Monday, December 17, 2012

Looking Forward


Soweto Marathon - 2012

I was at the start line 40 min before the start and I still missed the gun.

While you ponder how that is possible, let me tell you that even though I could see the start line, I was in my car at the time. A huge parking problem and traffic jam had me in the car until 6:05am (with a 6:00 gun). But let me take you back two days where I made a long trip to Soweto to pick up the packets. Some people had their number texted to them. I did not, so into a different line I went. And although all we had to do was approach one of the 7 people with a computer, give our surname, receive a number instantly and take it to the packet pickup across the room. One hour later I stood at the computer watching a lady fumble with the keys and mouse to get me my number. Eight minutes per person for this simple task. Simply amazing.

Back to my car on race morning. The gun has sounded and yet my jogging now is extra miles as I weave through the parked cars and down the road, against the flow of runners (not that there are many since I am so late) and to the start line to tag it and turn. I wear a chip but there is no chip time, only gun. Thankfully (or not as it would turn out), coming through the line right then were the top two runners from my club, Lindsey and Kirsten (two guys with girl’s names as they are referred to, but fast none the less). I join with them but stop at 1K to poop since I didn’t have a pre-race ritual (in fact, I put on sunscreen and Vaseline in the car in traffic). But I caught up at 3K when Lindsey abandoned the race with an injured Achilles.

Kirsten and I ran the rest of the way together, but far faster than I wanted to go. He pulled me to a 3:11 (though the official clock will read closer to 3:22 since I was late). Soweto is a hilly and diverse race but this was poorly organized and I was not happy with it.

Leading up to Soweto and in the 5 weeks that followed, I was blasted repeatedly with a stomach virus that I couldn’t shake. Rounds of antibiotics did little to keep me from feeling weak, dehydrated, and out of the bathroom. To make it worse, I committed to weekend runs with these fast guys. On the Saturday following Soweto, I pounded the pavement with Lindsey and Kirsten and Cambell, over the Tough One course with some extensions. Kirsten overslept so when he met up with us, he punished himself by pushing the pace. Too bad for the rest of us that the course is one of the hardest 20 mile circuits in road running. With a total of about 23 miles for the day, I was pleased with the pace (about 7:30 over the monster hills just 6 days after my first marathon of the season). My stomach was crap and I was weak from the effects.

One week later I awoke at 5am and spent the better part of an hour in the bathroom with liquid expulsion. I stumbled to the corner to meet Lindsey for yet another tour of the Tough One course, my 3rd 22+ mile effort in as many weeks. I struggled from the beginning feeling empty and dehydrated. My legs, having no fuel (I hadn’t eaten solids in 2 days) quickly went to crap and then stone as they started to lock up. With about 5 miles to go, and at the peak of long climbs, I sent Lindsey on to finish solo. It was a death march for me and took me days to get over the depletion of running so hard and long on an empty tank.

Since I had the qualifier, I put in for the Hardrock 100. It is a prestigious race, great mountains, elite, and a better timing for me. 68,000 feet of elevation change. However, the number of people entered in the lottery is double the population of the town the race is held in. My chances of being selected were somewhere between 1.9% and 4.4%.

As you can probably guess the result of that lottery, I have registered for Burning River 100 in Akron, Ohio. Looking back, I did not finish this race in August of 2008. The epic failure at this race was one of the inspiring events in launching An Incondite Adventure. So, with all things lining up, I am going back this year to redeem myself from the low point in my ultra running. Stay tuned for an update on this stomach issue and the coming marathon season.

Sunday, October 7, 2012

Getting Old

Why did it take so long for me to recover from the summer? Was it the big 3 (Ironman, Comrades, and WS100 inside of 8 weeks)? Nope. It is because I am old. It takes longer to recover from races now. I have hair growing in places I don’t want it and can’t keep hair in places I do. My bedtime is shockingly early, I yell at people that play loud music.

