Ironman Canada 2013 :: A Narrative Essay

Just over a year ago, on August 8, 2012, a week or two after Ironman Lake Placid, I was in a collision with a car while riding my bike. The injuries were pretty significant. A partial list of injuries would include six broken vertebrae in my neck, broken jaw, broken nose, facial lacerations, TBI, nerve damage and memory loss. My medical providers felt the best course of action would be to keep me hopped up on muscle relaxers and painkillers for the foreseeable future. I didn’t disagree. 

However, while it was in this state, bloodied, bruised, broken and mentally foggy that Ironman announced (with the help of Challenge and the city of Penticton) that there would be a new venue for Ironman Canada. They had settled on Whistler, a place I love, and therefore I had settled on competing in that Olympic venue. At that point, I didn’t know much about what my recovery would be like. Honestly, it was unclear whether I would ever have full range of motion in my neck again, but I committed to making it to the start line. Racing an Ironman was a decision I had made every year for the last six. There is momentum in the cycle of race and recovery. I was swept up in that cycle like nothing had happened. I didn’t see why this year would be different.

It is hard to say whether I would have still made that fateful decision to register if there hadn’t been 100 Kona slots available. Having been so close to grasping that goal before, I assured myself that no matter the obstacles that may lay ahead I could make it back to a level of fitness that would allow me the opportunity to toe the line in Kailua Village.

It is even more difficult to say whether I would have registered if I would have known how physically challenging, frustrating and mentally exhausting rehab would be all the way leading up to that moment, treading water at 7a on August 25^th in Alta Lake, would be.

Maybe I underestimated the extent of my injuries. It is possible I overestimated my own resolve. Most likely it was a combination of both that made this the most challenging 12 months I can remember.

Ultimately, I didn’t get that Kona slot. In fact, I wasn’t even close. In any normal year, I would have been very disappointed. However, given the circumstances, I’ve never been more satisfied with a race performance. It was through the process of getting there, executing a plan on race day and crossing the finish line I learned more about myself this year than I have in any single year of my life.

I pretty much knew where my fitness stood. I knew the course would be difficult. When you train efficiently and purposefully, when you have a plan and execute it, you know how race day is going to go. Normally, I could give pretty exact times for when I’d be finishing. Dacia asked several times when she could expect me coming into transitions or passing through town. This year, I couldn’t even give her an estimate. I wasn’t confident. That is a bad place to be before an Ironman. It is scary.

So, It was a couple days before Race Day and I decided to pop in one of my favorite movies of all time, A River Runs Through It. I’ve seen this movie no less than one million times, but this time, one quote struck me. Norman, the narrator (voiced by Robert Redford so when you read the quote, read it with his voice), is establishing the dichotomy between he and his brother Paul when this little gem slips in:

I knew I was tough because I had been bloodied in battle. Paul was different. His toughness came from a secret place inside of him. He simply knew he was tougher than anyone alive.

It struck me because the relative concept of toughness can be applied so well in endurance sports. Sure there are a few that just know they are tougher than anyone else. They are fitter, can endure more. They are often faster. The rest of us are always in that quest for our own toughness. It doesn’t mean we can’t race fast, even faster than the tough ones. But it does mean we have to search for the that secret place inside where toughness comes from in hopes of finding a vast reserve we had not yet discovered. In the process, although we may never make that discovery, we do get the opportunity to test our resolve, test our toughness on race day.

This was my opportunity to test my toughness, not my speed. This thought carried me through the race. This was the culmination of an imperfect process and I was going to take the opportunity to grind out a personal victory.  It became I mantra with each pedal stroke, with each step.  I will not yield to the pain.

I was testing myself against the tough ones, those that probably had trained more efficiently, more purposefully. Against those that didn’t suffer weakness from the nerve damage that makes your arms shake violently from about mile 80 to the end. Against those that probably didn’t have a knot of fire in the middle of their neck starting half way through the swim that still hasn’t gone away.

No. The long-term goal was not achieved, but the short-term goal sure as hell was. There are enough proverbs to last a lifetime that could be applied here. Namely: That which does not kill us…but that has never quite served my purpose in relation to endurance sports. I tested my fortitude, not my strength. I tested my toughness not my speed. So in the end, it wasn’t my fastest day, but rather my most satisfying.

