Last night, I saw a post on my Facebook feed from a friend and valued triathlon partner that really struck a chord with me. He had just completed a ride at the Ironman Canada training camp in Whistler, B.C., and realized that his Ironman dream was already over.
Not because he didn't have the stamina to complete the 140.6-mile odyssey (he can). But rather because the bike course is on roads that feature sharp drop-offs and severe cliffs, which induce panic attacks in him. Boy, did that hit me right where I live.
I've had a fear of heights for as long as I can remember. As a child, coming down my aunt and uncle's staircase (which had open slots between the stairs) terrified me. I had to go down on my rump. Eventually I was able to walk down, but never confidently. Overtime, that particular fear has lessened (I managed to go up on a chairlift to ski -- never happily, but I did it, and got talked into parasailing, which turned out to be fun the second time around), but it has also evolved. Wide open drop-offs, particularly around curves, open stair cases, elevated walkways with open sides, all give me a severe sense of vertigo and panic. In fact, there is a stretch of Highway 2, coming down westbound from Stevens Pass, that I avoid like the plague simply because if gives me the willies. I'm talking in my car, not on my bike.
When I look to sign up for races, elevation profiles are among the first things I study, and avoid mountainous venues. The races are difficult and stressful enough without adding in a ready-made hurdle that turns what's supposed to be fun into pure terror.
Yes, forcing yourself to do something that scares you is a way to get over the fear. But it is not fun. And it takes a long time (see my first post for a taste of my descending fear) to become more comfortable in the situation (you never completely "get over" them). And having people tell you that everything will be fine and that it's something you just have to work at to get over does not help. Phobias are irrational. If conscious thought could fix them, then somebody would have come up with a master fix by now. I have zero fear of swimming or being in the open water with hundreds of people around me, bumping and slapping me. But I can appreciate the absolute horror that fills those who are afraid in the water.
It takes bravery to admit your fears, much less share them for all your friends and family to see. So I wanted to send this shout-out to Grant, and tell him that you have plenty of fellow travelers. There are more races to conquer, and we'll be there right with you.
Friday, July 26, 2013
Monday, July 22, 2013
ChelanMan: The inside story
What do you do after completing a 1600-plus mile car trip and a 70.3 mile triathlon? You get on the road and race again, of course!
Just three days after returning from Vineman-a-palooza, I hit the road to Chelan for the ChelanMan multisport weekend -- 200 more miles. But when you are an endurance sport athlete, traveling is part of the package. And so is getting a chance to spend some time with your friends.
This past weekend -- July 20-21 -- was a big weekend for triathlon in the Northwest. There were three major events going on: ChelanMan at Lake Chelan, Ironman 70.3 Lake Stevens and SeaFair triathlon in Seattle. Which means it was a big weekend for the Pro Sport Club triathlon team. At ChelanMan, we had 20 athletes competing, with several making their triathlon debut.
My initial plan was to be on cheer committee -- watch, support, cheer, eat pie -- in the warmth of central Washington. However, when a teammate made the call for partners to form a relay team, I figured a mile-long swim wouldn't break me, and more importantly, would give me the opportunity to have some fun. And so Team Thundercats Roar was formed. We weren't about going hard and trying to place -- but rather to give each person a chance to do one leg and simply participate. Yes, triathlon is competition, and placing in your age group is important. But for many, at any given event, it's really just about being part of the day and testing yourself simply against yourself.
So, our lineup was me on the swim, Margie Metzger on the bike and Laura Zeman on the run. No one was focusing on times, just having fun. For me, less than a week out from my half Ironman, it was really still about recovery, so the plan was to just settle into a pace and enjoy the swim.
With temperatures hovering around 100F, Lake Chelan felt wonderful. Glacier-fed, it can be very, very chilly, but this weekend, it was close to 70F. And wonderfully clear. Oh the joy of clean, clear water! After meeting Margie at our transition spot, I squeezed into my wetsuit and waded in to warm up and see if my two-year-old goggles that I mistakenly brought with me were still operation.
It felt wonderful -- the cool water, the gentle motion of moving through water, the power of my stroke as I worked on my catch, the (BAM!) star-inducing pain of swimming head first right into another swimmer's head. Ouch. Big ouch. After shaking my head a few times life the coyote after another mishap with the Road Runner, I waded out and collected my bearings while waiting for my wave start.
After watching my half Ironman friends (Tracey, Mike, Ron, Squido, Scott) begin their race, I positioned myself in the water and awaited the Olympic swim start. At the gun, I started out about mid-pack and felt the draft of the other swimmers pull me out toward the first buoy. I've never felt anything like it before. It really felt effortless -- and showed in my pace for that first 200 yards -- 1:28, a time I have NEVER even kind of approached before in a swim. It was magical. Then the mega-drafting effect faded and it was all about me.