After some rest, I started running a bit to keep the flow. My legs were tired and I had low motivation, perhaps the lowest I have ever had. Running long or fast left me feeling empty and running short was a waste of time. Cycling attempted to break up the feeling but it wasn’t going anywhere. Why not try another sport.

Post run, I played some softball. From the warm up, I was hurting. The strain in my back grew worse throughout the game and after a nap, I could barely walk. Fearing a stress fracture, I headed to the emergency room. An x-ray suggested some trauma to the disc but no fracture. Unfortunately, I could not seek any treatment. Anti-inflammatories were out of the question.

You see, prior to a surgery one is not allowed to take such medication. And a few days after the back injury I was going in for some surgery. Time to tie the tubes. Had to fix the plumbing. Close the baby factory. Look, I can’t spell it out any clearer so if you aren’t with me now, go talk to mom and dad about some serious things.

I was laid up for a while. It hurt like nothing else. One time in high school, a girl kicked me in the valuables, and it was torture. However, this was that feeling for days on end. I was nauseous, and it lots of discomfort because the pain medication constipates me and makes me incapable of driving, working, etc. It turns out, I had a slight infection, and the only way to clear it up was a round of anti-inflammatories – I guess it was safe to take them again. After 9 days off, I resumed running.

A month later, I have now done 4 straight weeks of 6 days/week. By adding longer runs and then a workout (a solo 8K time trial in 6:25/mile), I am getting back into it. Motivation returned and I signed up for Comrades and Two Oceans. Played softball there other day – 6 for 6 with 3 home runs. So I got that going for me, which is nice. Less than a month until my first marathon, which will hurt this old guy, but it won’t stop me.

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Western States 100

Be Careful What You Wish For at the WSER

Back in December I carelessly looked at the Western States Endurance Run website expecting, like four times before, to see my name left off the lottery winners. Instead, in the least ideal year for it to happen, my name appeared on the list and my spot booked. Six months later, sore and tired from completing Ironman and Comrades within the past 8 weeks, I toed the line looking to complete my 2nd 100 after failing in the last 3 attempts. Knowing that WS is typical of snow early and intense heat later, I prayed for cooler weather.
Breakfast pre-race
The climb up the Escarpment was 3.5 miles long, and every step of it unrunnable (for us mere mortals). Luckily, I met up with a guy from New York at about 1 mile up the hill. As we chatted and exchanged stories, we clicked into a pace that I knew was going to help me finish my run. Little did I know that we would run together through 62 miles and finish within 2 minutes of each other, despite not seeing one another for more than 10 seconds in the last 38 miles…

Temperatures at the start were cold. Halfway up the climb, the wind picked up and the hail started. After summiting the mountain, we thought it would abate but instead it only intensified. Here is where runners usually encounter snow fields and loose footing. We lucked out with clear trails but exchanged footing for ripping weather. As we slipped through the woods the rain came with cold winds. At times, it alternated with hail. Soaked to the bone, most runners were very under prepared for the weather – hands were frozen, shoes wet, and body heat lost. My hands hurt pretty bad and I had to run with my hands in my armpits on flat stretches. Myles, my new-found friend, wasn’t as lucky. His hands were bleach white and he couldn’t squeeze his water bottles. It was ironic; I had hoped for heat not to be a factor and it wasn’t. I did not, however, specify and the cold could have been a problem.

When I met my crew (Sarah and Michael) at 23.5 miles, there wasn’t much they could do for me. The aid stations were stocked well and there was no point in changing shoes or my shirt in the pouring rain. I bid them well and moved on down the trail. The running in the first third of the race was quite fair. There were lots of undulating trails so walking early and often wasn’t a problem like it was in my previous races. Myles and I used each other to pace after pee breaks and aid stations as well as just to chat about anything and everything to keep our minds free from the course. Amazingly, we were right on “projected” 24-hour pace a lot of the time. It was a lot like having a pacer the whole way. Myles was unreal at hiking, so whenever we hit a hill, we walked and yet gained on people.

