Another race report can only mean one thing: I did another race. Aside from my incredulous powers of deductive reasoning, you'll be dazzled in the following paragraphs by the recounting of the kick in the crotch that was IronMan Cozumel 2014. Read on, dear soul, read on.
First, may I take a moment to explain where my head was at while preparing for this race? Since you can't answer, I'll just go ahead.
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| Either the sun was bright or I was channeling my inner pirate. AAARRRGGGGHHHH! |
I had just come off of what I thought to be a pretty good showing at IronMan Mont Tremblant, beating my previous years time at the same course by about 2 hours. Boom. This strong finish gave me a great sense of accomplishment and self-worth as an athlete. This sense would be dashed in short order by the proverbial Mexican mariachi band that marched across my face. Going into this course, I knew 3 things: 1. the ocean swim has a current in your favor but you'll probably get eaten by a shark, 2. the bike and run courses were reportedly a bit windy but flat as a tortilla, and 3. bean burritos should never be used for carb loading the night before an IronMan. I was prepared.
The Swim
Let me preface by saying that I've only done one ocean swim for a race in my life. During that swim, I got motion sickness and yacked 3 times, which is as lovely as it sounds, and thought I was legitimately having a stroke when my left eye went numb and cold. Swims like that leave a certain mental marker on a guy, so getting ready for this second ocean swim in Cozumel had me gnawing my fingernails like they were electrolyte tablets.
The conditions of the water were not helping in the days leading up to the race. The wind was so strong on Friday (race on Sunday) that during the ferry ride, the crew handed out barf-bags to the passengers because the sea was so rough. The bags did not go unused. Upon arrival to the island, the ocean was well decorated with white capped waves, signaling certain doom. These facts, along with the joy of having hollywood worthy disaster scenes play out while sleeping about floods, drowning, and destruction by water, did not help ease my nerves before race day. I was a mess... roadkill level mess.
Saturday morning, on a relatively empty belly, I got in the water for a practice swim. The wind had really died down and with it, the tumultuous water conditions. I swam about 200 yards out and back and was concerned with how I felt: happy. That was stupidly beautiful. It's pretty impossible to be concerned about much of anything when the show that has been playing out meters below you stars schools of tropical fish and a sting ray. The water was warm and welcoming and the beauty was enough to settle my nerves. For the first time in about 10 days, I wasn't dreading the swim.
Now on to race morning, we all squeezed ourselves into various garments of latex, rubber, and spandex. It was basically a public service announcement for safe sex...in goggles. The age group wave start is usually not my favorite for one primary reason: I'm slow. This typically means that the fast swimmers in the groups released after me are tasked with climbing over the carcass that is my body in the water. I feel badly that I'm in their way, and I'm frankly not in love with someone trying to swim
on me.
This swim however was a complete surprise, in the good way. Because it is point to point, the athletes were able to spread out quite a bit and find some room. Translation: very little bumping and grinding. I had a few little collisions but got through the entire portion without getting my clock cleaned by a flagrant elbow or angry calcaneous directed at my upper teeth. Success! And again, the spectacle that was going on below us was magnificent! The water was crystal clear allowing viewing to the sea floor, which was teaming with fish and sea life. Best distraction for a swim ever, except that time I did laps while listening to my underwater iPod at a geriatric nudist pool. That was pretty distracting too.
As for the current, later discussion revealed that it wasn't very strong this year and didn't end up helping as much as we might have hoped. That said, I pulled off a pretty good time for my standards and got out of the water feeling surprisingly at peace. "This was going to be a great race," I foolishly mouthed.
Results: 1:23:23 which is about 10 minutes faster than what I would normally do. 185th place out of 466 in my age group.
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| There's me in the background, the one who is all wet |
Transition 1 went off without any surprises either. I rinsed off the salt water in the showers provided, and yes, I sang as one is obligated to do while showering, and grabbed my bike gear bag and made off for the changing tent. After what I wrongly thought was an adequate coating of sunscreen application, I dashed off to my bike for a torrid love affair with the beast. Time for T1: 8:44
The Bike
Before I tell you about my bike performance, a discussion about my training is warranted. I actually spent a lot of time on my bike preparing for this race and came in pretty confidently. The only problem was that all of the time I spent on my bike was done in 2 hour increments, indoors. I'm not too proud to announce to the world that my longest outdoor ride was done during IM Mont Tremblant. Actually, to be more accurate, my ONLY outdoor ride was Mont Tremblant. Still I reasoned that this bike ride would be much easier than such a hilly course that I had done pretty well on just a few months prior. What could go wrong?
I had done my power testing and found that my endurance zone range was about 155 Watts to 185 Watts. We decided to play it safe and aim for my normalized power on the bike to be 160W. Again, a refresher on the problem here is that I could hold 160W without any trouble at all...for 2 hours. After that, it was a mystery. Perhaps not the best training strategy?
I started the ride spectacularly, holding about 163W and passing people like I was getting paid for it. "I am SO fast," I thought. What a fool. The first dose of reality came with a soft left turn about 10 miles into the ride. What awaited us was a brilliant headwind reported to be sustained at 30mph. Well, that slowed me down a notch or two. But still, I am not a novice to this sport and know what I'm doing (reader: insert sarcastic face here if you wish). I kept my cadence high and held my wattage like I knew I should. Just stay in aero position and keep pedaling.
