This is also on Facebook, but I'm putting it here so I can have a handy link to send to anybody/post on Daily Mile.
This is gonna be a long one, so if you're not interested in the mundane details of an aspiring triathlete's weekend, then I suggest you move on.
This weekend I raced the Lonestar Ironman 70.3 triathlon in Galveston, TX. For those unaware, a 70.3 is exactly half the distance of a full Ironman, which is what I am training to complete at the end of June in Coeur d'alene, Idaho. This was my second time entering a race of this distance, the first one being last June in Lawrence, KS. I will occasionally reference that race for the purposes of comparison.
Leading up to this weekend, I had decided to cut out alcohol from my life, so I could maximize my last few weeks of training and reduce the possibility of getting sick. Well wouldn't you know it, I got sick anyways and headed down to Galveston with a fun chest cold and barking cough.
Temps for race day were supposed to be warm, but not too bad, and the wind was expected to be mild. We arrived late Friday night and got a few hours of sleep before heading down for packet pickup and the "mandatory" pre-race meeting(All they do is go over the rules, and nobody actually takes attendance so nothing is really enforced).
Del and I both hadn't swam in a while, definitely not in open water, and definitely not with our wetsuits. After the meeting, we suited up and plunged into the surprisingly pleasant waters in the bay between Galveston Island and the mainland. The race buoys were set up for the race already, and the the 1.2 mile swim course looked, as usual, intimidatingly long. I was pretty comfortable with my form and the short swim went...well.....swimmingly. My biggest problem in my last 70.3 swim was that I got overexcited and was basically hyperventilating for the entire distance. My focus for this race was to remain calm and keep my breathing under control and try to find a rhythm. This is often difficult because you are surrounded by other swimmers who are either faster than you and swimming over you, slower than you and in front of you, or swim your speed and don't sight enough, which basically means that everybody is bumping into everybody, throwing elbows, getting kicked, and so on and so forth.
After our exploratory swim, we hopped on the bikes and spun our legs a little bit to stay loose. My friend Delaware, who also raced this weekend is in the middle of a cross country cycling trip, and you can visit his blog here. http://chatter.chrisdyroff.com/ He was concerned that his lack of running and swimming, and riding many miles on a different bike than he would race on would cause him difficulties with the race, more on that later.
We all showered up and got settled into our rooms, and then we went out to eat at a place called Mario's which had some pretty decent italian food, and was completely mobbed, as you may expect on a race weekend(athletes carb load before races). Good food, good service!
A quick note about Galveston....this town was torn a new asshole by Hurricane Ike in 2008, and on the surface appears to have rebuilt significantly. However if you look closer, you can occasionally see buildings that still have the windows boarded up and are abandoned. You also sometimes notice a plot of land that doesn't quite look right, until you realize there used to be a building there. Overall, the city was bustling with tourism and appears to be thriving.
Race day! I catch a ride down to the race site with Del and Jess and we set up our transition zones. This is where you go in between the swim, bike, and run to change clothes and gear up for the next portion of the race. My transitions were pretty slow and inefficient last year, and while it wasn't a top priority, I was hoping to at least improve some this year. Del and I then headed down to the dock where the swim would begin and got in our last minute bathroom breaks. The swim waves began to line up according to age group/gender. I was in the Male 30-34 age group, Wave #4, which was to hit the water 15 minutes after the pros.
1.2 MILE SWIM LEG
Our wave was up....a few minutes before our scheduled start time, we jumped off the dock into the water and began lining up behind two buoys which represented the start line. For the past 15 minutes I have been thinking calm, serene, and positive thoughts. I tell myself...This is going to be fun....you're going to get banged around a bit.....you will keep your breathing under control....you WILL find your rhythm......swim aggressively or get clobbered by the person behind you. I am calm. We're floating around with about 30 seconds to go and I say out loud to my fellow racers, "All right guys, let's mix it up....throw a few elbows, make some friends out there!" This comment elicits some hearty laughs from many of them, who apparently had been giving themselves the same pre-swim pep talk and were just trying to relax a bit. In the end, this is supposed to be fun, and as many times as we can remind ourselves of that, the better off we are.
The horn sounds....chaos. It takes a few minutes for the pack to begin to spread out, but as far as I can tell, I'm in the middle of the pack. I begin my stroke and just start going. Same as last year, lots of contact, but this year it doesn't bother me...I'm ready for it. I keep my breathing steady, I sight regularly, and I am SWIMMING. Last year I remember being passed by the fast swimmers in the waves behind me. This year, I was startled to find myself passing the slow swimmers from the waves in FRONT of me. Lots of them. I'm starting to think that maybe I'm halfway decent at this. Long story short, the swim went amazingly well. I exited the water feeling strong, confident, and like I was actually racing, not just desperately trying to finish. 41:41, which is faster than last year.