After mile 35, the rain finally ceased. For almost 7 hours we had been soaking wet and it was nice to break up the chill. Myles and I hit a dirt road and enjoyed the feeling of warmth again. During this stretch I experienced my first struggle. My right quad was tight and my left ankle aching as if I had just finished Comrades. It was here that I thought my race would start to deteriorate due to the recovery from the other races. I slowed the pace a bit entering Dusty Corner (38 mi) and met my crew for the second time. My shoes and shirt were changed and I departed feeling clean and dry for the first time in a day.

Every year, runners vamp about the canyons at WS100. A series of 3 long descents followed by 3 difficult climbs makes up the course from about 43-62 miles. Temperatures can soar past 105 degrees at the bottoms and by the time runners climb the hour and half out, they are exhausted, dehydrated and demoralized by the thought of repeating the feat…twice more. But this year, we were blessed. Just as the snow was gone, the horrid heat traditionally marking the canyons was absent. Temps rose as we descended and stifling air lingered on each climb but one could only imagine what 35-40 more degrees would have meant at that point in the race. Honestly, with my history in the heat and with my level of training, I am convinced that had it been normally hot, I would have failed to complete the race. Instead, the canyons, though difficult, did not prove to be any harder than most of the rest of the course. As we bombed down the first one to Deadwood, I grew tired of the switchbacks and my legs and body ached. After a few choice swear words for the trail, we finally hit the creek at the bottom. Immediately Myles went to the front and within 2 minutes we had passed all those who had descended ahead of us. He flew up this section! I scrambled behind him, content to let him lead and haul me up the climb. We attained Devil’s Thumb ahead of pace, which was shocking because in the videos of the race, most people look like death here!

At this point I didn’t think I could handle another canyon. Being a Michigan State guy, I soon found the runner with us was from Illinois, and Myles was a Penn State grad. I jumped into the lead of our Big Ten group and took us down the slightly less steep canyon. Myles did not feel good this section and our talking minimized. Near the bottom we met some aid station people hiking up the trail who told us we were “nearly there.” We weren’t. 10 minutes more is a long way when you are sick of bombing downhill on tired legs. We crossed 50 miles in 10:30, a solid but not reckless pace. The bottom was welcomed but Myles took his revenge on the next climb. His pace up to Michigan Bluff was inhumane. There was no way Illinois and I could go with him and we had to settle for watching him disappear up the mountain. It all came back together at the aid station and Myles and I reconnected for the monotonous walk up Bath Road.

Tim Twietmeyer has won this race 5 times. Even more impressively, he has run under 24 hours 25 times! There is no one who is more Mr. Western States. Myles, being from New York, had no pacer and signed up. Who should answer the call but Austin Twietmeyer, Tim’s son. Tim met us at several points along the course, and Austin was there at the base of Bath Road. Sarah met us here too and after meeting Tim in person, we blasted into Foresthill at 62 miles (100K) on the ultimate high. I picked up Michael as my pacer and we got out of there.

Feeling good at 100K
California Street became my undoing. Largely downhill and with a fired-up pacer, it hurt, bad. No crew access made for a discouraging 16 miles. I was uncomfortable with the increased amount of running and started to have some bad patches. The last section before the river crossing was the most difficult. Dusk had fallen and we donned headlamps. The trail was narrow and twisted every few feet. I was not happy here and was even less happy when the trail ended. Up we climbed a road higher and higher above the river I knew we would have to return to in order to cross. I tried hard to run at points and the legs fought back. After seeing the lights of the river crossing a long way off forever, we inched into the near-side station. I was convinced I would not be able to run again the rest of the way, ending my sub-24 hour dream.