The good news -- I was surrounded by swimmers the whole way (a sign that I am improving in my swimming). The bad news? I was surrounded by swimmers the whole way -- arms slapping onto my head, back, feet, as I dodged kicking legs. It's the challenge of open water swimming -- the contact. It's always important to remember that, by and large, the contact is incidental, not intentional. No need to get upset, just maneuver around the legs and keep to your plan.
At Chelan, that plan was made easier by a rope line under the water that the buoy markers were attached to above the water. In short, it was like following the blue line in the center of a swimming pool lane. No need to pop up to sight. Head down and swim. It was fantastic! All I had to think about was my catch, my pull and not kicking as I counted each 200-yard buzz on my Garmin, telling me how far I had gone. When I heard the eighth (1600 yards), I popped my head up to sight, seeing the big red buoy marking the end of the swim. As I run out of the water and crossed the timing mat, I hit the stop button on my Garmin and ran to give the timing chip to Margie so she could begin her ride. I didn't look at my time. Until after Margie left.
34.12. I couldn't believe it. A full minute faster than Victoria and a PR. I wasn't trying to go fast. I was just trying to relax and enjoy the swim. It made me very happy.
From then on, it was enjoying the accomplishments of everyone else and supporting them.
Just three days after returning from Vineman-a-palooza, I hit the road to Chelan for the ChelanMan multisport weekend -- 200 more miles. But when you are an endurance sport athlete, traveling is part of the package. And so is getting a chance to spend some time with your friends.
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| (From left) Ron Montague, Susie Nieto, myself, Christine Bayless and Mike Bayless, before going forth into battle. |
This past weekend -- July 20-21 -- was a big weekend for triathlon in the Northwest. There were three major events going on: ChelanMan at Lake Chelan, Ironman 70.3 Lake Stevens and SeaFair triathlon in Seattle. Which means it was a big weekend for the Pro Sport Club triathlon team. At ChelanMan, we had 20 athletes competing, with several making their triathlon debut.
My initial plan was to be on cheer committee -- watch, support, cheer, eat pie -- in the warmth of central Washington. However, when a teammate made the call for partners to form a relay team, I figured a mile-long swim wouldn't break me, and more importantly, would give me the opportunity to have some fun. And so Team Thundercats Roar was formed. We weren't about going hard and trying to place -- but rather to give each person a chance to do one leg and simply participate. Yes, triathlon is competition, and placing in your age group is important. But for many, at any given event, it's really just about being part of the day and testing yourself simply against yourself.
So, our lineup was me on the swim, Margie Metzger on the bike and Laura Zeman on the run. No one was focusing on times, just having fun. For me, less than a week out from my half Ironman, it was really still about recovery, so the plan was to just settle into a pace and enjoy the swim.
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| Laura, left, and Margie, right, striking a fetching pose while someone else mugs it up for the camera. Thundercats Roar! |
With temperatures hovering around 100F, Lake Chelan felt wonderful. Glacier-fed, it can be very, very chilly, but this weekend, it was close to 70F. And wonderfully clear. Oh the joy of clean, clear water! After meeting Margie at our transition spot, I squeezed into my wetsuit and waded in to warm up and see if my two-year-old goggles that I mistakenly brought with me were still operation.
It felt wonderful -- the cool water, the gentle motion of moving through water, the power of my stroke as I worked on my catch, the (BAM!) star-inducing pain of swimming head first right into another swimmer's head. Ouch. Big ouch. After shaking my head a few times life the coyote after another mishap with the Road Runner, I waded out and collected my bearings while waiting for my wave start.
After watching my half Ironman friends (Tracey, Mike, Ron, Squido, Scott) begin their race, I positioned myself in the water and awaited the Olympic swim start. At the gun, I started out about mid-pack and felt the draft of the other swimmers pull me out toward the first buoy. I've never felt anything like it before. It really felt effortless -- and showed in my pace for that first 200 yards -- 1:28, a time I have NEVER even kind of approached before in a swim. It was magical. Then the mega-drafting effect faded and it was all about me.
The good news -- I was surrounded by swimmers the whole way (a sign that I am improving in my swimming). The bad news? I was surrounded by swimmers the whole way -- arms slapping onto my head, back, feet, as I dodged kicking legs. It's the challenge of open water swimming -- the contact. It's always important to remember that, by and large, the contact is incidental, not intentional. No need to get upset, just maneuver around the legs and keep to your plan.
At Chelan, that plan was made easier by a rope line under the water that the buoy markers were attached to above the water. In short, it was like following the blue line in the center of a swimming pool lane. No need to pop up to sight. Head down and swim. It was fantastic! All I had to think about was my catch, my pull and not kicking as I counted each 200-yard buzz on my Garmin, telling me how far I had gone. When I heard the eighth (1600 yards), I popped my head up to sight, seeing the big red buoy marking the end of the swim. As I run out of the water and crossed the timing mat, I hit the stop button on my Garmin and ran to give the timing chip to Margie so she could begin her ride. I didn't look at my time. Until after Margie left.