TRANSITION 1
Pretty smooth and decently efficient, but my #1 mistake was that I forgot to stretch before getting on the bike. This would prove bothersome later on.
56 MILE BIKE
I got on the bike and started spinning, a few twisty turny roads to get out to Seawall Blvd, which is where the majority of the ride took place. Once I hit the main road, I cranked up to my usual average speed, 17.5 mph and cruised there. I was riding hard, but not too hard. Initially I was passing more people than I was being passed. Eventually, the really fast riders began to blow by me as if I were sitting still. No big deal, it happens. It felt like we were riding into a headwind, which was exciting because that meant after the turnaround, we'd have a tailwind and I might end up averaging 19-20 mph, which would give me a sub 3 hour bike split. At the turnaround, however, I realized that it was just a crosswind and that the ride back was going to be just as difficult as the ride out. Delaware passed me shortly after the halfway point, apparently having no trouble whatsoever because of the switch from his touring bike to his tri bike. As he passed, he yelled that I would likely catch him on the running leg and still beat him. Shortly after that, my right knee began to experience great discomfort and I was forced to stop and stretch it out thoroughly. I got back on the bike and finished out the ride, feeling decent, but still averaging just 17.5 mph. 3:11:56, slower than last year.
TRANSITION 2
Rolled in and got to work switching over to my running gear. I felt disorganized and forgetful, but chalked it up to nerves. Wanted to make sure I didn't forget anything crucial, and I also had to reapply sunblock. When I was finally satisfied that I was ready to run, I started jogging towards the transition exit, definitely getting that old familiar feeling that my feet weighed 100 pounds.
13.1 MILE RUN
I am immediately upset because the bottles on my race belt are jostling around and there's nothing I can do to fix it. I can't just ditch them because that's against race rules, and I kinda need the stuff that's in them. I also am feeling a lot of numbness in my legs, but I figure once I get into a rhythm they'll loosen up and I'll be fine. I also regret not hitting a portapotty while in transition because I REALLY have to pee. Also....it was FREAKING HOT!.
The run course is 4 laps around Moody Gardens(a waterfront park for families, kids, old people) and has some nice views of the island and also runs right along the water at one point. I make it 3/4ths of the way through my first lap, keeping a sub 9:00 pace pretty well, until I finally have to stop and relieve myself. I waited for what seemed like an eternity to get an available john, but finally got in, did my thing, and then hit the road again. Time had passed. My average pace was now a 9:22. It would not get any faster from that point on. I found that I could run at a decent pace, but only for about a quarter mile, at which point I would either break form and slow down, or stop entirely. In training, you refer to having "good legs" or "decent legs". I had "no legs" whatsoever. Something was terribly wrong and I just couldn't move. My pace kept climbing, and I could maintain it for a period, but then I'd stop and it would keep climbing. By the 3rd lap, it was up to 10:25, which would put me over my 2 hour time goal for the run split.
In addition to my legs blowing up, I was having nutritional issues. Nothing I was consuming was sitting well, and half the time I felt like it was just going to come up anyways. I got lazy on my carb/protein intake, and unfortunately also on my electrolyte intake. At aid stations, I'd have one swallow of water and then splash the rest on my head/face in a desperate attempt to stay cool. I was taking ice cold sponges two at a time and wringing them out on myself. Nothing was going right, and I was just getting slower. Delaware lapped me on my 3rd lap, right before he completed his last lap and continued on to the finish line. His final time was an incredible 5:35:58. His lack of running during his cross country voyage did not cause him any problems during his race, and he absolutely crushed it!
My last lap was utter misery. I struggled greatly, half the time just wanting to stop, sit down, and take a nap. I knew a sub 2:00 run split was out of reach, but I still was hanging on to the hope of an overall PR. That is really the only thing that kept me from walking the entire last lap. I finally rounded the corner and had the finish line in my sight. In previous races I've done, that moment when your prize is finally visible, no amount of fatigue could ever stop me from making an all-out sprint to finish my day. Today was different. I had no reserve....nothing in the tank. I wanted to finish strong, but I was completely unable to do so, and trudged towards and across the finish line. Final run time: 2:11:30...faster than last year.
Overall time - 6:16:38....a PR by almost 6 minutes.
Last year, when I finished the 70.3 in Kansas, a funny thing happened when I crossed the finish line. For reasons unclear to me, I cried. Tears of joy, excitement, relief, exhaustion, amazing achievement, or just because I was so overwhelmed with life? Who knows. I had myself a nice little cry, grinning like an asshole the entire time.
