Bike and Transition 2
If you had been reading my posts leading up to this event, you already know that two of my primary concerns today were my nutrition and hydration. My half ironman in April resulted in a visit to the med tent and 2 bags of saline via IV, all because I hadn't taken care of my food and water intake. Coming into this race, I had a plan. I also had serious doubts about this plan, mostly because I hadn't technically put that plan to the test in training. It was all theoretically sound, but every human body is different, and without training-tested results, it was all guesswork.
As I started rolling away from transition, the first thing on my mind was to get some food and fluid in my body. Nutrition and hydration aren't issues during the swim because you can't really nom on a Powerbar with your face underwater. Some people touted the water as being clean enough to go ahead and take a gulp during the swim, but I didn't necessarily trust those people and I refrained. Besides.....who knows if the swimmer right in front of you has decided his or her wetsuit just wasn't quite warm enough and just let nature solve that problem.
Anyways, once on the bike...first things first....powerbar and get the fluids in. I carefully opened the wrapper using a technique I perfected during the Cottonwood 200, keeping both hands on the handlebars, and then sank into my aerobars holding the food and the bar with the same hand, occasionally dipping my head lower to chomp. With the aerodrink bottle right there, it was easy to wash down the very thick and chewy, protein-rich powerbar with the gatorade I had preloaded the bottle with. I finish it and take another nice gulp to wash it down...success. Now to focus on finding a nice easy rhythm and start ticking off the miles.
OH FUCK!
I immediately realize that I am not wearing my race belt, which holds my bib number. I remember seeing it in the bag. I remember Mr. Man Ass reminding me that it was sitting on the ground by my feet, as if it seemed like something I would forget. I remember politely thanking him for the reminder, but at the same time silently discarding the advice...there was no fucking way I was going to forget my bib number. That'd be just plain stupid.
...
I then distinctly remember NOT putting it on. Ratfarts. I can't remember if I left it on the ground where Ass told me it was, or if I absentmindedly stuffed it back in my transition bag and left it on my chair. If it was in the bag, it would remain there until I finished my bike portion. If it was on the ground, maybe a volunteer would see it and somehow know how to get it to me? I consider turning around to go back and get it, but I'm already 5-10 miles in, and I'm not even sure they LET you do that. I then start listing off race rules in my head. "During the bike portion, all racers must display their bib number on their back so that it is clearly visible to race officials." Shit. It's just a matter of time before some angry official on a motorcycle rolls up, sees that I have no bib number, and dis-fucking-qualifies me. What a way to DNF!
I ride on, contemplating my fate. The miles pass. Delaware goes FLYING by me sooner than I expect. He apparently had a very good swim and a speedy transition...and he's wearing HIS bib number. I would see him once more before I was running, and that was on the first out and back section of lap one. He looks strong...and to no surprise because, after all, he did Bike Across The Freaking Country this year(http://chatter.chrisdyroff.com/). Read his blog from start to finish, I highly recommend it.
The miles pass...I see race officials pass me. They say nothing. Maybe it'll be ok afterall...besides, my race number is visible on my bike, my helmet, and it's written in black marker on both of my arms. Maybe I'll just make a point to find my race belt before I start running.
Now that I'm actually convinced I'll be allowed to continue racing, I'm back into "let's race smart" mode. I'm not burning up the road by any stretch of the imagination. I'm taking my sweet ass time riding comfortably and trying to conserve as much energy for the run as possible.
And I'm trying to make myself pee. Soon. Advice Delaware had given me concerning hydration: If you haven't peed by the 3rd hour of your ride, you need to drink fluid until you do. As I said before...I've felt severe dehydration...it's not fun, and on a day like this it would spell disaster, complete failure, and possibly a medical emergency.
My nutrition strategy is as follows: Powerbar at the start(done) and halfway point. Perpetuem(carb and protein powder mixed with water to form a "drink" that has a similar consistency to pancake batter) every 15-20 minutes. Electrolyte tablet every half hour. At aid stations, I will alternate between grabbing water and gatorade. I have used Perpetuem before and it hasn't let me down, but I'm still not sure it will sit well on a day this long. One thing I am certain of is that I will be DONE with solid food with no less than 30 minutes of biking left to go. I don't need anything rattling around in my stomach when I start running. Worries and concerns abound.
