Three years ago (2015) I started off on a half-baked quest to do something EPiC (click HERE), but it turned to be an EPiC disappointment instead (click HERE). The next year that EPiC disappointment escalated into an EPiC disaster (click HERE).
This year, thank god… that original half-baked quest was finally realized.
Leading into 2018’s Hudson Valley full length triathlon (Ironman distance) through 2017 and 2018 I’ve had to confront some very different obstacles and challenges in seeing this goal through to the end. Besides all the new hardware in my left hand, I’ve started a new and very physical job through the week, had the wind taken out of my sails (click HERE) and, truthfully, I just haven’t had the same amount of time to train as I have in the past. That’s not to say I’ve slacked any, as anyone who knows me will also know that I work hard (as well as over-commit myself to other things hard as Kelly will be quick to point out), and I do not take training lightly – ever.
In fact, I think the quality of my training is actually very decent given I have largely strayed away from the “herd mentality” and therefore taken over my own training plan and race strategy. However, even one and two years down the road, well, let’s just say that completing the same amount of distances and lead-up training time simply wasn’t possible this year.
I absolutely did the best I could with the time I had.
It is what it is.
While it may not have been my crowning achievement in triathlon, I am still very proud of my accomplishment and, ultimately, I learned a great deal about myself through this entire process.
Of course, I would be remiss if I didn’t also attempt to regale you then with the official final closing chapter to this whole quest to be a two-time Ironman ordeal (yes, I genuinely think of the last three years’ worth getting to the starting line this year as an “ordeal” in every painful Viking sense of the word), so grab yourself a beverage of some sort and a handful of Gummies and let me try to recount for you how it all went down this past weekend.
(Friday, July 6th – 3:45am)
I had already begun feeling the nerves for about a week previous to this morning, but waking up bright and early on Friday morning and seeing this in my inbox:
Well, let’s just say that the nervous anxiety turned more into desperate feeling of “oh shit!”
The plan was to get an early start in the morning and make some progress towards our destination. We couldn’t check into our hotel 3:00pm (something about a cot) and the athlete orientation was at 2:00pm and then bike check begins at blah blah blah … we all arrived safely and early, had a quaint drive through the “rolling hills” around Rosendale, snacked at a downtown park and, dropped Lucille off at transition and by 6:41pm we were asleep, lights out, in the hotel room; our plan perfectly executed.
No fatalities.
Swim: 1:10:38
Pace: 1:46/100m
Rank: 2/16
I have to say, the girls were fantastic.
As planned, we were all up and ready to go within minutes and I was chowing down one of her special Keto-breakfast sandwiches and a banana. Shortly afterwards, we were packed up in the car by 4:27am – three minutes ahead of schedule.
Again, no fatalities.
I gotta say, so far so good.
On route, we stopped at the local hick market by the roadside and picked up a coffee and, presto!, just as Kelly had anticipated we had we arrived bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at the race site promptly at 5:00am for first crack at a parking spot. Because, hey, who doesn’t like an extra hour to sit around and stress pre-race, amiright?
Once my coffee was done, I figured I should get moving and as the girls napped in the car, I started to get myself in pre-race mode and began to set up Lucille in transition and just basically whiled away some of the pre-race downtime listening to tunes on my iPod and trying not to shit my pants.
I do also want to note here for the record that usually when I roll into transition I tend to feel a bit like a triathlon hobo. I lust over and sometimes get intimidated by other triathletes with fancy and more expensive equipment. I realize this is a ridiculous thing to feel but, hey, that’s just how it goes anyway.
Anyway, this time around Lucille had been decked out with her new fancy carbon fibre Easton race wheels that I had purchased last summer and have been waiting to use. These babies have a new Vittoria Corsa 25mm rear tire rear and a 22mm Continental Sprinter in front with only ONE ride in them and Ultegra cassette components.
Translation: THEY LOOK BADASS.
Now, suddenly, walking into transition was more like this:
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At least it was in my mind anyway.
I should also perhaps mention here for the record, that on this particular morning I was listening specifically to ‘Into the Frey’, the haunting theme music to the 2012 Liam Neeson film ‘The Grey’.