Rucky Chucky River Crossing is a spectacle. About 100m across, the ice-cold river is not easy to cross. Sitting below Class 6 rapids, the river bottom is very rocky and makes for a slow crossing. A large cable is stretched from each side with about 10 volunteers in the water holding the rope tight. I worked my way across just behind Michael. The chilling water came up to mid belly icing everything from the chest down. It took about 3 minutes to cross and when I finally reached the other side, I sat on large rocks, frozen, until my crew could change me out of my clothes. After eating, we began the long, steep hike up to Green Gate, taking nearly an hour to go from the river near side to the gate (about 1.7 miles). I wasn’t sure my running would resume. The next 10 miles were a blur of remote aid stations lost in the deep woods. My pace was the best I could manage but certainly slowed as the body began its steady breakdown. Michael led the way and alternated tripping on rocks and roots with slipping on small holes on the edge of the trail. We plugged on.

With 10 miles to go, I was doing as good as could be expected. Sarah met us at the Hwy. 49 crossing, about 6.7 miles to go and the last real crew point. We started the climb out of the aid station and I got a small rock in my shoe. When I sat on the side of the trail to remove it, Myles went zooming by. I was glad to see him again as I wondered if he had succumbed to the 100 miler but apparently he was strong. Michael roused me up from the ground and encouraged me to go after Myles. Having run the hills with him for 55+ miles, I knew I would never see him again. His pace was too strong on hills. But Michael and I hustled whenever we could, which was very little. Anything more than a flat path or slight slant downhill was a walk. Everything else hurt too much.

At No Hands Bridge, we were in the home stretch of about 3 miles to go. Far above on the hill were the lights of Robie Point and the end of the trail. We hustled along the road and got inspired to run a little bit. It hurt to run, but from this point in, we knew that there would be no blow up. We even caught a few people between brief bouts of running and more hiking. The last part was the steepest but many aid station people had hiked down to welcome us. No one took aid as it was just about 10 more minutes to the finish line. We hiked up the last long hill and hit the road. A series of downhill rollers slapped me in the face but I ran them anyway, content to bring on the pain. People passed me anyway but I didn’t care. We crossed the white bridge and entered the track with 300m left to roll. As two people raced in, I moved into lane 2 and let them go, wanting the finishing straightaway all to myself. I crossed the 100.2 miles in 23:14:51, good for 114th place, the first guy from Michigan, and lucky to be standing.
Myles and Justin at the awards

The Silver Buckle
No epic story here…no crumbling pace, no injuries, no craziness. Just a guy in the mountains setting a pace and sticking with it for the silver buckle. This was perhaps my most perfect race. I wasn’t trained well so I didn’t go out hard. When I got sore and tired, I just kept going as best I could. My stomach never went really south. My legs, though sore, never bonked. My attitude, though grumpy, never quit. And that is how you get a Silver Sub-24 hour WSER buckle on an average of 22 miles per week.

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Sunday, June 3, 2012

Comrades and the Post-Ironman





After four days off, I got back to some running. After all, I had Comrades to knock out. But before I could take on Comrades (56 hilly miles through South Africa), I needed to reflect on my time. For 38 weeks, I had hit the bike, sloshed in the water, and pounded the pavement. It was a major sacrifice to the family, my energy level, and general sense of sanity, but becoming an Ironman all over again was worth it.

I am not a big swimmer but I managed 116500m in the pool. That is 116 kilometers. That is 4640 lengths of the pool. It took me 45 hours, 19, minutes, and 4 seconds. That is swimming for the amount of time people work in a week, plus lunch breaks, with overtime. I swam the distance of the Ironman (2.4 miles) over 30 times.

One of the biggest improvements was my cycling. Although by no means a cyclist compared to most standards, I upped my mileage and intensity. I bagged 2089.7 miles. That is cycling from Detroit to Disney World, FL, then back. I spent 112 hours, 31 minutes, and 40 seconds on the bike. That’s 7351 minutes in the saddle. Since I like to watch some TV shows on the bike, I could watch 334 episodes of a show (no commercials).

