"It Won't Be Pretty, But It Will Be Beautiful"
(completely logical official tagline of a race that takes place in the Rockies, 9000 feet above sea level)106 West was my 8th half-Ironman distance race, and by far the one I approached the most casually. I didn't write up a race plan. I didn't visualize a moment of the race beforehand. I didn't do any course-specific training. I had some vague effort-level targets for the race but really wasn't too focused on my performance.
Why? Because I viewed this as a training day more than a race. I did two 70.3's in the spring, took a week off, then spent six weeks desperately trying to hold onto my fitness while having three kids at home who wanted me to pay attention to them, drive them places, feed them, and entertain them. (I don't know why they thought I was going to do that. They clearly learned their lesson.) Also during those six weeks we went on three different 5-day vacations, and it's pretty tricky to train while on vacation. So, once those six weeks of semi-training were behind me, I had exactly four weeks to *really* train before my shortened two-week taper for 106 West began. Hence: 106 West was a training day. Plus this was my 3rd 70.3 of 2016 and a C race gearing up for IMAZ in November, so really not the main focus of my season at all.
(Except that I did taper. And I had planned for a recovery week after. Which actually means I'm supposed to hurt a little, right? So, yeah, maybe there was a little back and forth in my head about that, which never quite got resolved.)
Race Morning
I woke up race morning and was not feeling 100%. A little woozy, a little congested - a little bit like I had just gotten a cold. Seriously?!?!? And that thought lasted exactly five seconds before my stress about the rest of they day took over. (Writing this two days later, I can verify that I did, in fact, have a cold and that I'm darn glad that I forgot all about it until after the race was over.)I quickly got dressed, including several layers and a hat and gloves because it was 29 degrees out, grabbed the last-minute items I hadn't packed the night before, and then S - a friend who was doing the Oly - and I headed over to Dillon. We had a 30 minute drive and I was stressed about getting there in time to find a parking space. Parking was very close to transition, but very limited and I didn't want to end up parking two miles away. Turns out I didn't need to worry - we pulled in at 6:55 (after being told to get there between 6 and 7 for parking) and there were TONS of parking spaces available. So: point of stress #1 was removed.
It soon got replaced by point of stress #1b: it was f-ing COLD. I had on my game face for S, telling her that it was totally going to warm up once the sun got above the mountains, but when the car thermometer still read 31 degrees at 8am I lost my game face. I don't even consider biking outside if it's below 40, let alone biking outside after swimming in a frigid mountain lake. So I delayed leaving the car as long as I could, but at 8:20 and still 31 degrees I just couldn't put it off any longer. I grabbed my stuff and walked over to transition with S and tried to wrap my head around ... something. Anything. I had a mini-me on one shoulder, calmly telling me that there was simply no way in hell that I was going to do a triathlon in literally freezing cold weather. But the mini-me on the other shoulder said to keep moving forward as if I'm on a ride I can't get off, and things will fall into place.
I listened to the second mini-me and found myself in transition, trying to remember what I was supposed to do there. I didn't have much time, since I'd stayed in the car for so darn long waiting for it to warm up, and as a result I was pretty rushed to set everything up. I ransacked my transition bag, grabbing things and putting them in either a bike pile or a run pile, and assumed that if I took everything out of my bag I'd have everything I would need. This, apparently, is what happens when you don't write a race plan and don't visualize ahead of time.
So then everything's out of my bag and transition is closing in 10 minutes, and I've gotten to the point in my morning when I have to peel off all my layers and put on my wetsuit. I'm convinced that it's still 31 degrees and so this action is categorically insane, but per the second mini-me's instructions I just go with it. And it turns out that it has magically, magically, warmed up to the point that I only need to pull my wetsuit up to my waist to stay warm. How on earth this happened in a 30 minute window I have absolutely no idea. I'm going to go with: miracle.