Don’t ask me why the theme music to a movie about a guy who gets hunted down in the Arctic by a vicious pack of hungry, starving wolves gets me all revved up in competition mode, but there you have it folks …
I am a unique and beautiful snowflake.
I remember when I used to listen to things like ZZ Top, Motley Crue and Aerosmith to get me all amped up with and now my pre-race motivational playlists contain things like ‘Con te partirò’ by Andrea Bocelli and ‘Two Thousand Places at Once’ by the Polyphoic Spree and, yes, the theme to ‘The Grey’.
I must be getting old or something.
Anyway, it was announced at the previous afternoon’s orientation that this was to be considered as a non-wetsuit legal race according to USAT regulations as the water was a balmy 83°.
It would be like swimming in bath water.
This excited me.
I was already playing with the notion of ditching the wetsuit altogether so that official announcement made my decision making process that much easier.
I mean, I love my wetsuit n’ all but, hey, if we’re going to be Ironman then let’s be real ass-kicking Ironmen …
Amifuckingright?
It’s July after all.
Anyway, the buoys hadn’t been set up in the water yesterday but the map made the route look pretty simple enough – four counter clockwise loops around four buoys through “the pristine spring-fed Williams Lake” and another 400–500m jog to transition.
Simple, right?
The problem was, what we could envision was supposed to be there in our brains we just couldn’t see as the first of the buoys – a bright neon yellow buoy no less – was completely obstructed by the blinding glare from the early morning neon yellow sunrise coming over Joppenbergh Mountain.
No shit.
You couldn’t see shit without also burning out your retinas.
But I digress…
The swim was an open water start with the men for both the half and full distances starting together (the women three minutes afterwards) and it wasn’t long after wading into the water that I had lined myself up smack dab in front and center of the group, stared into the blinding sunrise where, apparently, one of two mysterious buoys awaited us, and waited for the official countdown to begin…
…and then I peed.
Yup.
I pissed myself right then and there amongst the small pod of other athletes lightly treading in the pristine spring-fed waters of Williams Lake.
It was glorious.
Who said triathlon wasn’t sexy?
Seconds after that, the horn sounded to start the official beginning of the race and I was furiously paddling in the general direction of where I had hoped I would eventually find a bright yellow swim buoy. Thing is, everybody else seemed to have their own idea on where in dawn’s early light that buoy was so, a medium group of about six swimmers at the front took off in different directions which led to a lot of early confusion.
In short, it was a clusterfuck.
“Swim to where…??
…to what?”
WHERE?!!”
Other swimmers (I heard) just froze right there altogether at the starting line.
Fuck it…
I made a general bearing the direction of a few other swimmers and starting heading towards what I thought what as good a spot as any to find a buoy, namely, directly into the sun. It’s wasn’t long afterwards before I (and a few others I expect) I realized I was cutting too deeply into the loop and would have to veer out again 200-300m to arrive at what I very thankfully made out to be the first bright yellow buoy in the distance.
My apologies to any other athletes that may have been too trusting me let me site for them.
Oops.
I arrived at the first buoy with about three other swimmers and we snaked around it counter-clockwise, looked into the horizon where we knew the second buoy was supposed to be, and….
…mist.
Lots of early morning mist rising off the warm waters of the lake. Great that we were now swimming away from the sun n’ all but, shit…
Here we go again.
And so once again I swam into the unknown and again I ended up too far outside the loop and had to veer myself back in again another 300-400m once I was able to pick out the buoy. I tried not to get too frustrated as one thing was going very well, my arms and shoulders felt great, my stroke felt comfortable and everything seemed to be turning over rather well and I started to drop the other few swimmers around me.
I was pleased.
There were no issues siting the next two buoys and I used this opportunity to just keep my pace on point and “stay within myself” as I’ve practiced many times before on long swims. Of course, there’s the other popular “no bubbles” mantra that I have perfected over countless hours of drilling over the past three years.
Train to race, and then race how you train.
Oh yeah, I peed again too so my hydration was definitely on point as well.
Yay.
As per usual, I found myself more or less swimming by myself, just behind the main scrum of faster swimmers and, well, everyone else. As I rounded the fourth buoy, it was back trying to site into the sun again an I’d like to say that I made a better effort at arriving at it this time having been here once before, but I can’t…
I was off by another 200-300m but, this time, from the other direction.