I start to notice that my stomach is just feeling bloated, especially after sipping on the pancake batter. I've heard about racers who have their GI tract shut down and they either throw up from all of their food backing up, or they end up in the hospital because they don't absorb any nutrients or fluid. These worst-case scenarios play through my head over and over as I enter the hilly section of the first lap.
Lucky for me, Coeur d'Alene, Idaho is one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen. Once we hit this section of the bike course, my worries are at least temporarily replaced by awe and admiration for the stupefyingly beautiful scenery I am surrounded by. At several points, we are climbing horribly steep hills with huge dropoffs directly off the side of the road and sweeping views of the lake, trees, and blue skies. The legs hurt, but it's easy to ignore. Then the climb ends and we enter white-knuckle descents where one could easily reach 40+ miles per hour if they weren't a chicken-shit rider like myself. I'll ride the breaks and NOT smear my flesh across the road, thank you very much! The course turns away from the lake, but the steep climbs, hair-raising descents, and beautiful scenery persist.
Each aid station is full of happy, smiling, supportive, cowbell-banging, AMAZING volunteers. I could write a whole post about how fantastic the support was for this race, both from the volunteers and the regular folks who just came out to watch. Old couples sitting out in front of their house with lawn chairs and a stereo...blasting Michael Jackson tunes. People dressed up in ridiculous costumes and dancing around like idiots, solely to entertain/distract racers with tired legs and worried faces. Simply the best support I've ever seen for a race. Kudos to Coeur d'Alene for fully embracing this event.
Then so it was, about 2 hours into my ride...roughly 30 miles down and another 80 to go, that it happened. With no warning and completely unexpected...I needed to urinate. I had never in my entire life been so happy to have this sensation. The instant I felt it, I uncontrollably let loose a cry of joy, complete with a fist pump. "YEAH!!!!!" I don't know if any other riders saw or heard me. There's no possible way they could have known that I was on the verge of happy tears because I had to micturate. At the next aid station, I gleefully rolled up to a porta-john. "I'm going to PEE!" is what I might have announced to everyone present if I had been unable to control my inner monologue, but I was able to...only just so. This felt like the most important triumph of my day. Immediately all of my worries of my food and fluid intake not being absorbed, ending up passed out/vomiting on the side of the road.....washed away by some of the most beautifully clear pee I've ever seen. I am well-hydrated. I might have gotten it tattooed on my arm at that moment. Exiting the potty like a champion, head held high, I strode back towards my bike, stretched briefly, remounted, and rode off with a huge smile on my face.
I'm going to make it. And friends, I surely did. After peeing at mile 30, I again peed at mile 40, mile 60, and mile 75.
After the first 56 mile lap, my legs began to really feel the punishment. I was starting to feel sluggish and my pace dropped somewhat. I was not worried though, speed was not my goal for the remainder of the day. I was mainly concerned with conservation and longevity.
Shortly after the halfway point, all riders can access their special needs bag. This is where you can put extra food, drinks, clothes, or whatever you might want for the 2nd half of the ride. I had a bagel with PB+J, an extra bottle of Perpetuem, and an extra tube in case I had to change a flat on the first lap(luckily, I had NO mechanical difficulties whatsoever the entire ride). As I pulled up to special needs, a volunteer already had my bag in hand and flagged me down(someone up the road had radioed that I was approaching). She had everything out of my bag, ready to hand it to me. She held my bike while I chowed on my bagel, took my empty bottles, replaced them with my full bottles, and offered words of encouragement. Her name was Andrea and she was awesome. She has done something like 8 Ironmans and was volunteering at this one just because. Just overjoyed. Her and me. I still can't believe how amazing these volunteers are. I finish my bagel, stretch out again, and hit the road as I repeatedly thank her for her time and effort.
The second lap was very similar to the first...the hills were hard, the descents were wicked scary, and my legs were getting more and more tired. I tried not to focus on how they were going to feel when I started running. I had set a goal that I was going to try to enjoy every moment of this race, and in the midst of the hills of the second lap, I began to do that. Well....I had some help.
Three college aged guys. In various colored banana-hammock undies. With vuvuzelas. Running alongside riders. Up the steepest god-damned hill of the entire course.