34.12. I couldn't believe it. A full minute faster than Victoria and a PR. I wasn't trying to go fast. I was just trying to relax and enjoy the swim. It made me very happy.
From then on, it was enjoying the accomplishments of everyone else and supporting them.
- Margie, who was nervous about the course, had a great bike ride. And had fun.
- Laura, who is recovering from injuries after a bike crash, was all smiles as she came across the finish after her run, happy to be there amongst friends.
- Guy, who was also recovering from Vineman, crushed his 10K run for his relay team (in which Susie had a great swim and Mike Bayless blazed on the bike), recording a time (50 minutes) that would have put him atop the podium for his age group if he had just run the 10K race.
- Rossen, who completed his very first triathlon, at the Olympic distance no less, with an amazing time.
- Megan, my Vineman traveling companion, winning her age group in the half marathon.
- Mike Marlowe, winning his age group in the half Ironman, without cramping, despite the heat.
- Chris, following her race plan and winning her age group in the Olympic.
- Erica and Janice, all smiles as they brought it home in the Olympic.
- Ron, having the courage to stop after the bike in the half when his stomach told him it had had enough (and believe me, in that race environment, it takes courage and wisdom to stop).
- Tracey, all but Prancercising her way to the finish in the half.
- Squido, still smiling and still moving as he walked up the final hill toward the finish in the half.
- Scott, who became a half Ironman, with a big smile on his face.
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| Squido -- still smiling on the last hill. |
There were many more who competed on Sunday in the sprint (I wasn't able to stay to see them finish, but saw many on the road as I was driving out of town). All on their own journeys, facing the nagging doubts, but pushing through.
Many of my non-triathlon friends seem perplexed by why I put so much time and energy into something that on paper seems incredibly painful, difficult and, occasionally, frustrating.
Because it's incredibly painful, difficult and, occasionally, frustrating. And because of the incredible company I keep.
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| Chris Bayless atop the podium. Look at that smile! |
Monday, July 15, 2013
Vineman 70.3:The good, the bad and the ugly
Humbling.
For me, Ironman 70.3 Vineman was humbling. Crossing the finish line second to last, 15 seconds before the cutoff time - that's humbling. Seeing your race plan fall apart 8 miles into the run when your back and glutes seize up on you. Humbling. Feeling like another full year of strong workouts and consistent training got me no better than a year ago. Frustration, self-doubt, questioning whether I really am cut out to be a long course athlete, or an athlete at all, cycling through my mind as I hobbled toward the finish.
Yes, all of that happened. And if I had written this last night, after the race, that's where it would have stopped. But there was plenty that went well.
I cut 17 minutes from my bike time of a year ago - and that was with two bathroom breaks and a stop at mile 25 when a woman got too close to me going up a hill and clipped my back wheel (she went down, I did not, but I did stop to go back and help her and make sure she was all right).
I cut 5 minutes out of my transition times.
The GI issues that plagued me last season were nonexistent thanks to a good hydration and nutrition plan (Osmo Pre-load Hydration - you can guess what 3000 mg of sodium tastes like, but it works) and no alcohol a minimum of 2 days before a race.
And despite a hot, painful 3:38 run time - I still cut 2 minutes off my overall finish time.
And that would not have happened without the support of Megan Reinhart, who found me a half mile from the finish, in tears, in pain, thinking I'd already missed the cutoff, and encouraged me to run a bit, staying with me, and an unknown woman, who was supporting a competitor just behind me, who got my name from Megan and kept saying "come on, Denise, you've got this. You can do it." As I turned into the finishing chute, I could hear the announcer calling out that there was 45 seconds to the cutoff - 45 seconds to go 100 yards. And with everything I had in me, I ran for that finish line - past my cheering parents and uncle, past my cheering coach and friend Cody Novak and partner in crime Guy Haycock, hitting the ribbon with seconds to spare before collapsing into a sobbing mess on my mother's shoulder (The woman behind me finished in time as well).
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| Striking a pose with Cody at the finish. |
Humbling, painful, but satisfying, because I didn't give up at mile 8 when each step confirmed that my plan was shattered or with 100 yards to go.
The saying goes that it's about the journey and not the destination. Well, the journey was a challenge, but it was made better by the encouragement and kindness of strangers - whoever you were, woman with the IM Coeur d'Alene shirt in that last half-mile, you were an angel, and from the support of my family and friends who came out to the course (Aunt Kathy, Sandee, Dad, Mom, Uncle Mike, Megan), my coach Cody and teammate Guy - who never give up on me, even when I give up on myself - and all my tri teammates, family and friends, who encouraged and cheered me all day from afar. It's hard sometimes not to feel like I have let everyone down, but in my heart I know that the only person who feels that way is me.
So, after a good week or two of recovery and massage, there are still a few Olympics ahead for me this season. As for Vineman 2014, that's going to require some time and discussion after debriefing with Cody. The journey continues.