Shitsticks!
And then I did it again at the second buoy which was still hidden by the morning mist.
I could only hope that everyone else was having as much difficulty.
Seriously, here’s the grizzly evidence I (hold your judgement):
Ugly, right?
Seriously, a blind pelican could site better than that.
Mental Note to Self: More practice siting in open water.
Anyway, by the time I started my third loop the sun had shifted enough behind the mountain (or tree, or whatever) enough that, low and behold, I could make out the buoy. By now everything was feeling well into “go mode” and, of course, I had a near empty bladder now to boot, so I decided to increase my pace a bit.
Also by this time, I was now catching up to and passing other swimmers completing their own loops, albeit, behind me. It wasn’t much of a problem to navigate around them, of course, just another day swimming at the Port Colborne YMCA with The Harpy if you ask me, but it was no longer simply a strait run to the buoys either. Now that neither the sun nor mist played a factor any longer, I just kept turning things over smoothly and before you know it I had completed my four loops and was heading to shore.
Here’s am exciting video of me exiting the water:
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Reeeeeal chill, man.
Now it must also be noted here for the record, that transition was still another 400-500m dash over a shredded wood chip and paved tarmac so that helps explain a little about my hefty swim time result and slower than expected pace.
(That’s my excuse anyway)
Bike: 06:04:08
Avg. Pace: 28.1 kph
Rank: 2/16
By the time I made it to transition, it was a complete hive of activity with other triathletes all milling about and setting up. It was nice to have a few cheers of course but, seriously people, get the heck out of the way!
Having said that, it must also go on record here that my transition skills are more than a little slacking so any distraction that might have been caused by other traffic would be mute. Even though I was doing nothing more than drying off my feet and getting into my cycling gear, I’m pretty sure I could have even made myself a little campfire breakfast as well given how slowly everything seemed at the time (Official T1 time: 2:46:95). You see, unique to this race (as least to me anyway) was the inclusion of a little personal stool upon to sit while you do whatever you like while you’re there.
So, yeah, I’m taking advantage of that shit for sure.
Problem is though, you also get comfortable.
Regardless, once my tootsies were dry, socked and I was otherwise ready to go, I wished my family and friends goodbye and made my way to the bike mount line to begin 180 kilometers of ridiculousness. I was the only one at the bike mount line at the time and it then became very clear it was going to be a very long and lonely bike ride; more or less, exactly what I had trained for having done 95% of my long weekend rides solo.
Let me try and put you in that particular head space as I saw it at that moment.
The majority of the athletes I started with are long gone having only needed to complete two laps of the swim, and the only completion in my own full triathlon category was ten minutes up the road already.
In other triathlons I have participated in, there is almost certainly a guarantee that there will be other athletes around with whom to share the race course and push each other against. That’s racing and that’s what I wanted to experience today but at the moment, there was really nothing left to do but put my head down and give chase to whoever it was that next down the road and that’s exactly what I was preparing myself to do.
Push.
After all, I hadn’t purchased new race wheels for nothing.
About 200m out into the bike course is where the first of a few “Race Day Debacles” (minus the invisible buoys that is) occurred:
My bike computer wasn’t working.
I stopped to make a quick adjustment but that didn’t seem to work either so I just made the decision, ‘fuck it, we’re doing this thing blind‘.
I mean, I wasn’t totally blind as my Garmin was still tracking my distance and important race data but I just wouldn’t be able to constantly see my speed which is something I like to reference regularly while riding (my Garmin isn’t set up to view my speed on the main screen). This wasn’t really any big deal, of course, as it was just one less thing to worry about while riding but, c’mon, one likes to know these things when they’re zipping along open spans of roads, especially given my new race wheels.
(Note: I did manage to get myself up to 65.9kph at one point)
Essentially, the bike course was two loops up to and around “the majestic Ashokan Reservoir”.
What this really means is that there were a sweet shit ton of hills to contend with up to, around, and of course, back down again to transition and then, yup, out you go again for lap #2. Now I could have sworn that when I first discovered this race two years ago (click HERE) that I also read somewhere that the bike course offered “gentle rolling hills”.