I grab my cap and goggles and Garmin and gel blocks and head out of transition. And I am so darn happy because the sun is shining and I'm actually warm and maybe this is going to be ok! The sun must have made me so delirious that I was convinced that point of stress #2 (the water temperature - 62/bearable or 55/frozen ice block???) was not actually a point of stress. I have about 45 minutes before my swim wave, the last wave - of course - so I'm hanging out and enjoying the music and the Christmas-morning glee of the race announcer and am really, really calm about the race. The swim is going to not be so cold, and once I get through that I am going to be FINE.
And then I talked to B. He had started to get in the water for a "warm-up" but they made everyone get out and go to a different warm up spot since there were athletes already racing. He said he thought the water was cold but wasn't sure since he'd only gotten in to maybe his knees. He was going to get in for real and let me know. Which he did. He said he got in for just a minute but then his face went numb. I must have still been delirious, because I somehow totally disregarded this information and was still thinking that the swim would be fine.
The Swim - 37:57*
Finally time for my swim wave! Last minute decision to lump over-40 men and women together in a single wave rather in two waves, and I had a little trepidation about lots of physical contact from the guys, but whatever. I put myself toward the front of the wave and started to walk into the water. First observation: neoprene booties are AWESOME. My feet felt fine!!! Second observation, maybe one second after my hands hit the water: holy sh*t my hands are frozen.I told myself not to panic and I swam out toward the start bouy, even putting my face in the water a bit. Got to the start bouy, and started to bob my face in and out of the water and blow bubbles and acclimate. My hands were starting to feel better. Cool! The horn blows and we are off. I took a few strokes and once again my goggles were leaking. More problematically, I was breathing every darn stroke and after 50m still could not catch my breath. I remembered in St George I was breathing a lot more than usual, but at least that worked. Here, not so much. So I used my leaking goggles as an excuse to swim a little breast stroke and try to fix them, but really I was doing it to get some air. I have NEVER had to do that before! Not happy.
Started swimming again - same story. My goggles were leaking, and no matter how often I breathed I was just not getting enough air. Seriously?!?!? More breast stroke, more goggle adjusting, a third try at swimming. First thing I noticed was that my goggles weren't leaking. Progress! First time I've ever been able to remedy that mid-swim. Then I realized that I was finding my rhythm. Hallelujah. And then some burly dude swims over me. I wasn't phased by the contact, just super annoyed. I briefly considered dunking the shit out of him, and then just moved on.
By then my face felt a lot like my hands - not cold. I was assuming this meant they were warmed up. And I'd been able to move from breathing every stroke to my normal, weird, breathing pattern - two left, two right, two left, two right. I was realizing that the water wasn't all that flat, and I was occasionally getting a mouthful of it, and I knew I wasn't swimming my normal pace, but all in all the swim was going ok. I was feeling very much in rhythm and so all I had to do was find the buoys and make a bunch of turns and eventually the swim would be done. I was feeling so darn ok in the cold water that I began to wonder if maybe I could one day possibly consider doing Alcatraz. And just like that, the swim was over.
*All times are per my Garmin, not the official results. So, they don't sync up with timing mat locations, but my total time is a few minutes less than the official time and I think this is due to the last-minute collapsing of swim waves. I like my Garmin time better so I'm going with that. ;)
T1 - 8:19
No, that is not a typo, I took more or less forever to get out of T1.After I got out of the water (I made it!!!) and wonderful volunteers yanked off my wetsuit, I trotted up the long ramp to T1 where I realized that I was absolutely freezing. I was trying to get my booties off and my hands weren't working so well. Everyone in transition was struggling to deal with gear, so at least I was in good company. I decided to focus on one thing at a time, and piece by piece I got rid of my swim stuff and got geared up for the bike. There was a moment where I thought I was going to be warm enough in just arm warmers, then quickly remembered a prior disastrous decision (see St George race recap) and put on the bike jersey. Smart move. Hit the port o potty - water was so cold I forgot to take care of that earlier! - and I was off.