10:04:31, 30^th AG, 97^th OA.

As always, huge thanks, to my wife and best friend, Dacia. I could never have been there without her support.

Race Report: Ironman Louisville 2011

8.28.11

2.4 Mile Swim * 112 Mile Bike * 26.2 Mile Run

I don't know if last year I was disappointed after Ironman Arizona. Expectations can be a killer. It is hard to use the word disappointment when you finish any Ironman, especially when you PR. However, there were several things learned last year. I knew I had made mistakes, that I had not made the right decisions at critical points in the race. I knew this year, for this race, I needed to be smarter, cleaner and crisper in my decisions, solve the problems weeks before so that I may execute the plan.

It was weird. All week I wasn't every really nervous. Normally, I am nearly sick with anticipation. This year, I was calm, prepared. I was able to enjoy the greater Louisville area a little bit, and executed the patented 3,2,1 taper to perfection. (3 Beers 3 Nights out, 2 Beers 2 Nights out, 1 Beer 1 Night out.) I just kept going over everything I learned in Arizona and everything I have learned from my coach, Dave Ciaverella. Race morning was the same -- no nerves, just healthy anticipation. 

The swim in Louisville is different than most other Ironman races. Instead of the mass start that strikes fear in the hearts of many and sets the stage for the day with one of the great spectacles in sport, Louisville begins with a time trial-like beginning. Participants cue in a long line that eventually leads to two mats and two jumping off points. The course begins by going up the Ohio River around an island that eventually begins the trek down river to the swim exit. 

As soon as I got in the water I knew it was going to be a good swim. The Ohio, although considerably more skanky than I would prefer, was warm like bath water. Without the wetsuit my arms felt light and my elbows high in the water. After I rounded the corner to begin going downriver a guy swam past me. I quickly jumped on his feet and followed him for a good distance. I would say it was close to 1.5 miles in total that I was right on his feet.  Every time I lost him for a second, I would poke my head out of the water to find him. Luckily his arms were all tattooed up and made it easy to see him. When we got close to the exit and swimmers began to bunch up I lost his feet, but in my head I was thinking, "Thanks for the ride bro." I knew, even before getting out of the water it was going to be close to an hour, and easily my best Ironman swim ever. When I got on the first step I peaked at my watch. It read just under an hour, like one second under and hour. Having a swim like that really buoyed my confidence for the entire day. 

Swim: 1:00:48   


Transition One was pretty smooth. I didn't really face any problems, just had a really smooth go of it. One thing I made sure to do was make sure my feet were clean of any debris. I also wore socks on the bike for the first time. This may have taken an extra couple seconds to get them on, but I think well worth the additional time. 


Transition 1: 3:37


On the bike I immediately settled into my goal watts for the day. It was pretty flat for the first 10 or so miles and I was able to settle in for what would ultimately be a pretty challenging day. The course was not easy for me. I feel I am usually at my best  when I can get into a rhythm. Whether that is sustained flats or extended climbs I am at best at the end. This course was neither of these things. There were multiple short hills that really took me out of my comfort zone and required me to exceed my zone caps for just a second. The descents were not technical in any way, but for someone as light as me, weren't long enough to carry me over any of the following climbs.

At about mile 70 or so, my feet really started to hurt. I could tell my legs were ok, but the arches of my feet were killing me. I had trained all year with no problems like this, but now they definitely required me to eat into some of my mental stability. I had to dig deep, but I know it effected me. Fortunately, there were some pretty good descents that allowed me to rest them a little, but man, that is a problem I need to fix. I am not interested in that kind of pain. 

Also in the last hour and a half my nutrition started to back up a little. I had one vurp (vomit-burb) and back off the 20 minute cycle to 25 minutes for the remaining ride. Normally, I would have just tried to force it down, but experience has told me to be patient and back it off. I took a little more water in between nutrition doses and by the time I got off the bike everything felt great.

The final 8-10 miles are flat to downhill back to transition. I rode the last stretch with basically the entire group of guys that I got out of the swim with. It wasn't the time I was hoping for, but I knew I had left all I could out on the course.