Ha!
“Gently rolling hills” my ass.
Or at least, the perspective of one who does not necessarily live in the vicinity of mountains is a little bit more askew than those who do. Let’s just say that those who live in mountains have a very different take on hills than those ordinary mooks such as myself who consider the Ridgemont Rd. overpass as a genuine “hill”.
These weren’t “gentle rolling hills”, these were fucking climbs.
“Gently rolling hills” or not.
And there were a lot of ‘em, especially in the first 25-30 kilometers out to the State Hwy 28A.
2,157m worth in total over the entire 180 kilometer bike course.
For me, that’s one shitload of climbing.
It’s moments like this that I absolutely curse myself for not really wanting to know too much about the course pre-race (or weather predictions for that matter), preferring instead to be surprised on race day.
Let me give you a visual.
Here is the elevation map for one of my usual weekly training rides:
Pancake flat.
How’s this by comparison:
Insane, right?
All things considered, Thunder n’ Lightning have been strong in the pedals the past two years and I managed to get up and over each hill in turn and it wasn’t long before I was starting to catch the half triathlon participants one by one.
At some point I passed the Marbletown Park and there was an overwhelming smell of bacon wafting up from campers Coleman stoves and grills.
It was torture.
It was also around this period that I realized Race Day Debacle #2, my fancy race wheels had been more or less completely neutralized with all the climbing. Of course there were descents but they were sharp and winding and I was spending more time keeping myself under control and rubber side down than opening it up and risking life and limb. One particular decent literally had me so scared at one point that my testicles retreated back into my abdomen to hide. It certainly gives you a new perspective what professional cyclists are accomplishing when they race down the sides of mountains at insane speed up to and over 90kph, that’s for sure.
Having said all that, there were certainly some very scenic landscapes and picturesque vistas along the way.
The Hudson Valley was proving to be gorgeous what little I could focus on briefly taking in.
It wasn’t until I got to Highway 28 in Boiceville that I was really able to open up the legs and take advantage of my new race wheels. It wasn’t a closed highway but there was a large bike lane on the side of the road and it was here I truly started to put in some decent legwork passing another dozen or so athletes in the process. The wheels felt awesome and I loved the powerful “whopping” noise they made as I effortlessly sailed along the pavement as if I was gliding across glass and I was loving every last second of it and trying to savour it as I also knew that there were plenty more hills to come still.
(Mental Note to Self: Next even with race wheels must be flat!)
I tried to be encouraging ever I passed the half iron stragglers but, secretly, I was revelling in the whole pursuit and chase; mark the next rider, reel them in, pass, mark the next rider, reel them in, pass, and so it goes…
It definitely passed the long periods where I was cycling alone.
Somewhere after West Hurley, we turned south again and along Dike Rd. which then skirts along the bank of the Ashokan Reservoir itself and, believe me, it was worth popping up out of the aero position temporarily to take a good appreciative look, then it was another handful of gummy bears, and then back into aero and tapping out a good rhythm with the pedals.
So far, hills and computer bullshit aside everything was feeling good. There was no aching in my left foot which is apt to happen from time to time, the stitch I was experiencing earlier in my side had subsided and I was now working myself steadily through the mid-field of half triathlon athletes, I was being careful to eat and hydrate, and everything was otherwise going well.
But coming back along Hwy 213 to complete my first lap I ran into Race Day Debacle #3 as I began running into the other Sprint and Olympic athletes who were clearly into their own thing which, obviously, involved occupying as much of the road as possible. Likewise, seeing as how the narrower roads weren’t closed to motorists, there was the odd impatient jackass driving a huge ass pickup to contend with as well and after 80-85 kilometers of solo riding, this was proving to be a bit stressful seeing as how I was cruising in most cases much faster than the other triathletes I now found myself among.
In essence, I had to begin working my way through a now busy race course to complete my first loop.
Now, I definitely try to be a polite and encouraging participant but, seriously, I could only give my head a shake in some cases. For example, apparently, “Passing on your left” is an open invite to have the rider directly ahead of you veer to the left in front of you and thereby prevent you from getting by.