This year, there were no tears. There was nothing. A few steps past the finish line and I was already contemplating just collapsing where I stood and taking a nap, damn the spectators. Oh, but I have to get my finisher's medal first....so I took a few more steps, bent down so the girl could place it over my head, nearly unable to straighten back up afterwards. I stumble forward a few more steps and a man in a red shirt comes up to me and we hold the following conversation:
Red Shirt - "Are you feeling ok?"
Me - "Yeah, I think so."
RS - "Do you need medical assistance?"
Me - "I don't know....what have they got?"
RS- "Well, that depends....what do you need?"
Me - "I don't know. I guess I'm ok"
In retrospect, the word that completely and accurately describes how I felt is "delirious".
I continue walking out of the finisher's area, where I run into Jake, Taras, Jess, and Delaware. They congratulate me and ask if I need help walking, to which I reply that I can make it on my own. First thing first......I really have to pee. Jake helps me find a restroom. Unnecessary details to follow...if you're not interested, skip to the last sentence. I go to pee, and I can't. Not a drop. I try for about 10 minutes and then give up. I realize I'm dehydrated.
I meet back up with my friends who proceed to force feed me water, mostly on account of my complete lack of awareness of my surroundings and inability to form complete or coherent thoughts and sentences. After 4-5 bottles of water, I get some pizza. It tastes utterly delicious and was completely satisfying, but something still just isn't right. I'm still hyperventilating, nearly an hour after I finished running. I'm anxious and still slightly delirious. Somebody suggests that I maybe visit the med tent to see what they think. I already know exactly what is going on as Unit 1 of Pathophysiology, Fluid & Electrolyte balance, and Blood pH starts to fill my head with explanations for all my symptoms. Hyponatremia. Yet apparently I'm a stubborn asshole who is more fascinated by what's happening to me than I am concerned for my well-being.
I am finally convinced that I should forego my post-race massage and go for some Q+A at the med tent. I show up and they immediately recommend an IV to restore my fluids. They sit me down next to another nice lady who is getting the same thing. The nurse comes over, asks some questions, and goes to get the kit. For some inexplicable reason, she tries to stick me in some tiny vein that I don't even know the name of, instead of my enormous median cubital vein(that's the one they use when you donate blood, in the crook of your elbow). In any case, it's not working. She's digging around with a needle in my arm and it hurts like hell. I've never been bothered by needles before...ever. It doesn't hurt much on my pain scale. The strangest thing happened as she was probing my forearm with a sharp piece of metal.....for the first time since my childhood, I cried as a result of pain. Perhaps it was a combination of anxiety, fear, being overwhelmed, or the dehydration, but the tears started flowing and I was having a hard time holding them back. I am almost 30, a reasonably "tough" guy, and something as simple as dehydration has nearly reduced me to a blubbering mess.
They give up on the possibly nonexistent vein, and decide to use the median cubital. Wow, great idea....why didn't you just use the really awesome, huge, easy-to-find vein in the first place?? I'm not mad. These are volunteers who have taken time out of their day to help athletes fulfill their goals. They set me up with a bag of NaCl saline and got the fluids flowing. I sit there and sip on Gatorade, chatting a bit with the lady next to me. Occasionally one of my friends pops in to see how I'm doing and keep me company(You guys are awesome, btw). After the first bag finishes, a volunteer asks how I'm feeling. I don't remember my exact words, but it apparently was not a satisfactory response and I was immediately hooked up to another bag. I also requested some albuterol for my mild exercise-induced asthma because my chest was feeling tight, which they happily provided! After the 2nd bag finished(2 liters of fluid total) I really was feeling much better, and most importantly, I had to pee really bad, which is a very good sign. I was released and sent on my happy way. The remainder of the weekend consisted of packing up, saying goodbye to Jake and Del(who are continuing from there on their cross-country cycling tour) and sleeping the majority of the 13 hour drive home.
The conclusions I've come away with from this weekend are varied. I have a lot to work on. I have to figure out my nutrition and hydration systems, because my currents systems left me nearly incapacitated and would certainly have spelled failure in June. Remember that this weekend is only HALF of the distance I'll have to cover in Idaho this summer. I have worries, but I remain confident. One thing I was reminded of this weekend, is that no matter how prepared you are mentally and physically, these races can utterly humble you. All it takes is a few things to go wrong...a chest cold, unexpected high temperatures, and a lackadaisical approach to nutrition, and suddenly you're in danger of getting a big fat DNF on your results sheet. In spite of all of this, I know that if I maintain my training and do things smart, the Ironman will be a success. I WILL do this.
Thanks for reading!
