a few months before the event. Things settled down enough for me to do the race with minimal complaint, but soon afterwards I needed a medial meniscectomy. Recovery was quick, though, and I was able to resume running in earnest by Christmas. We all had Canada hats to wear for our cold-weather training, and I set out to increase my distance and endurance. My coldest run was at 4 degrees Fahrenheit, which made me feel I was stacking up my bona fides for Canada.
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| The Canada cap in action. |
This outright rejection of my running plan was worrisome, and deep inside I knew that the plan was not very scientific. I had already hired Wendy Mader (http://www.t2coaching.com/) to coach me in swimming and she had helped me a great deal in the pool. With two months to go before Canada I hired Wendy to coach me altogether, and that was a big help, even though she only had a short time to work with me. She got me running faster in my training, and eventually I ran faster in competition also. None of that actually helped me in Canada, but more on that later. It was also a relief to have someone else take responsibility for the training schedule. I didn't have to wonder how to peak, how to taper, how far to ride, how fast to run; I only had to do what I was told, and I got used to doing what women tell me to do long ago.
Living in Ft. Collins at the time, I was fortunate to have access to a great trail system. My swim lane partner suggested I run on the mountain bike trails. She said it was like an interval workout, with short bursts of intensity to get over the high points, and some rest on the downhills. I began doing a ten mile loop on the Blue Sky Trail where I usually rode, and I agree that it was a great training run.
Living in Ft. Collins at the time, I was fortunate to have access to a great trail system. My swim lane partner suggested I run on the mountain bike trails. She said it was like an interval workout, with short bursts of intensity to get over the high points, and some rest on the downhills. I began doing a ten mile loop on the Blue Sky Trail where I usually rode, and I agree that it was a great training run.
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| The Blue Sky Trail |
Bike Training:
I came to triathlon as a cyclist, so I presumed that I could focus on my swim and run training and just catch up on the cycling closer to the event. I was able to do some serious climbing. During my training I ascended Mt. Evans, Estes Park, Left Hand Canyon, and Rist Canyon many times. I did one eight hour ride and many 4-6 hour rides. My focus, though, was not on cycling, and I think that hurt me on race day. I never really felt that I was strong and comfortable on the bike, and my plan was always to do the bike as a type of interlude between the main events. I'm beginning to wonder if a triathlon isn't more of a sandwich, with the meat at least as important as the bread.
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| Prep ride with my friend Todd. At the top of Mt. Evans on probably the finest day imaginable for an ascent. The top is permanent Arctic Tundra, and there's snow even in July. |
Foreshadowing: Four or five weeks before the big day I raced in the Mt. Evans Hill Climb. I have climbed Mt. Evans many times and I love it. The climb begins in Idaho Springs and ends above 14,000 feet. Along the way you pass above the tree line, pass through herds of mountain goats, and enter the permanent arctic tundra at the top of the mountain. It’s steep, tough, and challenging. In the race I hung with the lead pack for twenty minutes, then cracked and fell off the pace. I finished 48th out of 50. That should have been a warning, but I was too obtuse to take heed. Anyway, it was too late to change anything.
Preparatory Races:
I did the Horsetooth Half Marathon, the Loveland Lake-to-Lake Triathlon, the Boulder Peak Triathlon, and the Steelhead 70.3 Triathlon as prep races for Canada. The Horsetooth Half is a hilly penance, and was a great suffering for me, but I did pretty well at the three triathlons, and thought my training and preparations were on target. As it turns out I think I was very well trained for a half-Ironman but under-prepared for the full distance event.
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| My son Michael and I after finishing America's hilliest half-marathon. |
Travel to Penticton:
Travel across national borders and with bicycles, was difficult. Matters were complicated by Hurricane Irene circling offshore and disrupting air traffic patterns. Sean nearly missed every flight connection he had from New York and was only saved by the fact that each of his travel legs were delayed 90 minutes and he was in good enough running shape to do interval sprints between gates. Two airplane doors closed on his backside, which beats having them close in his face. I flew in from Indiana, which went seamlessly, and Cameron flew to Seattle the day before and drove up – probably the best and easiest way to handle the whole affair.