Friday, July 12, 2013
Making our way to Vineman - Day 1
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| Guy and me, making cute for the camera, at Crater Lake. |
There is nothing quite like driving on a near-deserted country road on a summer's day. Lush green forest providing some lovely shade, breaking periodically to offer views of the white water on the Umpqua River. And then finally, we reach the lake - created by the massive explosion of Mt. Mazama, now filled with centuries of rain water and snow melt, a cerulean gem at 6,000 feet.
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| Megan and Cody strike a fetching pose. |
Monday, July 8, 2013
The season of facing my fears
It's less than a week until Vineman 70.3, and unlike the previous two outings in Sonoma County, I feel completely ready.
Before the season began, during my early training in the late winter, I told myself that this year I didn't just want to finish races -- I wanted to race them. To push myself. In order to do that for Vineman, I had to be very consistent in my training and do a lot more challenging, outdoor bike rides.
Well, being "laid off in a company reorganization" gave me the time I needed to be consistent in my training. And let me tell you, low cortisol levels and ample sleep have done wonders for my training. It's amazing how much more energy you have and how much easier it is to keep your heart rate down when you aren't trying to squeeze in 10-plus hours of training into a cramped work week.
The other part -- more challenging rides -- took a bit more effort. Physically, they were difficult. But the bigger challenge for me was mental because those rides forced to really face my fear of descending. I avoided big, hilly rides because of the descents, and as a result, I wasn't becoming more confident at them. And I was setting myself up for yet another 4-hour bike ride at Vineman, simply because I wouldn't be able to take advantage of the descents on the rolling course and let the momentum carry me up the hills, thus increasing my speed overall.
So, I started signing up for rides. First up, Chilly Hill in February. It was chilly (but dry), and very hilly, with a few very steep descents. Since my road bike was being serviced, I did the ride on my mountain bike -- not a great choice on such a hilly course, but the weight of the bike helped me take the downhills much faster.
Next, when doing a group ride with my friends in Hood River, Ore., instead of wimping out and doing a shorter, easier ride, I went with much faster, more accomplished riders on a course that required lots of climbing and one very scary descent. But by the end of that ride, in the final 6 miles of descent, I was able to let go, just a bit, and let fly. It felt wonderful, and more importantly, I felt my confidence start to grow.
A couple of weeks later, it was the Peninsula Metric Century, which featured lots of climbs and plenty of downhills, which also were becoming easier to do.
This last weekend, I finally did the ride I have successfully avoided for years -- the 7 Hills of Kirkland. The morning of the ride, I was already at work trying to come up with an excuse to skip it and do something else more comfortable, more familiar instead. But, as part of my regular routine, I checked my horoscope that morning. It told me that I had nothing to be afraid of, that I had the skill and the confident to face any challenge in front of me. I know it sounds silly, but it was the embarrassing kick in the butt I needed to just go do it.
And guess what -- it was fun. Full disclosure, I only did 4 of the Hills, but it was enough to show me that I had nothing to fear -- I could handle all the climbs and all the descents.
So now, here I sit, with six days to go until Vineman, and for the first time, I know that I have the skill and the confident to face any challenge in front of me. And I know it will be fun.
Before the season began, during my early training in the late winter, I told myself that this year I didn't just want to finish races -- I wanted to race them. To push myself. In order to do that for Vineman, I had to be very consistent in my training and do a lot more challenging, outdoor bike rides.
Well, being "laid off in a company reorganization" gave me the time I needed to be consistent in my training. And let me tell you, low cortisol levels and ample sleep have done wonders for my training. It's amazing how much more energy you have and how much easier it is to keep your heart rate down when you aren't trying to squeeze in 10-plus hours of training into a cramped work week.
The other part -- more challenging rides -- took a bit more effort. Physically, they were difficult. But the bigger challenge for me was mental because those rides forced to really face my fear of descending. I avoided big, hilly rides because of the descents, and as a result, I wasn't becoming more confident at them. And I was setting myself up for yet another 4-hour bike ride at Vineman, simply because I wouldn't be able to take advantage of the descents on the rolling course and let the momentum carry me up the hills, thus increasing my speed overall.
So, I started signing up for rides. First up, Chilly Hill in February. It was chilly (but dry), and very hilly, with a few very steep descents. Since my road bike was being serviced, I did the ride on my mountain bike -- not a great choice on such a hilly course, but the weight of the bike helped me take the downhills much faster.
Next, when doing a group ride with my friends in Hood River, Ore., instead of wimping out and doing a shorter, easier ride, I went with much faster, more accomplished riders on a course that required lots of climbing and one very scary descent. But by the end of that ride, in the final 6 miles of descent, I was able to let go, just a bit, and let fly. It felt wonderful, and more importantly, I felt my confidence start to grow.
A couple of weeks later, it was the Peninsula Metric Century, which featured lots of climbs and plenty of downhills, which also were becoming easier to do.