Bike: 5:23:06

Transition was smooth and fast. I was able to get out of shoes in the last 500 yards of the bike and a execute a smooth cross dismount right into transition.

Transition 2: 2:47

The goal was to run 7:45 pace until mile 20 then give whatever I have left for the last 10k. I am very pleased with the way I ran this marathon. It may be hard to describe. I ran the first 1.5 miles at about 7:35 pace. This always happens. I tend to run the first mile way faster than goal pace. I knew I had to dial it back. I didn't think I was going to be able to hold 7:35 for the entire race. I wasn't even sure I was going to be able to hold 7:45s for the entire race. 


Although I was holding my goal pace pretty consistently, I was having a hard time figuring out how long the two loops after the little out-and-back at the beginning were. I played all kinds of tricks in my head trying to wrap my brain about the length and how much of it I had left. Eventually I figured out that mile 20 was going to be right before the turn around. It was there, if I had anything left, I was going to make my move. 


My nutrition, for the first time in an Ironman was spot on. I took my first dose 20 minutes in and was able to hold that consistency for the entire race. I know that was a major contributor towards my final 10k.


There was a slight rise in between miles 3.5 and 8, also between miles 15.5 and 20. My times slowed down a little on this rise, but I knew, coming down the other side I would be able to get it back. I did. At mile 19.5 I chewed up and swallowed two Excedrin. Between the caffeine and the pain relief I was like a new man. By mile 20, I knew I had enough left in the tank to kick. I was flying by people as they wilted in the heat. I know I caught 13 people in my age group. I think most of them were in the last 10k. I ran sub 6:56 or so for the final 6.2 miles. I thought it was going to be enough. It turns out, it wasn't. In the end I know I didn't leave anything on that course. I followed the plan implicitly, trusted my training and laid it all on the table.  

Run: 3:19:14

Total: 9:49:32

As always, I want to thank my family, for their support. I know they don't always understand it, but they know it's important. Thanks specifically to my father, who made the trek to Kentucky in support of this crazy lifestyle. 


I want to thank all my training partners. You push me every time we are out there. 


I want to thank Dave, my coach. The lessons you've taught me are invaluable. I wouldn't be here without you. 


Most of all, I want to thank Dacia for all the obvious reasons and some of the less obvious ones too. Thank you. 

Resurrection

Blog resurrection! Check back this week for 2011 Ironman Louisville Race Report. Should be up in a couple days.

Race Report: Ironman 70.3 Boise 2010

Ironman 70.3 Boise

6.12.10

Swim 1.2 Miles
Bike 56 Miles
Run 13.1 Miles

The real story of this race starts on April 18, 2010 at 1am. This is the morning of Ironman 70.3 New Orleans. I was supposed to be sound asleep. My alarm was to sound in 3.5 hours. Instead, I was barfing my guts out. Food poisoning. Salmonella. Crab cakes in the French Quarter two days before. It was bad, very, very bad. I crawled back in bed, and Dacia said, "Get hydrated, you'll still be able to race." She loves me. Then every hour, for the next 6 hours I ran to the toilet to expel the contents of my stomach. The venom wasn't finally purged for 4 more days, leaving my body weak and my fragile ego cracked.

After a week or two of licking my mental wounds, and getting back in a training rhythm, I knew it was time to seek some redemption. The place for this would be Boise. I knew, over the next few weeks, if I wanted a good result, I would have to bear down. I've probably never worked harder, smarter or was more consistent. Every training session had purpose. The guidance I received from my coach was invaluable.

That leads us to the Thursday before the race. Dacia and I packed up the car and drove to Boise. There was a little rain, but the forecast in Boise for race day looked good. The one thing I neglected to think about checking, was the wind report. The past two years of this race was marked with either cold temperatures or cold temperatures and rain. I didn't consider Boise was also capable of summoning the trade winds across the Treasure Valley. Those winds would be the story of race day.

Friday was marked with the usual preparations: racking my bike, making my nutrition bottles, stretching, drinking water, trying not to dwell on the impending event. We've all been there, thinking about what is going to happen the next day. Visualizing the chaos of the swim, the pedal strokes, each footstep. Preparing for the pain.

