Ironman Canada 2013

Trip Report

Whistler is a beautiful town.  The town is already set up to handle large events after hosting the Winter Olympics years ago.  We parked on Friday night and didn’t touch the car again until Monday morning.  The mountains make for a beautiful venue and are a great sight while taking breaths during the swim.  During the athlete meeting they stressed littering heavily due to the potential for bear activity.  I loved the atmosphere of the event at Whistler, but the brutality of the bike course definitely threw some pocket sand in the eyes.  I think it was a good experience for my first Ironman, take the training wheels straight off.

The swim was an open water start which made the shore nice and open for warming up and getting water into your wetsuit.  The pack crowded right at the start buoys; those of us that didn’t want to be front and center in the crazyness could just float for a minute but still be in the water ready to rock.  The water was far warmer than I expected and some glare on the second lap made buoy sighting difficult once the sun crested the mountains.  At T1 wetsuit stripers were on top of their game and the tent had plenty of chairs.

The bike was a grueling ordeal.  My GPS logged hitting 35-40mph 15 different times over the hills of the course.  So each down gets its corresponding up.  The course had hills aplenty and a 15 mile each way near flat out and back.  The 30 mile total was through farm country.  The roads along this stretch weren’t terrible, but left much to be desired.  There were several train tracks through the course and numerous water bottles, CO2 cartridges and gel bottles could be found near each from jostling off the bikes.  Two hills, one with a very sharp turn and one with a rail road track, were agonizing because they came after or during a nice downgrade which killed the chance to milk speed from them.  The sharp turn was the only section I was worried about wrecking; my brakes were trying their hardest (and were also likely coated in urine).  The roads were clean and mostly free of debris.  Aid stations were top notch and hand offs seemed to go well.  At T2 they took my bike and racked it for me.  Once again there were plenty of chairs and volunteers present in the changing tent. 

The run contained a fair amount of trail running.  The run went near the golf course, out and back along a lake and required two loops.  Aid stations were very well spaced and abundant.  There was not much elevation change along the course.  After sunset there were generator powered lights for the stretches that went through the small forest and a few other areas.  One small stretch of forest had no lighting; hopefully next year they rent more lights.  There were a large abundance of spectators along the course and plenty of volunteers. 

 

The Personal Reflection

I woke up at 4am to eat breakfast.  I had almonds, half a clif bar, iced tea, a little hot tea, and a double-decker peanut butter and white bread sandwich (how do people eat white bread, ugh).  I had packed my backpack the night before and laid out my clothes and timing chip.  I threw on my clothes while eating, washed my face with a nice hot rag to wake me up, grabbed my MP3 player for the walk and headed out.  I walked to T2 where the buses were arriving to shuttle us to the lake.  I decided to keep my bike special needs bag in my pack and not use it.  The bus ride took about 15 minutes.  After arriving at the lake I went to T1 to scope out my bike.  It had rained in the night so I dried off my seat and handle bars.  I don’t use body glide on anything but my feet, but I figured I had a ton to spare to I put some on the front of my pits, down my pants, on my collar bones and on the back of my neck.  I slowly put on my wetsuit and rounded up my goggles and nose plug.  I was a tad late to the water so I had to stand in line to drop my morning bag.  I drank my prerace drink of diluted Powerade and headed into the water.  I saw my family but opted not to flag them down since I was a man in a black wetsuit and neon cap in a mass of others wearing the exact same thing.  I was about halfway between the shore and the start buoys floating when the start gun went off.  Some people didn’t even submerge their suit fully before starting.  I breast stroked for a bit to give the lead pack some distance and then set off into my crawl (stroke).  I tickled some feet, some people tickled mine (figuratively); having waited back a few seconds resulted in virtually no real contact amongst swimmers in my area.