My running was not as much as normal, which is fine. I managed 832 miles which is about 22 miles per week. Seems low, but on top of the other training, it was still equivalent to almost 32 standard marathons. That is like running from Greeley, CO to Las Vegas. I ran fine at IM, so it was enough. I just hope it is enough for WS100.

I also spent over 6 hours in the gym, which I despise, and 14 hours and 30 minutes doing core work. That is enough time to watch all of the Rocky movies and continuously do sit-ups throughout. The fastest people in the world can run 100 miles and I would just do sit-ups the whole time.
Total



Cumulative Distance
Cumulative Time
Swim
116500m 45:19:04
Bike
2089.7 mi
122:31:40
Run
832 mi
113:03:42
Core
N/A
14:30:00
Lift
N/A
6:15:00


Comrades Marathon 2012

Down is not easier! I was very busy with work this year and didn’t even think of the race until I was on the plane, less than 14 hours before the start of the race. It wasn’t ideal. But the excitement on the line snapped me back to attention. I set off to run just under 9 hours, a Bill Rowan medal, and to finish without impacting my ability to do Western States well.


Early on, it was easy. The course is, after all, down. I hooked up with an Irishman named Paul, a Dublin cop, with about 65k to go. We ran every step together from there. About 20 times per mile, people would yell, “Hey look, Ireland!” or “Have a Guinness,” or “Sing us a song, Laddie!” At first it was funny, but after a while, it just got weird. Paul’s comment: “We are a rare breed.”

Hitting the marathon in about 3:41 and the half in 3:55 I knew I was too fast. But it was easy up till that point. I encouraged a few preemptive walk breaks and as the last half bombed downhill, I needed them. The pain of going downhill is far worse than up. With 20 miles to go, I finally saw Sarah. She was supposed to meet me about 3 times before that but couldn’t connect due to the traffic and crowds. That meant I had to go without Gu for that long. But I survived. The worst part was the sunglasses – I had been without them for the whole race. When Sarah gave me a pair, I gladly put them on but within a mile, they were broken. I have been squinting for a week since.
The Irishman and I battle it out with the Africans in the final stretch.


Back-to-Back for another Bill Rowan Medal
 My knees and ankles were screaming for me to stop and in the final hills, the pace slowed significantly. But all ended after 8:20:55. I got my 2nd Bill Rowan and the prestigious back-to-back medal. The recovery took about 3 days for the pain to subside and since I have been running light trying to find my energy and get the knees feeling good again. But now I have a 56-mile road race under my belt. I hope it is enough, and at the same time, not too much. Western States looms, just 20 days after Comrades.

Sunday, April 22, 2012

Ironman South Africa

"Before the race I wasn’t sure I was going to finish, and during the race I was struggling like everyone else, but in the race the goal was to not fall off the bike.”

-Clememynte Alonso-McKernan (ESP), 2012 Ironman SA winner
  
Rain pre-race
The Ironman. 2.4 mile open-water swim, 112 mile bike, 26.2 mile marathon run. As if it wasn’t hard enough. Port Elizabeth thought differently. Race morning welcomed us with gusting winds, hammering rain, and soaking the bikes, post-race gear, and all who braved the early morning start. I began laughing about 30 minutes prior to the start because it was funny. This wasn’t just poor weather; this was insane weather. Rumblings throughout the crowd said that we might be canceling the swim. I sprinted to the tent along with 300 others to escape the rain and change into my wetsuit. There was space for about 50 of us so this was a bit rough. When I tried to stand, I realized I had put my leg through the arm hole of the wetsuit. Not a great start. A quick pee and I joined the start mass to a rising sun, dancing Africans, and 1800 nervous people.
The start, and the calm before the storm, again

As if continuing the joke, the skies relaxed and the ocean calmed. It was going to be a perfect day after a questionable start. I hit the water about 100 feet back, determined to be ahead of the slower people but not crushed by faster swimmers. It retrospect, the first lap (1.2 miles) didn’t feel all that bad. I never really found a rhythm as my stroke and rotation did not feel natural, but that was common in open-water swims for me. My split when I exited the water should have been between 30 and 33 minutes. It was 38 flat. Hmm. That didn’t seem right, but not a time to panic as I could totally pick up my swim on the second lap, expending more energy now that the field had sorted itself out.