Who knew?
I only wish I was talking about an isolated situation too.
Anyway, shortly afterwards, I arrived back to the beginning (the entrance to transition) but I didn’t see any obvious sign of a turn around so I called out to the spectators who, for the most part, looked as confused as I was, for some assistance. Thankfully, my wife was there and having taken control of the area quickly pointed out that, yes, this was indeed where I was turning around to head back out for the second lap…
…or, 25-30 more kilometers of “gently rolling hills”.
Again…
Yay.
She also let me know that I was still in 2nd position not having lost any (much) time to the lone rider ahead of me. I also opted to not go with my Special Needs bag as I was still feeling pretty on point about my calorie intake (which, for the most part primarily consists of Nutella, gummy bears and dried mango slices – click HERE) and that I still had lots left over to last me another loop, not to mention I still had my coveted half time treat-slash-secret weapon: a frozen Mars bar taped to my crossbar.
I have to say though, I wasn’t quite so immediately eager for another 25-30 kilometers of gently rolling hill bullshit but suck it up I did. It became evident at this point very quickly that this lap was going to be even lonelier than the first now that all the half triathlon cyclists were no longer be on the road not having been crazy enough to agree to do this course a second fucking time.
But, hey, good for me!
The second loop went pretty much the same of the first with me munching, gulping and pedaling my way around Ashokan Reservoir for the second time. By this time though, it was much more humid, the wind had picked up somewhat and the smell wafting out of the Marbletown Park was primarily of hamburgers and hotdogs instead and it was equally torturous.
I also had to pee …
… but I kept rolling while shoveling dried mango slices into my pie hole like an engineer shoveling coal into the boiler of a locomotive steam engine.
I think in the end my second loop was about 2 minutes slower than my first loop but considering all the stupid ass climbing I’d been doing I was happy nonetheless, especially seeing as how this ride also represented a 53 minute improvement over my Ironman Wales ride. In fact, I’d say that this ride was on par with the extreme difficulty level of the Ironman Wales bike course and the only difference here being, that I’m a much stronger rider now than I was back then.
I distinctly remember being desperate to get off the bike in 2012 but today, I could have kept riding today and there been a need to be and, in truth, there may have been as my Garmin only registered a mere 172 kilometers (not that I was complaining at the time mind you).
All minor Race Day Debacles aside, it turned out to be a decent ride managing an average pace of 28.1kph for an official bike time of 6:04:08 (3rd fastest overall), which given all the climbing, (1,925m worth) wasn’t too bad considering my meagre “hill” preparation going in. I had also burned a total of 9,197 calories throughout and, so far, my energy stores still felt pretty high.
So far …
But, of course, that all went to hell in hand basket the moment I dismounted the bike to enter transition for the second time.
But, of course, that all went to hell in hand basket the moment I dismounted the bike to enter transition for the second time.
If you recall, I really had to pee at the beginning the second loop – just over three hours ago.
The challenging thing with the transition set up is that it only had athlete Porto-potties at the Bike entrance and not at the Run entrance over on the opposite side of the transition where the full distance triathletes such as myself, were set up. So that meant either racking my bike then running back to drain the weasel or, lean my bike somewhere and do it before going to my transition set-up.
I chose for the later and, boy, what a mistake that was!
Enter Race Day Debacle #4: do not attempt to piss seconds after coming off a hilly 180 kilometer bike ride.
(WARNING: The following stanza or two may be too disturbing for sensitive readers, viewer discretion is strongly advised)
The first immediate challenge was just in finding my dick. I mean, after six hours of being ground into a hard leather saddle all over God knows what mountain, let’s just say that’s not a simple task – especially if you have on such things as tri-suits and race belts. The second I found what I though was Mr. Happy (who, clearly was not very happy), he just let loose with great vengeance and furry upon the inside of the doomed Port-potty.
It was pretty much this:
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I know …
I’m ashamed of myself but it simply could not be avoided.
My sincerest apologies to whoever it was that unwittingly stumbled into that hot mess afterwards.