This last weekend, I finally did the ride I have successfully avoided for years -- the 7 Hills of Kirkland. The morning of the ride, I was already at work trying to come up with an excuse to skip it and do something else more comfortable, more familiar instead. But, as part of my regular routine, I checked my horoscope that morning. It told me that I had nothing to be afraid of, that I had the skill and the confident to face any challenge in front of me. I know it sounds silly, but it was the embarrassing kick in the butt I needed to just go do it.
And guess what -- it was fun. Full disclosure, I only did 4 of the Hills, but it was enough to show me that I had nothing to fear -- I could handle all the climbs and all the descents.
So now, here I sit, with six days to go until Vineman, and for the first time, I know that I have the skill and the confident to face any challenge in front of me. And I know it will be fun.
Monday, July 1, 2013
Mind games
It's 13 days until my "A" race, Vineman 70.3. One more week of hard training -- most of it on my bike -- and then it's time to put all that training to use.
While I know that I can more than do the job physically, it's my mind that I worry about. I've been so used to just trying to finish the race, that making the shift to actually racing is new, and I have my doubts.
My body can do all the things I would like it to do -- but I fear my brain will start trying to talk it out of it. When it gets hot. When my seat starts to get sore. When my hamstrings get tight. When I'm all alone out on the run course, at 2 in the afternoon.
The mental test will be the toughest, and today, I'm failing it. I'm already starting to fret and focus on the negative. How do I train for that one over the next 13 days?
While I know that I can more than do the job physically, it's my mind that I worry about. I've been so used to just trying to finish the race, that making the shift to actually racing is new, and I have my doubts.
My body can do all the things I would like it to do -- but I fear my brain will start trying to talk it out of it. When it gets hot. When my seat starts to get sore. When my hamstrings get tight. When I'm all alone out on the run course, at 2 in the afternoon.
The mental test will be the toughest, and today, I'm failing it. I'm already starting to fret and focus on the negative. How do I train for that one over the next 13 days?
Victoria race report, or how to win a free bottle of champagne in a little over 4 hours
A week after competing at Blue Lake, I headed to Victoria, BC, to do the full Olympic triathlon. I participated as part of a relay team in the half IM distance last year (doing the swim and the run), but wanted to get in some bike time this season.
Going in, the goal was to try and break 35 minutes on the swim and to really push it on the run. For the bike, I was supposed to stay in the 80-85 percent of FTP (for the non-tri folks, that is functional threshold pace, which basically means the power output I can hold for a specific duration and still be, well, functional).
After spending a great deal of the offseason working on my swimming and picking up speed on my running, since late winter, I have been focusing a lot of attention on my cycling. In an effort to do just that, I invested in a power meter this year. Through interval training, I managed to boost my FTP from 140 to 180 in a few months.
I have gotten more and more comfortable on a road bike, but still need to work on descents and picking up my MPH. This rolling hills course seemed like a good event to practice both.
I headed up to Victoria with travel buddy and teammate Guy Haycock on Friday morning, enjoying a beautiful ferry ride from Anacortes, Wash., to the terminal in Sidney, BC.
After a leisurely afternoon strolling the harbor and enjoying some lunch, we met up with teammates Mike Marlowe and Tracey Weller for dinner and then settled in early to rest up for a short workout the next morning at the race venue, Elk Lake Park, with coach Michael Covey and teammates Ron Montague and Susie Nieto before picking up our race packets and checking in our bikes.
Again -- no alcohol. The plan worked perfectly at Blue Lake, so I was going to continue to follow it in Victoria as well.
Saturday, June 15:
We enjoyed a lovely breakfast (a protein-heavy breakfast burrito for me) before loading up the bikes and heading to the lake (it's about a 30 minute drive). The plan was for a 10-minute swim to focus on sighting, a 30-minute ride just to spin and a 10-minute run. Coach Michael took us out to swim, and helped each person make various adjustments. He called me over after we had completed the main swim and asked me to swim out ahead of him while he held onto my feet, telling me not to kick when he let go. I did that a couple of times. I noted that I felt good propulsion, and Michael noted that I was swimming straight as an arrow without kicking. He said my legs were dropping when I kicked (a function of the tightness of the wetsuit), which was throwing my streamline out of whack. By not kicking, I could allow the wetsuit to provide the buoyancy on my legs and keep my hips and legs high on the water. The instruction for the mile swim on race day: No kicking. Period.
After stripping off wetsuits, we headed out on the bikes. This time, Michael stayed with me the entire way, offering coaching along the way. It was greatly appreciated and a great help. Right away, he noticed that my seat was a bit too low. After a short adjustment, I was sitting a bit higher, allowing me to get more power in my pedal stroke. We worked on climbs and descents and I felt my confidence growing as we rode along. Again, much appreciated.