I had to admit that about an hour into the ride I felt like 160W was going to be too aggressive. By hour 2, I was certain of the fact. If this had been a half IronMan, I would have been golden. But seeing that I had only completed my 1st of 3 loops of the bike course, I knew I was in trouble. Try as I did, my wattage kept falling lower, and lower, and lower. How lovely that the headwind on the back side of the island just got higher, and higher, and higher.
People had told me the wind was a major factor in the race. They neglected to tell me that I should train inside a tornado to prepare. I could not believe how strong the headwind was, and similarly, how crappy I was feeling. I also hadn't trained to be in aero position for 6+ hours straight and my neck, back, and shoulders would scream every time I was there for longer than 10 minutes. "Just sit up and take a break," you suggest? Yeah, might as well have been riding the brakes while dragging a parachute behind me. Sitting upright in that wind cuts your speed horrifically.
To sum up the bike ride, it was a battle. I ended up with a normalized power of 138W which means somewhere about half way through, I officially tanked. People talk about having a certain amount of matches to burn during one race. My match box was a smoldering heap of mess. That bike course spanked me like a bad, bad baby.
My hope for the bike ride was to hold 160W and finish with a time of 5:45 or better. In reality I finished in 6:24:58, 124th in my age group.
Transition 2
This is usually a fast transition for me. Not this time. I was pretty shaken by that crushing blow from the bike and I just couldn't seem to rally. I was dizzy, my legs were wobbly, and my belly was making a threatening gurgley noise, a triathletes worst nightmare. "To hell with this," I thought. I am a runner. I will crush this flat course run. I will still pull off my goal run time. I WILL bend down to tie my shoe somehow.
I somehow managed to get changed and ready for the run and went to look at my watch for my time. Yeah, it wasn't there. In my delirium and haste, I had managed to leave my watch face attached to the mount on my bike. I took a moment considering my options: run back and see if they could somehow find my bike a get my watch for me, or just throw caution to the wind (no pun intended) and run based on feel. I chose the later. Bad move.
My time for T2 was a terrifically slow 11:39.
The Run
I started the run with what felt to be about an 8:30 pace, which was after all my goal. That lasted no more than 200 yards before I simply had to stop and walk. Confidence boost, it was not. The gurgle of the belly was also becoming more angry and pronounced. Oh boy.
After about a mile of pitiful jogging, desperate walking, and progressively impressive tummy gurgles, I decided to just suck it up and resign to walking and porto-potties for a while. During each race, you have to accept where you are at that particular moment and manage it. At that point of the run, I was a barely ambulatory troll with some unpleasant gastrointestinal goings-on. "Manage the moment," was my mantra.
About a mile down the road I started to feel a little better. I had picked up my pace and was feeling borderline good. I have no idea what pace I was running, but it felt to be in the 8:30-8:45 range. And I tell you, dear readers, that I so deeply tried to keep that pace. But all the caffeine and simple sugar in the world can't help you when you start a marathon with so little left in the tank.
I ran some of the time, jogged when I just couldn't hold a strong pace, and walked more than I have in the past few races combined. Having a lot of friends on the course helped spur me along at times, but the reality was that I was just having a terrible run for my level of run fitness (yes, I actually did train appropriately for the run!). At least I managed to escape relatively unscathed, despite my poor gangly nasty toe. Yes, it does feel great, thank you for asking.
My original goal for the marathon was to hold an 8:30 pace and finish in the neighborhood of 3 hours and 45 minutes. In reality I turned in a time of 4:26:26.
Overall Thoughts
This race is spectacular and I can see beyond doubt why everyone I know who has raced it has come back with highest marks for the course. The swim is breathtaking, the bike and run are challenging but interesting, and the local people are some of the warmest and most delightful folks you'll ever meet. If that's not good enough, they have Mexican food everywhere, the equivalent of living a childhood Christmas morning at each meal.
I have now completed 5 full distance IronMan races and am always taken aback by how different each experience is and how very much I learn from all of them. This race taught me more than I expected certainly, but probably the most of all my races. I learned that ocean swimming can actually be quite pleasant if you don't eat 4 pounds of bananas immediately beforehand. I learned that while indoor trainer workouts are extremely valuable, they will never fully replace the training you get on a long outdoor ride. I learned that an IronMan course should never be taken lightly, even if it is the flattest on the circuit. I learned that my mouth loves Snickers bars while biking but my belly feels differently later. I was reminded that while these races always provide a nice heaping dose of pain and struggle, the feeling of crossing that finish line and hanging yet another medal on my wall brings me immense joy.
To answer the question posed in the title of this entry, yes there are carbs in humble pie, and boy did I have a nice slice of it. I came into this race feeling pretty sure I was going to pull in a time under 11 hours. With a total finishing time of 12:35:10, I was reminded that humility is as important a training tool as is the physical training itself.
There is no shame in my result, and in fact, I feel I am a much stronger athlete because of it instead of in spite of it. Having a race beat you down like that will do one of two things: discourage you from the sport and make you see reason as to the madness of doing this voluntarily, or add fuel to the fire that is the desire to push yourself harder and return to the line more ready and triumphantly than before. I'd wager you can guess which of those options I am feeling post-IMCOZ.
I got my ass handed to me. But the silver lining of the story: after all that biking and running, my ass is looking pretty damn good.
When I see you on the road, say hello. When I meet you at the starting line, return the polite nod. When I celebrate the success of my next finish and the accomplishment of another seemingly impossible goal, join my celebration.
My sincere gratitude to you for reading and keeping me honest, as well as to the sport we call triathlon.