The swim was long.  Some swimmers were awful at sighting.  A fair amount of people had kayaks telling them which directions to head because they were so far off course.  I directed myself pretty well with a few exceptions here and there.  I had never swum 2.4 miles before and near the end I felt pretty vomitacious and the pressure of my goggles on the bridge of my nose was starting to get to me.  The absolute worst part was coming into shore once I could see the lake floor.  The sand was covered in seaweed and the changing depth and swaying of the plants made me feel extremely dizzy.  I made it into shore with a time far worse than planned, 1:53:XX.  I started peeling the top of my wet suit as soon as I could stand in the water.  Once on shore they announced my name and my family took some pictures.  The wetsuit stripers peeled my suit down to my thighs and had me sit on the ground.  They pulled off my wetsuit like it was nothing.  I grabbed my transition bag and headed to the changing tent, now freezing without my wetsuit on.  I took way too much time in the tent drying my feet and coating them in baby powder so I could get my toe socks on.  I verified all my bike gear and headed on, somehow I had spent 15 minutes in transition.   

As I head out to my bike I noticed a lot of empty racks and realized that I did really take forever to finish that swim; I laughed to myself as I walked up to my bike and took it off the rack.  The start of the bike was solid.  I was cresting the hills and bombing down at decent speed.  I would use my aerobars down hill if I could see the bottom or stick to a crouch with hands on the breaks if it was a corner.  I felt like I was making solid enough time and was passing people fairly frequently.  I opted to pee on my bike for the race.  The disclaimer here is that with as hydrated as you are during a race like this your urine is practically straight water.  My bike shorts have too tight of elastic at the leg to pull up far enough, so I’d just stand up and let it go.  If I was going down a hill I’d just go while I was peddling (after making sure no one was behind me) and let the wind take it away.   

At 21 miles, right before the first out and back turn around, I got a flat.  I was pleased it was my front tire so I didn’t have to deal with grease from the sprocket.  I got my tools out and got to work.  People flew by asking if I had everything I needed, I’d say yes and on they went.  I got my tire on and inflated.  I began to pass the people I had passed before and make my way up the crowd.  I’d drain my water bottles into my aerobottle before aid stations so I could swap them out.  I was behind on calorie intake, but I truly didn’t know what my calorie intake should be.  I was sticking to Clif Bloks and Gu early on.  I had one Clif Bar in my short’s pocket I would take bits of to eat with my electrolyte pills.  I kept chugging along. 

Once I hit the flats at mile 60 I had peed numerous times (read: my fluid intake was great) but my calorie intake was questionable; I’d never bonked before so I didn’t care.  I continued to eat about 250-350 calories per hour.   At this point in the race my bulk of calories were in fluid form from the Powerbar Perform bottles.  I hate flat.  I can do uphill, I can do downhill, but I truly hate biking on long flat sections.  This was the longest flattest thing I had ever biked on.  About 70 miles into the race I got another flat; once again, my front tire.  I changed it out and got back on the road.  At this point I shifted to “simply finishing the race” mode.  I had no reason to press my heart to pass the same people for a third time, but I did pass a fair amount of them on the hills after finishing the flat section.  On my way back towards town a woman biked up from behind me and asked if I had passed someone in a red and orange jersey, I told her I didn’t think so.  She swore to herself and thanked me. 

Biking into town was agonizing; I didn’t want to be on a bike anymore.  I was standing on the hills instead of picking up speed.  In the last 6 or so miles the bike course went right beside the running course and running looked so nice.  I continued on into town and made it to T2.   

In T2 I got a reality check on how close I was, I had made it with ten minutes to spare.  So for those disgusted with peeing on yourself, the reality is that if I had stopped to pee each time I would not have made the cutoff.  I was at hour 10:20:XX.  I went into the tent and ditched the bike gear and socks.  I reapplied body glide to my feet and rubbed baby powder all over my feet to get rid of any moisture.  Bike gloves rock for rubbing baby powder on your feet, it turns out.  I put on new toe socks (couldn’t recommend these more for racing) and put on my shoes, race bib and running belt.  I had a Redbull in my transition bag that I dumped into my water bottle before heading out.  My running belt has three 8oz water bottle slots.  I brought it to carry one bottle, my Gu in the zipper pocket, and to tuck my sleeves into one of the spare water bottle holders.  Once again, I spent too much time in transition, ten minutes. 

