Ironman 70.3 St George

 Nitty Gritty Results Available Here

It's a little unbelievable when a thing in your life that you've been anticipating for more than a year comes to fruition. I've dreamed about doing an Ironman race for a long time, and since 2010, when Ironman and myself found each other in the same town, I felt an inexorable pull (call it fate, call it destiny) to be a part of it. During the years when it was a full-length Ironman, I'd contented myself with volunteering to paint numbers on the athletes' bodies, secretly telling myself that my time would come when my kids were a little bit older and could fend for themselves on a Saturday morning and afternoon and not drive their mother insane whilst I was out on a 6-8 hour brick workout soaking up the rays, crap-eating grin on my face. But then last year when they announced the change from a full Ironman to a 70.3, I knew my time had come. I could do a 70.3 and still maintain a relatively normal life, right? The Saturday after that announcement, just weeks prior to the 2012 St George Ironman, I was at a park eating ice cream and cobbler with a neighbor and friend of mine, discussing the upcoming festivities, and after about a minute of conversation, we decided to enter together.

The year since then has been a roller-coaster of job changes, family events, and travel, sprinkled here and there with other races, namely the St George Marathon, Spudman Olympic Triathlon, and others. My plan and training schedule put me firmly on the training path in December, or about 20 weeks before race day. But enough back story - as with many things in life, the training and preparation are the most important, but least interesting, part of the story.

I'll start off the real account of race day by saying that I've given up on the idea of a "good night's sleep" before any big event. It just doesn't happen. I've tried early bed times, relaxing music, even drugs (mainly Benadryl), but nerves and excitement just don't let my mind relax all the way. The upshot is that I've also grown accustomed, and 4-6 hours on a pre-race night is usually enough to get me through. I went to bed at about 10:00 on Friday, and woke up precisely at 4:00 Saturday morning, just before my alarm went off. I had a nice warm shower to wake me up, followed by a big bowl of granola, some preventive ibuprofens, and a swig or two of Gatorade, just to be sure that I was topped off in the electrolyte department. A short drive and a long bus ride later and we were all freezing our butts off at the shore of Sand Hollow Reservoir.

Pre-race

This was probably the most unpleasant part of the day. My wave didn't start until 7:33, meaning that, once we got off the bus at about 5:30, I had over two hours to sit around, try out the honey buckets, and futz with my gear. Talk about icing the kicker - that's a long time to sit in the freezing dark and think about all the things that could go wrong in the water or on your bike... I did get to rub shoulders briefly with the pros that were there. Apparently, this race drew one of the deepest pro fields in the US. Craig Alexander was planning on doing it, but didn't (I'm not sure why), but the Wurteles were there, Matty Reed, Andy Potts, Meredith Kessler, and a bunch of others. I said good luck to Matty as he was putting on his wetsuit right before the start and got a polite but stoic "you too" back. He's very tall.

Quick tip here: WTC does provide compressed air for anyone who wants to top off their tires, but be advised that the lines will be LONGGGGG. Bring your own pump and plan on stashing it in your morning gear bag, or just wander around and see if there's someone with a pump and a friendly face that you could ask. Or just make sure your tires are pumped up the night before.

The Swim

We lined up in a big snake reaching from the shore all the way to the transition area according to wave times, ending up looking like a weird, large-scale mosaic art installment, on account of all the different colored swim caps the different waves were supposed to wear. My nerves were a little jangly as I shuffled toward the water - Sand Hollow is notorious for throwing unexpected wind storms at the Ironman (just ask the swimmers from 2012, who got a tornado in the face 10 minutes after the mass start), and I knew that the water was cold enough that it would take a few minutes for me to be comfortable, or even just not shocked by the chill. Part of me was in denial that I was really going to do this right up until I got in the water. Your kidding, right? You're really doing this? Really? I mean yeah, but....really? While we were waiting, my wave actually got to watch the pros start the swim, finish the swim, and ride away on their bikes, all before we ever got into the water.

Fun side note: weather conditions were absolutely perfect. The Wednesday before, Sand Hollow was covered in whitecaps in the 15-20 mph wind, and as I'm writing this on Monday the 6th, it's an absolute downpour outside. But on Saturday, almost no wind, a high of 89 degrees - it could not have been any better.

My nerves' saving grace was a 20-30m swim from the shore out to the start. I had a chance to get a few strokes in, let the cold water come in through the little hole at the bottom of my broken wetsuit zipper (story for another time) and warm up, and work my goggles and ear plugs into position.

Quick tip #2: earplugs are awesome. If you're the type (like myself) that is prone to feeling dizzy after you get out of the water, invest $5 or $6 in some silicone ear plugs and see if they work for you. They changed my aquatic life completely.

The gun went off and I got to crawling through the water - by my nature I'm not a very buoyant swimmer so I knew that I'd be slower at the start and kept near the back of the pack. And actually by the time I got to the first turn I felt awesome. I don't think I've ever felt that good during the swim part of a race. I ended up finishing the swim in 43 minutes - not fast, comparatively, but the same amount of time that I had previously swam 1500m during the Kokopelli Olympic Tri in 2011, also at Sand Hollow, and I had predicted that I'd come out of T1 in an hour, so I was about 15 minutes ahead of my goal pace. A good start to the day.

Division place after the swim: 256

One funny thing about this race, and it may be the case for other WTC races, is that they don't let you set all of your stuff out on your bike: everything has to be in a bag below your bike. Naturally, this affected my T1 time, but I never really worry too much about that. If it comes down to it, it's much easier to shave a minute or two off of a 3-hour bike ride than it is off a 4-minute transition.