Saturday was like no other race morning. I slept in. However, the 2pm start provided some challenges. I was worried about what and when to eat. The ramifications from a wrong move could prove disastrous. Pancakes for Breakfast and some soup for lunch proved to be a smart move. Dacia and I went up to the base of the Lucky Peak Reservoir Dam around noon. The parking lot was filled with the normal business usually associated with the dawn pre-race ritual of checking tire pressures and ensuring proper body glide application. At about 12:30 we walked up the trail to the top of the damn and I began my preparation. I quickly found my Ironhead teammates who had conveniently located one of the few plots of shade in the transition area. The sun was already overhead. Preparation went quick, soon it was time for to get queued for the swim.


The water temps had been brisk and there had been a lot of talk about the previous years and their unbelievable cold temps. But on this day, after baking only a couple minutes in my wetsuit, the water temperature was a quick relief. The gun sounded and we were off.


I went out pretty hard. Usually I try to be conservative at the beginning and press toward the end, but I knew it was going to be choppy coming back in and if I was going to make any time it was going to be in the beginning, not at the end. This proved to be a pretty good strategy. I kept a good line entire time and after rounding the last turn the chop definitely picked up. I thought to myself this can't be good. I was hoping to swim under 30 minutes.  I had trained to do so, but this was my first lesson in revising my time expectations for the day. It would prove useful from this point forward. It was a good swim for me, but not great, and not what I expected.


Swim: 32:00


I got out of the water, looked at my watch, shook off the disappointment, took the top of my wetsuit off and proceeded to the strippers. First leg came off, no problem. Second leg, stuck. The guy was yelling at the chick tugging on the stuck leg, "Get it off!" I reached up to give a quick tug at my heel. "Pop!" Off it went. On to the bike. There was a small complication as my transition bag momentarily blew away. I saved it, stuffed it full of wetsuit, off I went.


T1: 3:05


Away on the bike I knew things weren't right almost immediately. I remembered on the decent from Lucky Peak two years ago hitting 50 mph. This year I was descending at 38 mph and a hot head wind was hitting me in face. Crap. This is a theme. Wind. The expletives in my head were bright and colorful. I just didn't want wind, but I overcame.  Fortunately I spent more than my fare share training on Sauvie Island, wind was something I could at least cope with.


It wasn't hot-hot yet, but I could tell it was going to get hotter. Two years ago, the course included a small climb up to the World Center for Birds of Prey. The course had changed since then and now included what amounted to a long out and back before eventually coming back to town. The course was essentially set up to where the majority was either direct headwind or severe crosswind. Although I had been pretty consistent, holding my pre race power strategy was out the window. I was being blown all over the place in the cross wind. One time the gust was so hard it slammed my knee into the top tube of my bike and I almost fell into the rocks. I saved it, but the next day Dacia asked, "Where did you get the bruise?"


It was getting hotter and by the turn around I knew I would only have about a 6 mile section where I would get a tailwind. I thought a lot of people would use this to rest and prepare to face the wind again. I knew I would have to make a move after the turn. I did, and passed at least three guys in my age group I didn't see again. When we lost the tailwind I just tried to be as conservative as I could without loosing any age group places. I knew a lot of people were going to blow up their legs in the wind and if I could manage to save some strength I could catch many of them on the run. Plus, I was starting to loose my mind. The wind was getting to me.

It was a windy, hot ride and hope never to have to replicate it again.


Bike: 2:42:07



When I finally got back to transition Dacia yelled, "You're only a minute back from the next guy." I put on my socks and shoes. Off I went. It was hot.

T2: 1:29

I started out on my two mile preliminary pace. I knew I had lost a lot of fluid, it was hot. Toward the end of the bike I took in a little more water than I normally would have, but in transition my stomach was already starting to cramp. I knew that I wasn't going to be able to push the pace very much harder, but I would probably be able to hold pretty close to this pace. The first four and half miles were an exercise in complete mental focus. My stomach hurt, I was overheating, but I knew there were people in my age group I could still catch.