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!
Oh. My. God. I lost my shit. This was the greatest thing I had seen all day. I applauded them and thanked them for being completely awesome as I topped out the climb, barely aware of the searing pain in my quads, hamstrings, and calves. My mood stayed high for the remainder of the ride. The hills came and went, but the smile on my face stayed as I realized I was in the middle of Fulfilling A Dream. How often can you literally and truthfully live in the moment as you fulfill a dream? I'm guessing it's not a common occurrence for most, and some people may never get to do this in their entire lives. I'm sure my teeth were splattered with bugs by mile 112, because I was stupid happy and grinning a grin that would break your grandmother's dentures.
The last 10-20 miles of the bike flew by in a blur of thanking happy volunteers, laughing quietly to myself, and loving life with an intensity that I've only felt a handful of times. Somehow, against all odds, during the biggest race of my life, EVERYTHING was going according to plan. Well, except for my missing bib number which ended up not being a big deal at all.
Final bike time: 112 miles in 6:56:43. Average of 16.13 mph. My goal was to ride between 6.5 and 7 hours.
I rolled back towards transition happier than ever. I saw my family again as I rolled up to the dismount line where a volunteer took Lucille and went to rerack her for me. Again....amazing volunteers! I strode into the transition area, a little wobbly on my legs, but with purpose. I grab my bike-to-run bag, a cup of water, and I hit the john again(Still very well hydrated!!!). I enter the changing tent and sit down. A volunteer immediately approaches me and asks if I need anything. "Well I'm very glad you asked! It seems that during T1....." I proceed to tell him the story of my Swim to Bike transition, the Man Ass, and the missing bib number with full orchestration and five-part harmony and he stopped me right there and said, "Kid, do you want me to go look in your bag to see if you left it in there?" I said "Yes, please...that would be amazing." He runs off and I begin removing my cycling gear and replacing it with my running gear, I take some more time to stretch...he returns and sadly admits that he was unable to find it. I inquire as to whether there is a Lost and Found in transition for items that have been left lying around. He states that he does not know, but then offers to bring my bag to me, on the off chance that he missed it. I reply that I would very much appreciate that. He runs off again while I continue to prepare myself mentally and physically to run a MARATHON...something I've only ever done with what I like to call "FRESH LEGS". He returns with my bag. I eagerly open it up and I see my red hoodie, my flip flops, my street clothes.....hmmmm.....I tell him that what I am missing is in my Swim to Bike transition bag, and that he has mistakenly brought me my Morning Clothes Bag(no explanation will be given...the important point....WRONG BAG). He instantly realizes his mistake and SPRINTS off to retrieve the correct bag. He is back in an instant with the bag, which I open and immediately find my race belt with my BIB NUMBER! Happy Day! I thank the volunteer profusely and I might have offered to name my first born after him. The joke is on him though...I didn't get his name, and no woman in her right mind would ever willingly procreate with me! Sucker.
I double check EVERYTHING....I have what I need to begin running. I exit the changing tent and head to the sunscreen station. I forgot to mention THIS delightful aspect of the race. I hit the sunscreen station before I began biking as well, but I'll tell you about it now.
The sunblock station consists of 4 or 5 volunteers, all wearing gloves, with industrial sized JARS of sunblock that contain plunger-type nozzles that you would expect to dispense ketchup or mustard at McDonald's. As I approach this station, my father's sense of humor being alive and well in my soul, I state out loud, "Hello, I'd like to be slathered in mayonnaise, if you please!" I think I got a giggle from the lady, but she PPBBBBTTHTHTHTH squirts out a loving pile of the stuff onto her hands and Goes. To. Town. Arms. Legs. Neck. Face. Ears. The works.
I'm ready. I'm about to tackle the final challenge in my yearlong quest to become an Ironman. I have a water bottle. I am coated in SPF 50 bazillion. I begin to trot towards the transition exit. My brain is in full-tilt self-diagnostic mode.
"Body parts...report in! Arms! Check. Stomach! Check. Feet! Check. Legs!"
"Legs! Report in! What is your current status?"
I cross the timing mat and take the first step of a marathon.
Do I have any legs left?
To be continued...
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