Race day was predicted to be a hot one and it was, with temperatures on the bike peaking at 97 degrees Fahrenheit and staying in the mid-90s throughout the day until the sun went down. Coming in from the airport the cabbie said it was expected to be about “36 degrees for the race”, which meant nothing to me until he explained that was “about body temperature.”
It was always surprising to hear the Canadians using metric and Celsius, and those terms still mean little to me. “Only 500 meters to the top” they would yell encouragingly, and I would spend the next two minutes trying to do mental conversion. The only metric distances I know are 25 meters and 50 meters.
We stayed at the host hotel, which was nice. Some of the more experienced Canadian Ironmen were staying at the beachfront houses along the lakeshore, and those seemed even better. Wherever you went there were wetsuits and bicycle on the balconies, and lean, excited people walking the streets.
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| Most balconies sport a bike and a wetsuit. |
The pre-race pasta dinner was packed. We ate on table outside and watched a video of the speakers on a big screen. That was an error. We missed some of the excitement by not being indoors. Some of the pros spoke, the main announcer, Steve King, was great, and the speakers were funny. We ate, and ate, and ate.
Race Morning:
Race day came at last. I slept pretty well the night before, and had eaten all that I could. No beer for several weeks before the event, and just a little coffee in the morning. We got to the beach a few hours early, but we didn’t want to rush.
The Swim:
I lined up on the left, and in the middle of the pack, but there were 2,880 people there – they called it the biggest mass swim start in history. It did not seem as crowded as I had expected, and I made a game day decision to move closer to the front of the pack. I was feeling cocky. That decision turned out well, and when the cannon sounded I was able to get swimming pretty quickly without too much body contact. I tried to find some fast feet but I couldn’t stick to anyone long and pretty much just tried to stay in open water. If I saw a gap when I was sighting I tried to sprint through it, and if someone tried to swim over me I kicked him off my back. I did hear one guy grunt and I wondered if I had kicked him in the belly, but overall I don’t think I was aggressive and I certainly tried not to swim over anyone myself.
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| A minute or two after the start. |
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| I would have enjoyed the swim more if I had know it was this beauty tickling my feet the last 1/4 mile. |
This was different than any of the lesser distance triathlons I have done. We made up bags with our bike equipment the night before, and when we got out of the water volunteers stripped our wetsuits off and others gave us our bags. We then ran into unisex tents, where we changed on stools and left everything behind for the volunteers, while we ran to our bikes. It was pretty easy.
Cameron said there would be pretty, young girls applying sunscreen, and sure enough they were there with mammoth vats of the stuff. I got in line to have them slather it all over me, but they didn’t reach under our tops. Once we got into position on our bikes, everyone’s tri-top pulled tight and our shoulders winged out, exposing more skin. The next day the beach was full of people with the odd sunburn you see below. It wasn’t just me.
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| Not a secret society, just an unfortunate tan line seen everywhere on the beach the day after. |
It felt like the race was starting now. I had planned to hold 145 Watts and I did, but I was passed by what seemed like thousands of cyclists. I felt like I should be going faster, but I also felt like I was working hard and not really holding back.
Rumor has it that the native Indian population is unhappy about the race and that they litter the road with tacks the night before. I saw a few dozen people with flats in the first hour or so, but still I was skeptical that malicious tacks were the cause. Then I got a flat and, sure enough, there was a brand-new tack in my rear wheel. It was shiny, clean, sharp, and had certainly not been lying in the road long. Better than Montezuma’s revenge or an arrow through my back. Anyway, I changed the flat quickly and was back on the road.