Starting the run was amazing.  It’s like my body forgot all the other stuff I had just done; it felt so good.  Running is my strong point and I knew I had no problem finishing the race from here.  I started off shooting for a four hour marathon.  Once I backed my brain out of competitive mode I opted for ten minute miles with 10 minutes of running and one minute of walking.  At mile three a girl ran up from behind me and said “you’re the guy I talked to on the bike, right?”  It turns out the guy she was looking for was her boyfriend and he missed the bike cutoff.  We ran together for a while.  She was walking up hills and running the rest.  This made a lot more sense than my arbitrary walk every ten minutes.  Her pace was a bit slower than mine, but it kept my heart around 140-145 bpm.  I made a decision that finishing an Ironman was enough for me and I’d rather have someone to talk to for the race than get a “good marathon time.”  We were running buddies for the rest of the race. 

The two loop format of the marathon turned out to be mentally rewarding because we were mixed in with more people instead of being the stragglers bringing up the rear.  At aid stations I opted primarily for cola, bananas, grapes, water, and sport drink.  I think I had grapes and cola at every aid station.  If I were to add it up I think I drank about 1.5 liters of cola and half a pound of grapes during the race, my body knows what it wants.  I ate chips once and it literally HURT my lips.  I had left my electrolyte pills on my bike when they took it from me in transition, but my new running buddy had an abundance of them so I grabbed a couple.   

The run plagued on and we continued our running mixed with walking up hills.  The running felt ok, but every time I started up from a walk to a run again my legs screamed a little more.  The sun began to set and we were still chugging along; I finally put my sunglasses on my hat.  Time for a plug: the best piece of gear I bought (relatively) was my sunglasses.  The top plastic rim wasn’t in my field of vision while biking, and I didn’t have to adjust them once.  From the time I put them on before the bike and taking them off when the sun set, I didn’t have to touch them once.  Scattante Sector, great glasses.  We walked a few gravelly trail areas due to poor lighting and eventually a woman started up alongside us around mile 16.  At this point in the race a lot of people had switched to walking, so I think she was happy to find others still running.  So now our posy had three runners and as a great benefit our new running buddy had a flashlight.  We held true to the walk/run method all the way to the end.  However, we did get a bit looser with the definition of what a hill worthy of walking was.  Near the end, starting up a run from a walk produced about half a second of absolute misery, but running still felt good.  We broke up in the last half mile for the finish.  After the race we all thanked, congratulated, and said goodbye to one another. 

The finish was the best thing ever.  At the athlete meeting they had talked about the energy from 10pm to midnight, I never thought I would be one of the people in that finishing range.  I just kept running and running and running waiting for that finish.  Once you round the corner into town and see the “Ironman” gate directing you, you know you’re set.  I continued into the chute.  The chute was as bright as day and people were crowded on both sides.  As I ran in there were people bashing in unison on the solid paneling; at this point all I could do was smile.  These people were so incredibly excited for every single person coming down that chute.  I felt excited but I don’t think it even came close to the excitement the spectators had for every runner.  They called my name and yelled the signature “you are an Ironman,” as I crossed the line.  Truthsies, from the time I entered the chute to the time I crossed that finish line I was full of the most powerful feelings of success, happiness, energy, and everything else that I had ever felt before; I was done, I had succeeded.  16:05:56; my body kept going for 16 hours, I impressed myself. 

After the race was a little rough for me.  I had hiccup/burps and had trouble eating because of it.  I weaseled in food whenever I could.  My sister walked with me to claim my bike and gear bags and I drank the remainder of the sport drink that was left on my bike.  Once back to the car and loaded up I drank some Hanson’s Apricot stuff and ate pretzels.  My day was done. 