Feeling like a festering petri-dish of contagion, I exited the Porto-potty, reclaimed my bike and made my way – slowly but purposely – back to my transition area …
Run: 05:25:38
Avg. Pace: 7:37min/km
Rank: who cares
… and directly into Race Day Debacle #5
For the past few weeks, I have been snacking on pickles and taking a shot of pickle juice throughout the working day. It helps to stave off and sooth over muscle cramps, it’s an excellent hydrator, it’s a fat free recovery aid, it’s chalked full of antioxidants and electrolytes and, yeah, you can definitely look forward to a future post about the benefits of pickles for sure! But, anyway, I figured rather last minute that it might also be a wise thing to have a little shot of pickle juice once I got off the bike to begin the marathon. I secured two healthy-sized pickles and a shot of juice inside a chilled mason jar and then wrapped it in tin foil and left it my transition with my running gear feeling all clever with myself.
Upon racking Lucille, I sat down on my stool, removed my cycle shoes and opened my much-anticipated and looked forward to jar of sweet, sweet briny goodness and, immediately geysered it back out again like the comedic foil who’s mistakenly ingested turpentine.
I think I might have even scaled my tongue a bit.
The thing that I hadn’t counted on is that that metal wrapped glass jar when left out in the hot sun for 6-7 hours begins to turn itself into a small pressure cooker. Essentially, my pickles had been cooking in their own juice since I had ventured out on the bike course.
I guess the good thing is that I now know why Pickle Soup is not a thing. And, just in case there are any aspiring young hipster entrepreneurs out there thinking to themselves, “Hmm, pickle soup?!”, just fucking forget about it.
Not happening!
Nasty.
You’ve been told.
In fact, everything I had left in my transition area was either now a hot, tepid liquid or a gooey sticky mess; nothing at all appealing. Unsatisfied, I put on my running shoes and reluctantly strapped on the fuel belt that I had prepped and had also left sitting in the sun (“Mmmm! More hot , mushy gummy bears!”) and I started to make my way towards the start of the Run course.
Both Kelly and Hailey were at the beginning of the course and cheered for me as I went past but, sadly, I think by that time I had already begun to put myself into “Crisis Mode” and mentally prepping myself for what I knew was going to be a very difficult marathon so I didn’t acknowledge them as warmly as I would have liked to.
Or maybe I did, but I doubt it.
The marathon was actually four loops along the historic Wallkill Valley Rail Trail which was both extremely cool, and extremely new for me seeing as how the only thing I know about trail running is that they have a penchant for gnarly-looking beards and 70’s era truckers hats, neither of which I currently had.
Fortunately, it was the soft and forgiving kind of trail.
One of the unique features of the Wallkill Valley Rail Trail is the Rosendale trestle, a 940-foot (290m) bridge across the Rondout Creek.
Now I am no lover of heights but, WOW!
The trestle spans its way not only across the Rondout Creek (and believe me, it’s a BIG fucking creek too!) but the main drag of local Rosendale as well where we had our picnic lunch only yesterday before the orientation.
Seriously …
What a breathtaking view and thankfully, a welcome breeze.
It truly was one of those cool, unique race opportunities that I will be inevitably be bragging about in the coming years which is pretty fortunately because, well, I was also going to have cross it again another seven times over the next few hours.
I couldn’t help but wonder how much I’d be enjoying the view then*.
Shortly around this time, I was passed and introduced to the leader of the full triathlon, a really nice guy named Logan. I only learned his name afterwards, of course, and at the time he was simply known to me as the “really nice guy who’s currently beating me”.
And he was nice too.
He offered me lots of encouragement as he passed and then again later on when he lapped me once more into his second loop.
I wanted to hate him but he was just too nice (and crushing it too).
And the same could go for everyone else for that matter.
I wanted a small race to get a true sense of “competition” by knowing where you are within the field and not just the next sweaty guy in spandex and seeing as how %95 of all the other days’ participants were already done and split, this meant I would get to know my 16 competitors very, very well. I hadn’t seen them at all out on the 180k bike course but, now, they would be front and center over four out and back laps along the Wallkill Rail Trail.
The real “race” I was looking for was on.