Before heading out on the run, I picked up my race packet, attached my number on my bike and left it in transition before heading out on my short run. From there, it was pack up for the ride back to Victoria for cleanup and lunch. After lunch, Guy and I headed back to the room, where he napped and I got my race bag set up for the next morning. Race start was 6:45, and we planned to get to transition at 5:30, so it was going to be an early wakeup call. I wanted to make sure I had everything together and ready to go the night before. As an added precaution, I made a point to pack an extra pair of contact lens with me. I've never had my goggles completely kicked off, but if that was to happen, and I lost a lens, that would bring an end to my race day very quickly. Not sure why I hadn't thought to do this before, but I will remember to do it for all races going forward.
We met everyone for dinner (pasta with red sauce, little spice -- trying to keep the GI tract happy), then a quick run to the grocery store to pick up bananas, Greek yogurt, bagels and peanut butter for breakfast the next morning (not my usual pre-race meal, but without access to a kitchen or microwave, this is my back-up meal). On the way back from dinner and grocery shopping, I was chewing bubble gum and blew a giant bubble. Guy bet me a bottle of champagne that I would be able to blow a bubble as I crossed the finish line the next day. I told him I'd take that bet. Then it was early to bed.
Sunday, June 16: Race morning
The alarm went off at 4:30 (that NEVER gets any easier). All that was left to do was hydrate (Powerade Zero and some coffee), eat (I took a banana with me to have before swim start, along with a couple of Stinger Waffles) and get dressed. We hit the road around 5 a.m., hoping to find a Starbucks for one last cup of coffee on the way, but no dice.
We arrived at the race site right about 5:30 and headed to our respective rack spots to set up our transition areas and the like. I borrowed Guy's pump to pump up my tires and set out the basics -- as well as a piece of bubble gum -- trying, again, for quick transitions.
Since the half-IM started 45 minutes before the Olympic, I joined Michael at the beach to watch the swim start. There's nothing quite like a mass start. Open water swimming is always an adventure, but doing it with the entire field instead of just a 100 of your close friends can be intimidating. After watching a while, I asked Michael to zip up my wetsuit and then headed into the water to warm up.
I know it's common sense, but doing the warm up is essential. It gives me time to get acclimated to the water temperature, but more importantly, it allows me to focus on my swim stroke and shake off that nervous pre-race energy.
Going against my usual pattern of hanging back and counting to 10 before I start once the gun goes off, I seeded myself to the right, mid-pack. I knew it would be a thrash for a while, but better to get myself i a position to draft off some swimmers at the start. And that's exactly what I did. I focused on my high elbow, not kicking and just swam. I told myself that I would not check my time at any point on the swim and I didn't. My goal was 35 minutes, but having never swam without kicking, I decided I was just going to swim the whole way, no breaks, no breast stroke and not worry about the time.
Went I exited the water and saw 34.59, I was beyond thrilled. On to the bike.
My T1s are always a bit too long, but I did much better then normal. Getting the wetsuit off and making sure my feet are dry are what takes the most time. Added the arm warmers also took a bit of time. It took me 7 minutes -- far too much time. My goal would be to do this in under 5 minutes.
The bike course is rolling -- a LOT of rolling, so my plan was not to really push hard on the bike but rather to work on keeping my power output at 80-85 percent, my descents and using momentum to carry me up the hills after the descents, and, as always, to get through all of my hydration, while practicing my nutrition. For the most part, it was a success. I didn't quite get my gearing right coming down the hills so there wasn't much momentum going up the next hill. However, by the end of the ride, I knew better how to do it.
I took one Stinger waffle with me, thinking the 27.65 mile bike would take me less than two hours. I was a bit off, and in hindsight, should have brought more calories with me. But the fact that I finished both bottles of Skratch and ate the waffle was another first.
I was passed by three of my teammates, who were on their second lap on the half, including Guy, who gave an encouraging tushy slap as we climbed up a hill. It was good to get the encouragement from all of them. Not my fastest bike ride (2 hours, 14 mins), but I accomplished my goals and felt pretty good at the end.
My T2 was a bit longer than I would have like because I had to pee before I started out on the run -- a VERY good sign. It meant that I was, indeed, well hydrated. After a quick stop in the little green house, I was out on the run (bubble gum in my mouth), with a time of 4:31. I KNOW I can do better at this.
The goal was for me to really let it fly on the run, but a mile and a half in, it just didn't seem like that was going to happen. My GI tract was doing just fine, but there was no fire in my legs. After Tracey passed me on her first lap of the 20K at mile 2, I just tried to focus on keeping my form in check and running 5 minutes and walking 1. It was disappointing, and I started to let my head wander into negative land, but when I would go there, I rechecked myself and said that all I could do was go forward and try to keep my form together.
The run at Victoria is a lovely trail about Elk and Beaver lakes. It's shaded and very pretty, so it was a good place to try and get my mind quiet. Power and strength, power and strength, power and strength ... that was my mantra. With two miles to go, Ron passed me on his first 20K lap, and as he went by, he reminded me that I was only two miles from a beer. A lovely thought, and it brought a smile to my face and put a little bit of push in my spirit, which pushed my legs. From that point on, I vowed that I would finish before my half IM friends. From a mental standpoint, being lapped by people doing twice my distance, despite getting a 45-minute head start, would not be good. I knew I could get there first.