Finally it dawned on me to dump a cup of ice down my shorts. For whatever reason, the cramps in my stomach subsided, so did this at ever aid station from this point forward. It definitely cooled my core temp. I should have done it earlier. I finally caught my friend Jake at about mile five, he told me to keep it up and that is all the motivation I needed. I knew I wasn't going to be able to go much harder, but if I kept this pace I was going to have a good result. It was damn painful at this point but I dug deep. The last stretch down to the finish was a blur.

Run: 1:31:06

This was my first podium finish in a big race like this. I am really proud of the result, especially on such a tough day. I can't think of a tougher day. I told a friend of mine, I would rather raced an Ironman on a normal day than go through that again. I also, proved to myself I can dig deep, that I have more to give. There is a deeper reservoir.

The awards ceremony was at 10pm. Late. I was tired and had already forced down a beer, but man was it sweet standing up there. Congrats to all the Ironheads on fighting through a tremendously tough day and congrats to Bill and Kaytee on their podium finishes. Afterward, Kaytee said it was hard to reconcile her time with her age group place. I agree.

Total: 4:49:48
 
Thanks to Dave C., my coach. My success is a direct result of his advice. Period.

Finally, as always, thank you to Dacia for supporting me in this crazy sport. I couldn't achieve any of it without you.

training.

I ran across this passage today while rereading a book I, until recently, had not given very much consideration, A Separate Peace by John Knowles. In fact, it wasn't until about 50 pages in did I realize I had read previously. In any case, this specific passage stood out, especially after my run today.

every trace of energy as usual completely used up, and as I drove myself on all my scattered aches found their usual way to a profound seat of pain in my side. My lungs as usual were fed up with all this work, and from now on would only go rackingly through the motions. My knees were boneless again, ready any moment to let my lower legs telescope up into the thighs. My head felt as though different sections of the cranium were grinding into each other.

Then, for no reason at all, I felt magnificent. It was as though my body until that instant had simply been lazy, as though the aches and exhaustion were all imagined, created from nothing in order to keep me from truly exerting myself. Now my body seemed at last to say, "Well, if you must have it, here!" and an accession of strength came flooding through me. Buoyed up, I forgot my usual feeling of routine self-pity when working out, I lost myself, oppressed mind along with aching body; all entanglements were shed, I broke into the clear.

listen.

If you are not listening to this, you should be.

carl sandburg.

The first two years of my formal education were spent at Carl Sandburg Elementary School in West Valley City, UT. I think, even in Kindergarten and First Grade, I was vaguely aware that Sandburg was a writer of some kind. Now 26 years removed from those opaque days of youth, I just finished reading Sandburg's Chicago Poems. Several things struck me upside the head while reading this book.

I wonder how on earth an elementary school in the Salt Lake Valley was named after an outspoken socialist. There seems to be some incongruity in a school located in the heart of our nation's most conservative state being named after a man that was integral in the American socialist movement of the early 20th century. I mean, he was the private secretary of Eugene V. Debs! I wonder if the school board knew he was the man that wrote

Voices of dollars
And drops of blood

Could they have known?

I wonder if there was a teacher in the entire school who knew who Sandburg was and what he stood for? I am not saying definitively no one knew, but given my basic knowledge of teachers today I am pretty doubtful. I know many elementary school teachers, I doubt they have read "Chicago". I doubt they had read "Fog"

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

Finally, I wonder if, in some way, I was meant to find Sandburg more than 25 years later. I don't particularly love him as a poet, or agree with his politics. However, in some small manner, I feel connected to his words. I did go to a school named after him, although I can't believe that in any way that school embodied the name above the door. There is always some lesson in the words of poets concerned with the topics of their day. As The Great War raged on he wrote:

JAWS

SEVEN nations stood with their hands on the jaws of death.
It was the first week in August, Nineteen Hundred Fourteen.
I was listening, you were listening, the whole world was listening,
And all of us heard a Voice murmuring:
“I am the way and the light,	5
He that believeth on me
Shall not perish
But shall have everlasting life.”
Seven nations listening heard the Voice and answered:
“O Hell!”	10
The jaws of death began clicking and they go on clicking.
“O Hell!”