The trail was indeed very forgiving. Not only was the packed trail soft underfoot but the tree coverage was pretty much constant which more or less protected us from the last scorching rays of the afternoon sun. Labeled as one of America’s ten most iconic rail trails, it mostly consists of fields and forest of Joppenbergh Mountain, but it also takes you past old lime kilns of historic interest (not that I gave two shit’s at the time) and regularly welcomes hikers, joggers, bicycle and horseback riders, dog walkers, and, in the winter, snowshoers and cross-country skiers. At one point about 6-7 kilometers into the trail there was a naturally occurring “chilly cavern” offering a soothing cool breeze emanating up from the creek below and other trail users were taking full advantage to have a break from the humidity.
I hated them all.
I guess I could also mention here that I was getting cranky …
… very cranky.
There was lots of variety available and on offer at the two aid stations so my fuel belt of mushy gummy bears was just a hindrance bouncing along on my ass and my sunglasses just kept fogging up with the heat radiating off my face every time I felt the need to use them which, along a primarily shaded run course, wasn’t very often.
I opted then to ditch them both at the first turnaround with Kelly and Hailey.
I was just 10 kilometers in and already knew that the next three laps were going to really suck. The thing about my training this year is that I have not done quite the same volume as I have the previous two years. I have had some disappointing long weekend runs and the odd double run that got missed and, I admit it, pushing myself through another 75-90 minutes of hard intervals after a hard eight hour work day already wasn’t always easy so I would settle for 45-60 minutes instead. What I was largely hoping for was that in by keeping my legs strong and regularly challenged, as well as providing them with adequate periods of recovery, a certain degree of “muscle memory” would inevitably kick in on race day to carry me through to the end.
Well, I know now that this theory is largely bullshit.
It might be great if you’re like the next Lionel Sanders or something but middle-aged fat guys in beer suits need to put in the regular legwork and, unfortunately, I simply did not. Yes, I did do my fartleks and tempo runs and whatnot, but I didn’t do them in the necessarily lengths of time required to train for a full distance triathlon.
At least I can’t anyway.
Lesson learned.
I consoled myself with something that had just begun to dawn on me over the previous two weeks. I hadn’t approached my training with the same ferocity this year as I have in the past but, hey, three years of Ironman training simply proved to be too much in the end. Last year, after having a good base build the previous year when the event was cancelled last minute (click HERE), I was hyped and ready to go.
I was confident and hungry; eager and motivated.
I was this:
–
And of course I somehow managed to fuck that up.
Anyway, I reminded myself the mantra: “I was simply doing the best I could with the time I had”.
It’s been a very eventful year remember. I completed a very intensive rehab program on my left hand (click HERE) and had to relearn my swim stroke all over again, I started a new physical job in January, and Hailey isn’t getting any less simple to manage the older she gets. Now there are regular trips to and from friends’ houses and horseback riding lessons, camp and other miscellaneous school bullshit to worry about.
And this is all how it should be, I get that.
But it does make keeping a long and intense Iron-focused training schedule difficult – especially three years in.
And this was exactly the point where I found myself around 45 day ago.
“The mind was willing but the flesh was weak”, so to speak.
By the middle of the second loop I was walking as much as I was running and I had given up a few places by then to the purer (younger) runners that were filtering out onto the course by now. And let me tell you, some of these athletes threw down some amazing paces – especially the three top finishing ladies.
Incredible efforts!
I almost didn’t mind getting passed.
Crowd support along the trail was minimal with the exception of a few hard core family spectators that had now become accustomed to seeing and cheering for all the other athletes as well. At different points along the route I was known as “Canada”, “Beer Guy” (See, advertising works! Click HERE), “Ass Man” (don’t ask), and “Let’s go buddy!”
All of it was much appreciated.
Even though I had been watching both my time and podium goals ebb away, I was still happy though that both my legs didn’t feel too tortured. Sure they weren’t happy with me, but there wasn’t the agony that I remember seeping in the last time I tried this crazy bullshit six years ago. When I asked them to run they would, albeit for only a short time before needing to come back into a brisk walk again to recover.
And so it went.
On in to finish my second loop I was pleased to see Hailey who had ventured down the trail to both see if I coming (needless to say that each of my consecutive loops were becoming longer) and, more probably, to escape her mother’s company temporarily. Or maybe Kelly had sent her up the trail herself, who knows.
