- A solid swim and a great bike but a shitty run actually means you fucked up your race execution.
- I had no business thinking I could bike like that given how relatively low my fitness was for this race.
- I’m chasing a time that I’m not actually capable of achieving, and I should just quit cuz it will never happen.
- Given that I don’t have my usual elaborate narrative to let myself off the hook for my performance, maybe the reality is that I just suck.
Four entire days later, after listening and thinking and talking to Coach, I finally had an explanation for my race that didn’t leave me practically in tears. And now I know exactly what it means to bonk. Because bonk I did, and on a pretty epic level.
Race Week
I had learned a lot about what didn’t work for my race week schedule from IM Boulder ‘17. So this time around, I was careful not to overload my plate. I pre-loaded a lot of my coaching work into prior weeks so that I didn’t have a big to do list, and I blocked off the days altogether after Wednesday. I did schedule some race week activities, but only ones that didn’t stress me out and actually felt like a lot of fun. I made sure that the days leading into race day weren’t individually over-scheduled, so I wasn’t racing around like a madwoman. And I was able to combine all this (plus some truly deliberate ignoring of my kids) to help me feel like I was out of town and “off the clock” for every aspect of my life outside of the race.On top of that, I was in a pretty good place mentally. All the talk of cold water temps and cooler weather wasn’t stressing me out (too much). I got a little concerned about layers on the bike and whether it might rain, but I was far from my usual spin out. I felt the love coming in through well wishes from my athletes and friends in the community, which in the past has felt more like pressure. When I talked to people, they told me I seemed ready, which made sense because I felt ready. I was feeling about as calm and steady as I’d ever felt going into race day.
Race Morning
I am not a morning person. I don’t like setting an alarm for 3:30am. I don’t like waking up at 3:30am. And I particularly hate, regardless of the time, having to get out of bed straightaway and start my day and actually interact with people, rather than lying in bed for 30 minutes adjusting to the fact that the day is going to start. So race day always begins with me wishing I could just stay in bed.Outside of that, things went mostly smoothly. I was one scoop short of Infinit when preparing my two bike bottles (that’s what you get for eyeballing it), but I had Justin’s peanut butter cups for special needs and that would cover the shortfall. My dog had apparently eaten my teammate’s chocolate bar sometime overnight, but per the Interweb it was a mild to moderate amount of toxicity so that saved us (really my husband) from logging the dog’s third chocolate-induced ER trip. And while the line for the buses to T1 seemed outrageously long, they moved reasonably quickly and we got to transition in plenty of time.
Mostly, I realized that the anticipation of suffering is my least favorite part of racing. I just wanted to queue up for the swim and get the day started so I could move from anticipating it to executing it.
The Swim - 1:12:23 / 5th AG
The swim start felt like it took forever. Apparently they did spread all 1150 of us out over an hour, so I wasn’t imagining the creeping pace of the swim chute. I wouldn’t have minded it as much if I wasn’t standing barefoot on really rocky, painful asphalt.I finally got to the front of the queue, where they were letting us into the water one-by-one, and off I went. The first 200m - actually the first 2000m - felt fantastic. My stroke felt strong, I felt like I was moving well through the water, the buoys were coming and going practically without my noticing them, and I was passing people like crazy. Woohoo! I was finally going to have a drop in my swim time. And if the race in general felt like it moved as quickly as the swim, rather than minutes feeling like hours, this was going to be a great day.
Two things happened at around the first turn. One was that either I got tired or just didn’t feel as strong because somehow there were swells in the Rez. The other was that the sun, which had come out since the 46-degrees-and-cloudy start conditions, had disappeared. Another blanket of clouds had moved in, but I was sure they would move out soon.
T1 - 6:42
And just like that the swim was over. Shockingly and at the same time not all all surprisingly, I had virtually the same swim time as my three other IMs. I am, if nothing else, very consistent.T1 was a crazy blur of being surrounded by maybe four or five D3 teammates who were volunteering in the change tent. It was awesome but also a little overwhelming. I didn’t know whether to sit back and be waited on like a queen or do everything myself cuz it seemed a little simpler that way. The best part was that Dana toweled my hair off really well, so at least I wasn’t still dripping when I headed off to my bike.