Nope. What actually happened is the sea spit back. My first leg of 300m went ok, but when we turned left for a 700m segment, all hell broke loose. The current against us, every stroke was a negative. After a few hundred meters I could see the next buoy, but every time I looked up, it was further away. I was going backwards. When I fought harder, my strokes wouldn’t catch water when I was on top of a wave and I would only feel air as I splashed down into the bottom of the swell. My breathing was only to one side as when I would try and alternate breathing to the left, I would swallow a mouthful of salty ocean water. Turing seemed to make no difference and I found myself running into people if I drafted or swimming wide and alone. It was an exercise in poor strategy that’s for sure. The last 150m was the longest of my day as I made my way along the pier towards the shore. Swimming in high swells and tides like this was like running a marathon in sand. It was like being in a washing machine and trying to swim straight. Eventually this tumble cycle caught up with me and I vomited chunks into the water mid-stroke.
Me in blue, post vomit, post swim


When I exited the water and saw my watch (almost 1:22), I nearly quit. My projected time was 1:06-1:07:30. This was way off and my heart sunk even though Sarah was right there at the exit to try to motivate me onward. Given my projected time, I am surprised that she waited around, but we were all struggling. Only 4 men broke an hour, when in most Ironman competitions, all the contenders go under 50 minutes. Six-time Ironman World Champion and eventual female winner Natascha Badmann described the swim as “brutal.” From that moment on, my resolve was to forget the time and focus on finishing this race strong, though the initial goal was to simply finish. My transition was solid (4:18) given the long distance to run between grabbing my bag, showering, changing, and getting my bike.
I hopped on determined to ride a strong bike. It was not to be. Instantly upon entering the road, the winds blasted us across the lanes. You know those large plastic barriers used to block traffic for construction or concerts that are the size of a couch? Minutes into the bike one of those blew across the road in front of us, causing riders to bend around it. It didn’t get any better from there.
Suffering on the bike. The picture looks nice, but for an indication of the wind, check the palm tree over my right shoulder bending nearly sideways. 40mph sustained winds, gusts of 60+mph.
The course is three loops with a major rise in the first 13km of each loop, rolling after that until about 35km, and very flat from there until transition. However, the cross- and headwinds made cycling nearly impossible for about 25 miles of each 37 mile loop. We plowed up the hill in large groups, barely hitting 15 mph on the first loop, and falling to 12 and 10 mph on the next two. After climbing at this slow pace for 13K of each loop, normal Ironman SA athletes welcome the summit and last major climb of the course with a 9K descent with rolling hills before the turn around. On this day, the normal blazing downhill at 40mph was replaced with a hard pedal at 20mph, and got slower with each progressive loop. Small rises that should have been ripped over thoughtlessly were all-out sprints at a crawl. Never have I been so excited to reach a checkpoint in a race as I was to hit that turnaround each time.

When I rolled to a stop at 2nd Avenue to say hi to Sarah upon completing my first lap, I nearly quit. In my mind, there was no way I could ride that course again, let alone twice more. The brutal ass kicking I took in the water coupled with a horrific first loop ended my resolve. Somehow, the cost of the trip, the 39 weeks of training, and many disappointing days of races forced me to remount the bike and press on reluctantly. My butt muscles weren’t firing correctly the whole first loop so I adjusted my seat, only to find that now my hamstrings had shooting pains and I stopped just a few kilometers later to adjust it again. But from that point on, all was well.