With about a quarter of a mile to go, I just went for it (10:30/miles was far from as fast as I can go, but that worked for that time) and as I neared the finish line, I started trying to work on blowing that bubble. Let me tell you, that proved to be more than I could muster. It was literally trying to walk and chew gum at the same time. As I hit the finish, I had to slow down to a walk in order to blow that bubble. But I did -- bet won! My run time was terrible (1:19) but I had accomplished all but one of my goals. Final time, 4:21:31.
I finished just 4 minutes ahead of Mike, so I just barely made that road-kill goal, but I did it. That was a big boost to my morale.
Big lessons from Victoria:
1. No kicking when swimming with a wetsuit
2. When I drink all of my hydration (pre-race and during), my GI tract stays good
3. Accelerate in the descents and get my gears right in the descent so I can shift quickly on the next climb
4. Never give up!
5. Never bet me that I can't blow a bubble at the finish, otherwise ...
You'll be looking at this. On to Vineman!
Going in, the goal was to try and break 35 minutes on the swim and to really push it on the run. For the bike, I was supposed to stay in the 80-85 percent of FTP (for the non-tri folks, that is functional threshold pace, which basically means the power output I can hold for a specific duration and still be, well, functional).
After spending a great deal of the offseason working on my swimming and picking up speed on my running, since late winter, I have been focusing a lot of attention on my cycling. In an effort to do just that, I invested in a power meter this year. Through interval training, I managed to boost my FTP from 140 to 180 in a few months.
I have gotten more and more comfortable on a road bike, but still need to work on descents and picking up my MPH. This rolling hills course seemed like a good event to practice both.I headed up to Victoria with travel buddy and teammate Guy Haycock on Friday morning, enjoying a beautiful ferry ride from Anacortes, Wash., to the terminal in Sidney, BC.
After a leisurely afternoon strolling the harbor and enjoying some lunch, we met up with teammates Mike Marlowe and Tracey Weller for dinner and then settled in early to rest up for a short workout the next morning at the race venue, Elk Lake Park, with coach Michael Covey and teammates Ron Montague and Susie Nieto before picking up our race packets and checking in our bikes.
Again -- no alcohol. The plan worked perfectly at Blue Lake, so I was going to continue to follow it in Victoria as well.
Saturday, June 15:
We enjoyed a lovely breakfast (a protein-heavy breakfast burrito for me) before loading up the bikes and heading to the lake (it's about a 30 minute drive). The plan was for a 10-minute swim to focus on sighting, a 30-minute ride just to spin and a 10-minute run. Coach Michael took us out to swim, and helped each person make various adjustments. He called me over after we had completed the main swim and asked me to swim out ahead of him while he held onto my feet, telling me not to kick when he let go. I did that a couple of times. I noted that I felt good propulsion, and Michael noted that I was swimming straight as an arrow without kicking. He said my legs were dropping when I kicked (a function of the tightness of the wetsuit), which was throwing my streamline out of whack. By not kicking, I could allow the wetsuit to provide the buoyancy on my legs and keep my hips and legs high on the water. The instruction for the mile swim on race day: No kicking. Period.
After stripping off wetsuits, we headed out on the bikes. This time, Michael stayed with me the entire way, offering coaching along the way. It was greatly appreciated and a great help. Right away, he noticed that my seat was a bit too low. After a short adjustment, I was sitting a bit higher, allowing me to get more power in my pedal stroke. We worked on climbs and descents and I felt my confidence growing as we rode along. Again, much appreciated.
Before heading out on the run, I picked up my race packet, attached my number on my bike and left it in transition before heading out on my short run. From there, it was pack up for the ride back to Victoria for cleanup and lunch. After lunch, Guy and I headed back to the room, where he napped and I got my race bag set up for the next morning. Race start was 6:45, and we planned to get to transition at 5:30, so it was going to be an early wakeup call. I wanted to make sure I had everything together and ready to go the night before. As an added precaution, I made a point to pack an extra pair of contact lens with me. I've never had my goggles completely kicked off, but if that was to happen, and I lost a lens, that would bring an end to my race day very quickly. Not sure why I hadn't thought to do this before, but I will remember to do it for all races going forward.
We met everyone for dinner (pasta with red sauce, little spice -- trying to keep the GI tract happy), then a quick run to the grocery store to pick up bananas, Greek yogurt, bagels and peanut butter for breakfast the next morning (not my usual pre-race meal, but without access to a kitchen or microwave, this is my back-up meal). On the way back from dinner and grocery shopping, I was chewing bubble gum and blew a giant bubble. Guy bet me a bottle of champagne that I would be able to blow a bubble as I crossed the finish line the next day. I told him I'd take that bet. Then it was early to bed.