The Bike - 6:03:13 / 8th AG
So anyway, you start the bike with a little 1-2 mile lollipop on the grounds of the Rez which I just used to get in my first sip of Infinit and make sure my space blanket was all tucked in, but as soon as I got out on the Diagonal I settled into my watts. They were coming easy, which is just how you want to feel the first miles of the bike.
In fact, my entire first loop felt great. Watts were just flowing, miles were going by quickly, I was holding back to make sure I didn’t overdo it on the flats, and gearing down on the hills so I didn’t use matches when I didn’t have to. I knew there were two hills that I would hit on each loop that mandated at least a match each, and those were the only matches I wanted to burn. I was beyond happy to get up the second hill - which I could only do if I got out of the saddle - still feeling really strong. I finished out loop one feeling almost as fresh as when I’d started, and wondering when that was going to change.
[Warning! Entering TMI territory.]
I also at this point had already peed maybe 4 or 5 times. When my bladder started talking at mile 20, I calculated that stopping to pee was going to cost me 3-5 minutes and I just wasn’t willing to sacrifice that times two or three across 112 miles. But the problem when peeing on my bike is that apparently my bladder doesn’t fully empty. So I was peeing what felt like every 5 miles or so. Which meant my shorts were constantly wet, or at least damp. And when I was able to find a good downhill to really let loose, my socks got wet. When it’s 50 degrees and cloudy, socks don’t dry, so now my feet were wet and cold. At mile 30. And that never improved.
I hit special needs, gobbled one peanut butter cup and took one for the road, and I was off. That second, long out and back on Diagonal was challenging. Mentally it just felt like I was in a holding pattern before I could start the actual second loop. Physically, it was the only part of the bike where I felt like I had to work a bit to hold my watts.
Finally I was off the Diagonal, and headed onto the front half of the second loop, where all I needed to do was get through three hills and I was home free. Once again the watts were coming easily, and while I was still peeing every 5 miles I’d gotten a lot better at it. The miles continued to go by quickly, and I was approaching the final hill feeling strong. I told myself to dance-dance-dance up the final climb, made the turn onto 36, threw it into a big gear and bombed down toward the flats.
The final 15 miles back to T2 I was feeling like a rock star. The sun was FINALLY starting to peak through. I had held my watts right at (ok 2 or 3 watts above) my target - easily. I didn’t burn any matches other than the ones that I knew going in were unavoidable, and my legs felt freaking amazing. In fact, the watts were still coming easily enough that I had to hold back so I didn’t go blazing into T2. I had never felt this strong the final 30 miles of an Ironman bike leg, and I was over the moon. I spent at least 10 miles giving all kinds of credit to Coach, the heavy weights she made me lift, and the torture she’d put me through on the trainer. I fucking ROCKED the bike. Oh, and at this point I had perfected peeing while still putting down target watts.
[Looking back at my bike data file, I really did have a near-perfect bike: IF of 0.72, VI of 1.05, and the two bike laps differed only by a single watt. Steady and consistent AF.]
T2 - 5:48
You know that T2 is staffed with incredible volunteers when you run up yelling “I am a hazmat zone” and two people raise their hands to help you. Erin and anonymous volunteer #2 were fantastic, and I was out of my gross, wet bike gear and into dry, clean run gear pretty quickly. Hit the port-o-potty because despite peeing 17 times on the bike (every 5 miles from mile 25!) my bladder was mind-bogglingly not empty. And I was off.The Run (If you can call it that) - 5:36:31 / 15th AG
The first quarter mile felt totally fine. Of course I started too fast, but I was able to reign it in pretty quickly thanks to the slight uphill leading out of the Rez. I hit that one bitch of a hill another quarter of a mile down the road and walked the top half as I’d planned.And then my legs never recovered. On one hand: what the actual fuck is going on with my legs. On the other hand, I’d had an epically disastrous training run where my legs felt just as poorly and I’d gotten it done. OK, fine, if that’s what it’s got to be, then that’s what it is. Except: mentally, this is not an awesome way to start a marathon. When your plan is to walk each aid station from the first one, so you’re walking before you need to, except that you actually need to walk the first one, it’s hard to look 25 miles down the road and feel optimistic.