The Bike - 3:20:25
As soon as I started moving with some speed, my "extra meal" turned to pure ice. (Once, discussing body types with my youngest I explained that everyone carries an extra meal somewhere. Mine is conveniently stored on my outer thighs, and seems to have a higher freezing point than the rest of my body.) I knew that once my tri shorts dried off I would probably be ok, but man those first few miles were ROUGH.I completed the little dog leg over Dillon Dam and headed out toward Montezuma. That stretch of road was NICE and I did finally start to feel my thighs again after the first little climb on Highway 6. We had two entire lanes for the race - one for each direction of cyclists - and it was absolutely luxurious. Plus there were 2-3 cops at each intersection controlling traffic and cheering us on. Go Town of Dillon! Talk about amazing race support.
I was patient along Highway 6, watching my watts and my cadence and not overdoing it. I knew I was at 9000 feet and climbing, and really didn't want to flame out too soon. I made the right turn onto Montezuma, which I'd scoped out the day before. I knew the first few miles weren't so bad, and I was really hoping that my assessment of the last mile from the comfort of an engine-driven vehicle wasn't too far off.
Turns out, maybe I'm not a horrible climber after all. Once I was about a mile and a half in and the grade hit 2-3% I started passing people. Woohoo! That section was really not so bad. Then I hit the final 1.2 miles where it got a bit steeper,. It was still manageable AND I was still passing people!!! This bike really had the potential to be ok. And then I made the turn at the top of Montezuma.
First thing I noticed was that it looked a LOT steeper coming down. Second thing I noticed was a lovely head- / cross-wind that was really enjoying playing with the twitchy front end of my bike. So: I held on tight to the handlebars, stayed to the right, and ignored all the crazies flying down the winding descent in their aero bars. I swear the downhill felt longer than the uphill, but I finally made it to the mostly flat part and made myself get in aero because, darn it, I am not a wimp.
The ride back along Highway 6 to Dillon Dam was fairly uneventful and even included a long and lovely downhill that I bombed in aero (see: I am not a wimp!), but there were also some headwinds once I hit Lake Dillon. The race director had promised that the wind wouldn't pick up until after 1pm, and I really don't like it when they go back on their word. ;) Back out over Dillon Dam, still being patient and watching my watts, and then another trip out Highway 6. At this point I was more trying to keep my watts up than I was trying to reign them back in, but I was still feeling ok.
I finally hit Montezuma for the second time, and I could get my head around the final milestones of the bike leg: get to the top, get to the bottom, and then get back to transition. First milestone definitely proved tougher than it had on the first lap. I was still passing people on the climb (woohoo!) but my granny gear got a lot more playing time than it had on the first lap. Those final 1.2 miles were just HARD. I was so, so excited to get to the top and make the turn even though I wasn't so excited about the descent.
I had no idea how much the winds had kicked up until I started heading down. I'm sure I benefited from them as a tailwind, but I'm not sure I would have made that trade off if I'd been given the choice. I installed a serious death grip on my handlebars and dug in for the winding descent. At least there were fewer people around for lap 2, so my swaying all over the road was less dangerous.
After I don't know how many terrifying minutes, I made it to the bottom and out onto Highway 6 for the final return. I started counting down the miles at the same time I started seriously cursing the winds. (Apparently they were blowing at 16-18 mph, with some nice gusts up to 25. Good times.) At this point, my biggest goal was simply to stay upright. I actually did stay in aero as much as possible, because my bike fitter had told me that was the best way to put maximum weight over the front wheel, which is the key to staying stable (i.e., upright). I dropped some choice words every time I was blown 2-3 feet across the road, and some more when I was in a middle gear and pedaling hard over the same section I'd bombed in top gear on lap 1. The icing on the cake was when I finally got to Lake Dillon and saw WHITECAPS. The only response at this point was to laugh.