The Bike

I love my bike. I received a slightly used Cannondale Slice for Christmas last year and am completely taken by it. I no longer perv out over these sleek, black, $10K+ road machines that dotted this particular race like a Jackson Pollock painting. Keep your disc wheels, your in-frame hydration systems (seriously - the water is in the frame!), your drop bars below the aero bars. Me and my Slice will cut you. Deep. Right after we get passed by this 8-speed Giant straight-bar with knobby tires and guy wearing a full Camelbak.

I've said it before somewhere on this blog that I'm a firm believer in the old adage, "it's the engine that counts, not the frame," when applied to cycling, and I still do - most people would do better spending a few extra hours in the gym than in spending a few extra grand on a set of 88cm carbon rims - but boy is it fun when you know your engine is well-tuned and you have a chassis that can take the heat.

If I felt good during the swim, I felt positively transcendent on my bike. I've learned in the past year or so that I have a hidden talent for climbs, despite my generally squarish frame, and it paid big dividends on this course. The whole thing is basically one hill after the next, climb and descend, climb and descend, with a few short straightaways thrown in. I focused on staying hydrated, but used my gels and my Honey Stinger during the ride so that I didn't have to stop for calories. One particular highlight was passing the male pros while they were a few miles into their run on top of Red Hill - I got to cheer for Matty Reed, again, but got no nod this time. It's entertaining to watch these guys conversate with one another while they're maintaining a 5:30 pace on a half marathon. Yikes.

Snow Canyon, the longest climb of the day at over 4 miles and 1000 feet, topping out near the summit at about a 10% grade, was quite a sight, and eerily silent. With no wind coming up or down the canyon, and few spectators, all you could hear was people panting and quietly swearing to themselves. Oh yeah, and the two guys screaming at the top of the canyon.

A swift descent back down into the city, and the bike was over. Maybe my electrolytes were starting to run a little low, but I have to admit I got a little emotional as I pulled into town and saw my family cheering at the sidelines.

Bike time: 2:56

Division place after the bike: 176

T2 was the same as T1 - you have to pull everything out of the bag, put it on, and put all of your bike stuff back into the bag. I stopped for some sunscreen and a quick pee, too, just to start off comfortable.

The Run

A half marathon is no easy feat, under any conditions. Add to that the near 90-degree weather, the seemingly endless hills, and, oh yeah, the fact that you've already traveled 57.2 miles that day under your own power, and it can seem like downright torture.

And as it turns out, it kind of was. 

My goal time was 6 total hours to finish, and after the swim and bike, I was about 20 minutes ahead of schedule. Confident, but a little sun weary and frankly more than a little gassy. I'm sure that I made more than one runner snicker hearing the machine gun farts that I was letting loose every few hundred yards. Sorry for the graphic truth, dear readers.

GI distress meant that I was hesitant to really eat anything and made a decision to rely on liquids and gel to get me through the run, which ended up being a tactical error on my part. Anyone who has input on this matter, please feel free to share as I'm curious about it.

Quick tip #3: eat. Eat salt. On short courses, it's conceivable that you can get by on just Gatorade and maybe a gel or two, but it turns out that, for me, at any rate, I need more to keep me going on a long course. I'm sure my body was screaming for potassium that I just wasn't giving to it, as evidenced by the below:

I felt okay for the first 4 miles, which comprise about half of the total climbing that you do on the run. Like the bike, the run on this course is just hill after sun-drenched hill. I was a little ahead of pace to finish in 2:10, which would bring me in right at the 6 hour mark, but as soon as I hit about 4.5 miles, I knew that I was in some trouble. My GI distress had mostly passed (toot! tooot!), but it began to feel like something was squeezing my calves as hard as they could with every step that I took. It would go away while I walked, but as soon as I started running, the cramping would start again. And it started to climb up my legs - by about mile 7 my hamstrings were joining in the fun, and I had to flex my quads to get my legs to straighten out with every stride.

I ended up walking about half of the remaining miles and was heartened by seeing my old friends Jon and Melissa Baker at the last aide station.

"How do you feel?" he asked.
"Like total shit!" I answered.
"Good for you - now run to the end!" he replied.

Good to see you there, guys.

I gave it a good go, only walking about 100 more yards of the last mile, and "sprinted" down main street to the finish, all smiles and high-fives. I nearly face-planted right before the finish, losing my concentration while giving some girl a high five and forgetting my need to force my leg to straighten. Luckily I caught myself just in time.

Run time: 2:31
Division place: 224

Post-race

It took me a while to get up off of the grass after I finished. My wife pushed me toward the food tent with promises that I would feel better after I got some pizza in me. I did, but it took me probably 20 minutes to get in one slice of pepperoni. I'd take a bite, chew, chew, chew, take a swig of water, then lie back down and wait for my body to tell me that it was ready for another. Eventually, I gathered my stuff and ended up at my in-laws, where I took a three-hour soak in their jaccuzzi, first cold then warm, after which we all went back to my house to watch the African Queen with my parents and go to bed.

Right after I finished, family and friends were asking, "how do you feel? Is a full Ironman next? Are you going to do it next year?" To which, at the time, I was tempted to answer a very resounding no, but I wisely held back and decided to not answer until at least a day later. Here's my current answer:

1) I feel fine. A little sore, but not terrible or bedridden, which part of me expected to be. It makes me sure that my slow run time was due to some kind of chemical issue like salt or potassium deficiency, and, given a better nutrition plan, I could do better. I'm very happy with my swim and bike times and just finishing the darn thing was enough for me this year.

2) A full Ironman is probably in the cards, but a few more years off. I need to build some more experience, points with the family that I can cash in when training demands that I spend 4+ weekends in a row in serious training. 

3) I'll definitely do it again next year. Addiction to this stuff is real. I was barely above the middle of the pack, and it felt great to be out there with everyone, nonetheless. Athletes and onlookers alike - it's a big celebration, really, regardless of which side of it you're on.

End Transmission.