This is where my day started to blur. It’s also where my record for most number of f-bombs dropped per mile started. By the time I hit mile 11 I was apparently only seeing the faces right in front of me (I have no recollection of seeing an athlete whom I’ve worked with for five years helping me at an aid station, despite video evidence). I saw Kim right after that, and have no idea what I said beyond it involving a lot of complaining and five or maybe ten f-bombs. I kept moving till mile 13 when I realized that the wheels had actually come off a few miles earlier.
I knew I was depleted and needed fuel, and yet somehow my addled brain thought that two sips of Coke and one mini pretzel would cover that. I could no longer make it aid station to aid station, so decided to run a half mile at a time. Who can’t run for five (okay at that point six) minutes. By mile 16, apparently me. Brian had walked with me for a few minutes at the Flux Capacitor and asked how my feet were doing. I said they were fine, then corrected myself the next time I passed through the Flux - they actually hurt like shit. Apparently so many things hurt at that point that I wasn’t able to pick out one pain from another.
At this point I was only able to run a few minutes before I had to walk again. I was as sore at 17.5 as I’d been at 22 in my last standalone marathon, after which I as sore as hell for days. I was dropping an f-bomb due to pain every time I start running, and usually one when I stopped due to frustration. I was feeling woozy every time I stopped running, so I’d walk till I felt better then start running again. I knew it was going to take for-fucking-ever to finish the race and I wanted to run but couldn’t, so I dropped another f-bomb. I quit the sport, 100% for sure, no changing my mind, then remembered I’d already signed up for the 70.3 and dropped another f-bomb. And in case you were wondering, all these f-bombs were out loud, to no one other than me, and did not even make me feel better.
After the turnaround, maybe mile 20, I was finally feeling a little stronger and the finish line, while still distant, was almost in sight. I started running! Still only a minute or two at a time, but it was at least an improvement. I also made a friend, which anyone can tell you is the best way to perk up a hard, shitty run. I had changed my gait a bit, so my feet weren’t screaming, and that (or the 2 mile walk) seemed to lessen the pain in my legs. Now just weird muscles like my core and forearms, of all things, were squawking every time I ran.
But I was ready for the shit show to be over. So I ran the flats (cuz up and down both hurt more), a few minutes at a time, and walked in between. I still felt woozy after running, and sometimes I would wobble off my line which was a little odd. My new friend ditched me after a few miles, I think cuz he was tired of me making him run.
The course was long - worst. thing. ever. - so mile 24 stretched on for maybe 1.5 miles. But then I finally hit the sign for 25, and I was heading downhill for the last time toward the finish. Once I hit the last aid station, I think I actually ran it in from there. Maybe 4 minutes? And why the fuck couldn’t I have run 4 minutes before that??? Well, maybe cuz I was hoping I’d literally give it every last thing and collapse at the finish like I told Coach I would.
The Explanation
I had done IM Boulder ‘17 and had a shit run then. I may have over-biked a smidge, and I started the run too fast, but I also think I kind of gave up when it started to hurt. I really wanted redemption. And I spent days super, super pissed off that I had once again failed.Putting a few pieces together, though, I am beginning to think that I did give it what I had on that day. There may be additional contributing elements to the story (for real my fitness was on the low side for an Ironman), but I (and Coach and others) believe the biggest contributor was the cold on the bike. To maintain my core temp, I was burning a lot of extra energy. As in calories. And I did not up my on-bike fueling plan to reflect that. So when I got off the bike, I was already depleted. And then at mile 8 when I gave up on gel blocks, I just deepened my hole. So at 13 I bonked, because I was totally out of glycogen to burn. What I should’ve done, at 8 or 13 or 16, was down half a dozen gels and 4 cups of Coke. If my brain had been functional, maybe I would have.
[Note to self: when your forearms are sore it’s because your body has pulled all the glycogen out of them, and when your body is resorting to finding glycogen in your forearms you are seriously fucked.]
I did meet one goal, though: I wanted to push hard enough on the run to be sore the next day. Check. I was amazingly sore for two full days post-race, plus had a semi-sore day 3. I have never, ever been that sore after an Ironman. I also was flat out exhausted for five full days. Exhausted as in I could barely drag myself though each day, could not pull myself out of a massive brain fog, and routinely trailed off mid-sentence because I had lost my train of thought.
So that was my race. And yes, I did swear off Ironman repeatedly on the run course, and for days after. But now that I can at least get my head around what happened, of course I’m starting to reconsider. I’m not sure how many more of these I have in me, but this is not how I want to walk away.