But it was nice to see her.
I informed her of the trestle up ahead and sent her off to explore while I limped back to Kelly and around the turnaround point to begin my third loop. Once I caught up with her, she was happy to run/walk with me for a while and it was fun to have some idle conversation after nearly hours of very minimal conversation beyond “keep it up!”, “you got this!”, etc..
By that point in my eternal grumpiness, I had just resorted to giving everyone a very unenthusiastic ‘thumbs up’ as we passed one another.
Hailey and chatted about God knows what for a second until she too had more or less given up on the whole running thing and opted to continue on at her own snail’s pace leaving me to forge ahead, albeit at my own snail’s pace.
The last 10 kilometers were just as weird. My legs felt great at points and almost hinted that they were willing to get back to work again in a second (or thirteenth, seventy-seventh, or three-billionth) wind kind of way, but as soon as I tried to do so, they protested and complained after just a few moments. I was having the classic endurance athlete’s internal conversation with his body which I know recognize is a classic sign of breaking down (and I told Kelly as much the last time I saw her at the turnaround). I opted then to continue on with my shuffle/walk/shuffle pace determined to make it to the end healthily than try to suffer it out for the sake of time.
Remember, my overall goal when I began this whole two-time Ironman journey was not simply to complete another Ironman distance triathlon, but to complete it and walk away from it with marginal injury as well.
Meaning, I didn’t want to kill myself in pursuit of this goal like I did last time at this distance.
(Truthfully, this is a reoccurring pattern with me)
And to that regard, I felt in that moment that what I was currently doing pace-wise was the best idea moving forward – at least I was moving forward.
I guess I am learning.
In the final loop I just mentally ticked off each trail landmark I had created for myself over the past 30-some odd kilometers.
“Goodbye, chilly cavern!”
“So long, railway trestle!”
‘Goodbye, knotted tree!”
“See ya, strange old lady sleeping in a lawn chair!”
“Adios, little dog in a ridiculous looking sweater!”
(Remember, I was cranky)
I have to tell you though, the final 750m were absolutely heaven knowing that I didn’t have to make that stupid turnaround again to complete another agonizing loop of the course. I zipped up my suit to appear somewhat respectable (well, as respectable as someone whose been basting in Lycra race suit soaked in sweat, piss, snot, and God knows what else, can be anyway) , faked my best non-pained running gait and made for the finish line. My supporters were there with promises of cold beer, Hailey was there looking to run in with me and Kelly was at the line with her incredible sign:
This was a close second:
The second I crossed the line three years of pent up frustration, stress and fatigue bubbled over and erupted from somewhere deep within. I don’t often have these kinds of outbursts often but when I do, they’re epic.
And this one sure felt epic.
I’m sure it made for a decent finisher’s photo as well, too bad the photo website water-marked it so bad I can’t tell and I’m not risking the $53.00 to find out.
Good one, Captivating Sports Photos!
It sure felt good though.
In summation, it might not have been the race I was hoping for, placing 8th overall, but I am proud that I stuck this quest through to the end. I did the best I could with what I had and I didn’t end up breaking myself in the process and I am immensely proud of that.
Oh, and I did win my age category so, yeah …
AND, I was back at work two days later.
Go.
Me.
Anyway, now that’s it’s finally over, and having learned from my past experiences Post-Ironman, I have already returned to a somewhat moderate fitness routine. In fact, my first workout the day after was to mow the lawn (no shit – click HERE). Since then, I have started riding my bike with Hailey and have started open water swimming again.
Also, I am now already pursuing Round Three of my “Core Project”.
More than anything, I’m enjoying doing things because I want to do them and not because I have to do them and there’s a big difference between the two. One way I still get to be a husband and dad again, the other, well, not so much.
Sure I am already thinking about next year’s goal as I would love to get back to more regular racing but, for the time being, I am just going to be content with being a more present family guy once again who, occasionally, still likes to go for long rides …
*In fact, after the 4th pass over the trestle it completely failed to be novel anymore. I simply did not give a shit about the view anymore. By the last lap I would have happily accepted a bullet between the eyes than see that stupid Rondout Creek view once more.