The initial part of the bike route was pretty, riding south along a string of lakes. Soon we turned west and ascended the Richter, which was also not that bad. By now the pack had settled into a rhythm, and there were fewer carbon wheels whizzing past at high speeds. Still, throughout the bike portion I was occasionally passed by some very fit looking person on a sleek tri-bike just hammering down the road. Where had they been all this time? What had they been doing? Five or six times I passed the same man at the side of the road trying to fix his new-looking $6,000 bike, and five or six times he passed me again when he got it working right. That must have been so frustrating, and I’m sure there is a good bike on e-bay now that I would recognize.
The worst part of the bike was the out-and-back. I think we all agreed on that. It was hilly, hot, windy and exposed, and was keeping us from getting back on the road to the finish line. It was also far longer than I expected, even though we had ridden a part of it the day before. I entered the out-and-back feeling ok, but I left it very ready to get off the bike. From there it was up Yellow Lake, and back into town, but the Yellow Lake climb was way worse than the Richter and took plenty of time.
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| The out-and-back was pretty -- pretty hot and pretty tedious. |
T2: I don’t remember much, but I was happy to be off of the bike.
The Run:
Excellent. I headed out through a crowd of cheering spectators, which was invigorating, and out through town. The leaders were just starting to come back, and since it’s an out-and-back run I got to see them cruising in. They were certainly doing something different than I was doing.
I looked down at my Garmin and I was running at an 11 minute pace. I expected 9:30 or 10:00, but 11 felt good and I didn’t think I could do anything faster, anyway. It was really scorching, but I had a drape on the back of my hat and was still covered with sunscreen. The aid stations were packed with water, ice, and sponges, and they kept them very well stocked. I drank plenty, and had followed my nutritional plan on the bike so I didn’t think I was in any danger of bonking.
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| Hitting the chute out of T2. Some lady told me I was looking good, and I said "I'll see you in a few hours!" I meant that in a few hours I wouldn't look so good, but a little early excitement is not bad. |
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| About mile ten: still feeling great, but a close look shows trouble developing. I am nearly at a walk already, my stride is minimal, I'm not getting my knees up. I am smiling, though. |
I knew my friends and family were following me online, and I knew that they would be worried. I had suddenly disappeared off the radar! Was I hurt, had I dropped out, had I drowned after all? No, I was just trudging north, watching the sun go down, and knowing that anyone looking at my results in the eastern time zones would go to bed thinking a computer malfunction was responsible for my apparent absence from the finish line.
I knew that I would finish, but the last four or five miles were miserable even at a walking pace. I was being passed by other walkers, and I had no retort. Finally, when I could hear the commotion of the finish line, Cameron saw me and ran the last ¼ mile in with me. He had not qualified for Kona, but he had run a good race and was still able to do another few hundred meters run with me. If he hadn’t been there I think I might have walked it in.
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| My coach told me to cross the finish line with my arms raised and a smile on my face, so that's what I did. |
The Post-Mortem:
Of course I’m glad I completed it. Just getting to the start line fit and ready to roll was a big accomplishment. I used Training Peaks to log my preparations and over the twelve months before the race I completed the following workouts:
Swim: 82,300 meters (51 miles; 1,646 laps; 189 hours)
Bike: 2,489 miles, 244 hours
Run: 578 miles, 95 hours
Bricks: 316 miles, 15 hours
Races: 198 miles, 8.92 hours
I think I do want to do another, and my goal is still to complete the marathon in under 5 hours. To do that I think I need to improve my cycling. If I were faster on the bike I would get to the run with a stronger cohort, and a more aggressive mental attitude. I plan on taking a few years to let this experience marinate, and to get faster at the shorter distances. Perhaps in three years or so I will be ready to try another, though I don’t know if I’ll have the time available to train like I did for this event.
I would happily do Canada again, though I'm imagining Challenge Roth, Ironman France, or some equally exotic venue for an event of this magnitude. Also, I think I might do better on a course that had cycling and running loops. It felt awfully lonesome out there on the run, miles from the finish line. Perhaps with more people around the energy would be invigorating.
So there it is, my view of the Great White North on wheels. I hope you enjoyed it, and I only wish I had a picture of the girl in the bikini with the garden hose to reward you.