The second loop proved to be every bit as difficult as the first. The long, arduous trek to the turnaround was both silent and deafening. Few words were exchanged amongst riders during this stretch. The phrases in my recollection are “Are you kidding me?” “Unbelievable” and &^%$. Yet at the same time the wind blasted in my ears sounding like a tropical storm. A sustained wind of 35-40mph was accompanied by 50-60mph gusts. Later in my hotel room I sat bolt upright thinking I had gone deaf until I realized that I was just no longer outside and the wind was just a haunting memory.

Because the wind was so intense from about 6K before the transition/finish until the 22K mark, it was difficult if not impossible at times to drink or fuel on the bike for the period of an hour or more. The pressure on the bike meant riders had shifted sideways in the cross wind and forward in the headwind and unpredictable gusts could move the bike and rider across the road 20ft instantly. Such conditions made reaching down for a water bottle or fiddling with opening a Gu largely inadvisable. The effect on the body was evident as consistent fueling makes for a better race. After the turnaround point, a steady tailwind allowed most everyone to sit up and consume calories and rest their legs while still maintaining forward momentum. This should have been the fastest part of the course though I did not witness any rider pushing too hard here.
               
 After turning off the main drag, the riders had a short segment heading toward the ocean. This made for some very dangerous riding as the wind was directly 90 degrees to the rider. After going with the wind for several more miles, we returned for one last stretch toward the ocean. It was perhaps the most scared have been in an athletic event. The gusts took me from the far right side to the far left side of the two-lane road in under a second, and it was by sheer luck that I didn’t end up in the ditch each time I rode this stretch. My pace dropped to nothing as I fought to keep the bike moving forward and prayed for the worst to be over. Eventually it was, and we turned along the sea for a much (relatively) safer trip back to the city, often riding between 26 and 32 mph.

My last loop did not disappoint. Winds were higher now and the climb to the turnaround was all the more difficult. At one point a pack of riders were stood up by a gust a wind. One moment we are all hunkered forward pedaling for our lives, and a second later a blast of sea air had everyone in a full stand, faces screaming in pain, yet the bikes were motionless. It looked like a sprint race where guys are doing track stands and lurching forward. The suspended motion picture then returned to full speed as the wind abated and riders, suddenly recovering forward momentum, now had to fight to regain control of the bikes, some of which had shot left and right when life resumed. The final trip to the turnaround was welcomed since I was sprint up the hill at times and nearly vomited when I glanced at the speedometer only to see a “blistering” 8 mph! I gained some confidence on the last loop, controlling the bike better in anticipation of the dangerous sections, though I did not push home as fast in the final section as before, knowing a full marathon lie ahead, and a scant few minutes gained in the final 20km of a bike are often given back 10-fold during a crumbling marathon.