Sunday, June 16: Race morning
The alarm went off at 4:30 (that NEVER gets any easier). All that was left to do was hydrate (Powerade Zero and some coffee), eat (I took a banana with me to have before swim start, along with a couple of Stinger Waffles) and get dressed. We hit the road around 5 a.m., hoping to find a Starbucks for one last cup of coffee on the way, but no dice.
We arrived at the race site right about 5:30 and headed to our respective rack spots to set up our transition areas and the like. I borrowed Guy's pump to pump up my tires and set out the basics -- as well as a piece of bubble gum -- trying, again, for quick transitions.
Since the half-IM started 45 minutes before the Olympic, I joined Michael at the beach to watch the swim start. There's nothing quite like a mass start. Open water swimming is always an adventure, but doing it with the entire field instead of just a 100 of your close friends can be intimidating. After watching a while, I asked Michael to zip up my wetsuit and then headed into the water to warm up.
I know it's common sense, but doing the warm up is essential. It gives me time to get acclimated to the water temperature, but more importantly, it allows me to focus on my swim stroke and shake off that nervous pre-race energy.
Going against my usual pattern of hanging back and counting to 10 before I start once the gun goes off, I seeded myself to the right, mid-pack. I knew it would be a thrash for a while, but better to get myself i a position to draft off some swimmers at the start. And that's exactly what I did. I focused on my high elbow, not kicking and just swam. I told myself that I would not check my time at any point on the swim and I didn't. My goal was 35 minutes, but having never swam without kicking, I decided I was just going to swim the whole way, no breaks, no breast stroke and not worry about the time.
Went I exited the water and saw 34.59, I was beyond thrilled. On to the bike.
My T1s are always a bit too long, but I did much better then normal. Getting the wetsuit off and making sure my feet are dry are what takes the most time. Added the arm warmers also took a bit of time. It took me 7 minutes -- far too much time. My goal would be to do this in under 5 minutes.
The bike course is rolling -- a LOT of rolling, so my plan was not to really push hard on the bike but rather to work on keeping my power output at 80-85 percent, my descents and using momentum to carry me up the hills after the descents, and, as always, to get through all of my hydration, while practicing my nutrition. For the most part, it was a success. I didn't quite get my gearing right coming down the hills so there wasn't much momentum going up the next hill. However, by the end of the ride, I knew better how to do it.
I took one Stinger waffle with me, thinking the 27.65 mile bike would take me less than two hours. I was a bit off, and in hindsight, should have brought more calories with me. But the fact that I finished both bottles of Skratch and ate the waffle was another first.
I was passed by three of my teammates, who were on their second lap on the half, including Guy, who gave an encouraging tushy slap as we climbed up a hill. It was good to get the encouragement from all of them. Not my fastest bike ride (2 hours, 14 mins), but I accomplished my goals and felt pretty good at the end.
My T2 was a bit longer than I would have like because I had to pee before I started out on the run -- a VERY good sign. It meant that I was, indeed, well hydrated. After a quick stop in the little green house, I was out on the run (bubble gum in my mouth), with a time of 4:31. I KNOW I can do better at this.
The goal was for me to really let it fly on the run, but a mile and a half in, it just didn't seem like that was going to happen. My GI tract was doing just fine, but there was no fire in my legs. After Tracey passed me on her first lap of the 20K at mile 2, I just tried to focus on keeping my form in check and running 5 minutes and walking 1. It was disappointing, and I started to let my head wander into negative land, but when I would go there, I rechecked myself and said that all I could do was go forward and try to keep my form together.
The run at Victoria is a lovely trail about Elk and Beaver lakes. It's shaded and very pretty, so it was a good place to try and get my mind quiet. Power and strength, power and strength, power and strength ... that was my mantra. With two miles to go, Ron passed me on his first 20K lap, and as he went by, he reminded me that I was only two miles from a beer. A lovely thought, and it brought a smile to my face and put a little bit of push in my spirit, which pushed my legs. From that point on, I vowed that I would finish before my half IM friends. From a mental standpoint, being lapped by people doing twice my distance, despite getting a 45-minute head start, would not be good. I knew I could get there first.
With about a quarter of a mile to go, I just went for it (10:30/miles was far from as fast as I can go, but that worked for that time) and as I neared the finish line, I started trying to work on blowing that bubble. Let me tell you, that proved to be more than I could muster. It was literally trying to walk and chew gum at the same time. As I hit the finish, I had to slow down to a walk in order to blow that bubble. But I did -- bet won! My run time was terrible (1:19) but I had accomplished all but one of my goals. Final time, 4:21:31.
I finished just 4 minutes ahead of Mike, so I just barely made that road-kill goal, but I did it. That was a big boost to my morale.
Big lessons from Victoria:
1. No kicking when swimming with a wetsuit
2. When I drink all of my hydration (pre-race and during), my GI tract stays good
3. Accelerate in the descents and get my gears right in the descent so I can shift quickly on the next climb
4. Never give up!
5. Never bet me that I can't blow a bubble at the finish, otherwise ...
You'll be looking at this. On to Vineman!
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