T2 - 3:26
T2 was relatively short and sweet. Transition was set up in a sloped parking lot, and running downhill with my bike in bike shoes isn't awesome, but it's better than getting blown around out on the road so I decided not to whine about it. I was able to deal with my gear a lot quicker than in T1, so I pretty quickly swapped out and was on my way.The Run - 2:20:11
I really thought the run would be ok. I'd run along Lake Dillon before and while the Frisco side is deceptively hilly, we were mostly on the flat Dillon Dam Road and so I honestly believed that if I took it easy the run would be fine. My only consolation in my massive error in judgement is that EVERYONE who's posted on social media has said that the run was really, really hard. Someone called it "silently brutal" and I think that's a pretty fitting description.I walked the first big hill right out of the gate. Ugh. But then I found my rhythm - a nice, slow one - and was thinking I had locked onto my go-all-day pace. Minutes later I decided to be conservative and walk roughly once a mile / at the aid stations. (Decided may be an overstatement, in that it implies there was an option.) I got passed by a woman in my AG, and made the clear choice not to care. It was a training day, and frankly I just didn't feel like putting that kind of hurt on.
After the first 2.5ish miles you turn off the Dam Road onto the rec path in Frisco and I knew this is where it would get a little ugly. Nasty little rollers all the way to the turnaround. I made myself run (jog/shuffle) the mild uphills but let myself walk the big ones, and after what seemed like ages made it back out on the Dam Road.
You know, the final 13.1 miles of a 70.3 are just really long. They last fore-f'ing-ever. So hitting mile 5 on the Dam Road wasn't that exciting. I was doing my run-then-walk-a-bit-once-a-mile and it was going ok, but I was bored and it was just going to take a while before this thing was over. That thinking stayed with me all along the Dam, to the turnaround and back out along the dam. I was sticking with my strategy but could feel my grasp on it starting to slip. And then I heard someone call my name.
R & K were coming up for a girls' night and they had gotten to Dillon in time to cheer me on! They found me at mile 8.3 and escorted me all the way to mile 12. I'm pretty sure this is against the rules, I knew this during the race, and I totally didn't care. This was a training day. Go ahead and DQ me. So they biked alongside me while I was running along the road - I was so excited to see them that I ran through an aid station! - and then R ditched her bike when I turned onto the rec path and ran with me. I cannot tell you what a huge boost that was. I still walked the big hills but I am certain that I ran more and ran faster than I would have without her there.
Even with the escort and distracting story-telling, by mile 11 I was hitting the wall. I am pretty sure I needed some calories (despite the fact that I doubled my pre-race caloric intake per S's nagging) and I wasn't finding what I wanted at the aid stations. I also think the lack of O2 has some sort of nasty cumulative effect and I was definitely feeling it. I was trying to run to my mileage marker, but just couldn't get there. Despite the fact that I was SO CLOSE I had to walk more often. Same thing had happened at Boulder 70.3 a few months prior, and I am super annoyed that I hit the wall again. I need to look into this before IMAZ ...
With about a half mile to go I was still taking walk breaks. And I already knew that I'd be walking up that final big hill to the finish. Which I did. I walked a bit, then started running a bit, and had already picked out where I would start walking again when I saw my hubbie and my youngest. Woohoo! Couldn't possibly walk when they were cheering me on. Thanks to them I got my nice little adrenaline rush for the finish, made the final turn and my day was over.
Total Time - 6:30:25 / 4th AG / 102nd Overall
I drastically underestimated the effect that the altitude was going to have on my day. I had swum a few times at the Breck Rec Center over the summer, and had correctly notched down my swim time expectations. For whatever reason - maybe because I've biked and ran around Dillon before and was ok? - I didn't do the same for my bike and run expectations. So my times were absolutely on the slow end of my expectations, if not totally out of my predicted range. And I really didn't anticipate how hard the run would feel.I also think I need to work on getting more comfortable with being uncomfortable. This is a common problem for me, and something I need to address before IMAZ. I need to be able to embrace the suck if I want to accomplish what I'm hoping for that day.