My return to the city was a scramble in the wind but a welcome relief. Dismounting and free-wheeling my bike to a volunteer, I had my bag and was in the tent in about 30 seconds. After stooping to apply sunscreen (which I could not find prior to the bike) I was out. Transition was 2:32 due partly to the reduced distance to travel and less gear to acquire, but mostly as a result of just plain being glad to be free of that bike! With 26.2 miles to go, every minute spent sitting in transition hating the bike that was now over was distance on the road lost to me, and hence longer until that sweet finish line. Glad to be running, I couldn’t escape the wind. My visor was blown from my head and despite the sun on my face, I had to turn it backward.
Exiting transition with a smile glad to be free of that bike. (check the wind sock)
My pace for the first 10K was just under 8 min/mile, a pace that I knew I wasn’t likely to keep but I also wouldn’t blow up at either. Being a relatively flat course, the wind provided the only external factor, and I was feeling surprisingly good after such a strenuous bike. As good as the first 8 miles of a marathon in the Ironman can feel, I was flying high, especially after seeing my buddy Shawn go by on his bike when I was at the 10K mark.
My glory didn’t last too long after the start of the 2nd loop. After seeing Shawn on the out-and-back just 7-8 minutes ahead of me (but down one lap) I started to waiver a bit. The only significant climb on the course had no spectators on it, so things were pretty lonely as I started into a funk. Crossing halfway in about 1:45, I had a fine pace going but 13.1 miles left to brave. To this point I had not yet walked and in chatting with a fellow racer, we debated where to finally stop. Luckily, experience kicked in (or maybe it was my all-energy gel diet) a few miles later and I started the last loop confident of a strong finish. I had thought I would finish the lap and walk a bit on the rise to the turn around. But I was told to just get up there and get the white bracelet (signifying a runner on his last lap) and all would be good. But after I battled up that rise, it was downhill for a while, so no walking there. Of course, then there was the crowd – several miles of loud, drunken fans pushing people on, so why walk there? No, my walk break would come on the hill to the university – that windy, desolate climb where all fun stops and you are reminded just how long this race is. But wait, that hill is the last obstacle on the course, so if I crest it, I don’t need to walk at all. And crest it I did, but only to see an ominous black sky on the horizon.
A guy is trying to talk me out of walking (I am starting lap 3, he lap 2).
The thing is I never walked in this marathon, a feat I am proud of both because of my fitness level and my pacing and fueling. However, I define walk as more of a state of mind than a pace, because the course tired to slow me to a walk. Moments after seeing those dark storm clouds coming over the course the rain hit with a vengeance. Sharp, stinging rain blew in sideways (and once we turned the corner, head on) causing all life to be sucked from us. Dusk was falling and it was a low point for many athletes. I only soldiered on because I was wearing the white band (last lap) and saw many wearing red (first lap). One guy said, “Well, we started in the rain, might as well finish in it too.” It was a heavy reminder that the weather wasn’t going to cooperate once on this race day.

Rounding the turn to the finishing road I saw Shawn ahead. When I caught him, we exchanged words of encouragement. He hobbled a bit with some knee pain, but after about 500m of talking, I bid him farewell and pushed it home. I had a scant 3K to go which felt like nothing after 11 hours into the race, but proved to be quite a distance. And suddenly I was in the finishing chute, slapping hands with kids, and squinting into the bright lights. There was no more wind, no more rain, no more bike or ocean. There was only that finishing tape and a very loud voice saying, “Justin Walker, welcome back. You are an Ironman!”
                     A medal, a water, a picture and escort to the massage tent. I happily laid down for the rub down, and to this day am convinced that it upped my recovery by a week. Having never been a fan of massage, I may be trying it again. Also, I am not one to eat post race, but famished from the effort I scarffed a few slices of pizza, soup, hot chocolate, a hamburger, and a muffin before the overwhelming feeling of exhaustion caught up with me. The shivers set it and I started to zone, missing Shawn finish by just a few minutes. I then had to walk our bikes back to the shipping zone and on to our hotel, which felt quite good despite the cold.

Wetsuit rubbage left a scar and took longer to heal than muscles!















I’ll end this relatively long race summary with a reflection. The course was great, the fans spectacular. The weather just sucked. Time was not a factor, nor do I care about the time. Overall, I finished some 9 minutes slower than my first attempt 7 years ago, yet everything about this event – how I trained, the skills I gained, my pacing, my control, my effort – was superior this time. Given an even playing field, I am certain I could have been between 1 hour and 1:30 faster, and that would have been satisfying. My recovery was immediate and I consider this excellent preparation for Western States, not to mention a very positive indicator of my chances to do my best there.



In the end, my family deserves this medal. They were with my every step of the way, and supported every late night at running club, early morning bike, after work in the pool, and altering vacation plans to fit run and bike courses. It was a huge sacrifice but it costs a lot to be an Ironman, and is worth every second.
                                                                                   
Event
Predicted
Actual
Swim
1:05-1:07:30
1:22:03
T1
5:00
4:18
Bike
5:15
6:14:56
T2
3:00
2:32
Run
3:20-3:30
3:38:14
Total
9:48-10:10
11:22:06
Place
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112