Reflecting on the race there are some things I realize.  First, I spent way too much time in transitions, I just didn’t want to forget anything (and putting on toe socks took a little extra worthwhile time).  I forgot why I had chapstick, on the bike I was making sure my lips weren’t getting dry, but I had brought it for the sunscreen.  After the race my lips were a tad burnt but not anything terrible.  My body is a beast; it’s not the fastest but it handles endurance well.  I never had a single thought of not being able to finish, I never bonked, and I never had any stomach issues even with my liter plus of cola.  The training for the event was most evident the few days after the race.  My hamstrings are a little tight, my knees feel it when I stand up, but overall my body works fine.  I can go up and down stairs and walk just fine.  I am forever grateful to my running buddies for keeping me in check without knowing it.  My running buddies also made the 5:30 hour run feel like a training jog; we joked, laughed, talked, and kept each other going.  If I had ran alone I would have ran faster and my body would likely be suffering a lot more right now.  I am grateful to my family for coming to Whistler with me and supporting me.  I am grateful to my friends who motivated me and supported me while training.  The Ironman experience has been an amazing puzzle piece in life and I would recommend it to anyone who has ever had even the slightest inkling to try (but I’d find a course with fewer hills for your first). 

Dipping my feet into triathlon with an Ironman gave me a pretty good taste.  I’ll keep going with Olympic distance races and maybe a Half Ironman down the line, but the Ironman may have been a onetime adventure; we’ll see.  The Ironman reaffirmed that running is my strength.  Ultrarunning may be the next road I venture down. 

This post was long and is likely the last for a month until the Portland Triathlon.  Thank you for taking the time to read it.  If anyone is curious about other details feel free to email me.

Whistler

Packing for my trip was rough.  I had a panic last minute bike repair; I picked up my bike from the shop the day before I left.  I had a cheat sheet of things to pack; I went through my list at least four times.  I took a trip to the store for the stuff I figured I’d rather have and throw away then not have at all.  I grabbed baby powder, sport band aids, and chapstick.  I accrued everything I needed and separated it into various bags.  I would describe getting ready to leave as panic without the stress. I knew I needed to think hard about every step I would take throughout race day in order to remember everything.

Riding into Whistler we passed tooons of bikes on the highway scoping out the bike course.  I like to go into the event with a blissful ignorance.  Once in town it was like athlete city with people of all ages with Ironman backpacks and shirts.  An alarming number of people had “M dot” tattoos on the back of their calves, many with a surrounding maple leaf.  And of course, a plethora of fit attractive women every angle you could point your eyes.

The town of Whistler is pretty nice and everything is walkable.  Our hotel room is nice, but small.  The hotels here seem to be pretty condensed to fit into the city.  We arrived before we could check into the hotel, so I wandered down to packet pick up.  There were so many tables to stop at in the tent, it was slightly overwhelming.  I had to sign a paper that would either withhold my medical status, or allow them to release me as being “critical”, “stable”, etc. if anything happened to me.  Every athlete got an Ironman Canada backpack loaded with free samples and town information, as well as the 5 bags to load with gear.

Once we checked into the hotel room I started loading my gear bags.  I had a sheet of “1070” (my number) stickers to apply to my bags, helmet, and bike.  I have a blue Ironman bracelet on my wrist that I have to wear for three days to let me into athlete only areas.  They gave me a timing chip to wear on my ankle for the entire race.  I can’t apply sunscreen until after I’ve been marked race morning with my race number.  This morning (Saturday) I had to deliver my transition bags and my bike.  In the morning I walk down with my morning bag (which will include the things I want when the race is over) and my bike special needs bag.  I will get numbered, slather myself in sunscreen, and put on my wet suit.  Then it will be time to rock.

Yesterday was my rest day.  Today I did a short run with high cadence spurts to shock my body before race day.  I ate fatty on Wednesday, back to normal on Thursday, and have been carbo loading Friday and Saturday.  Today was a big carb heavy breakfast with low fiber and high glycemic index foods for the rest of the day.  I have to wake up at 4-4:30am to eat breakfast so that it can digest before the race at 7am. I will drink a diluted sports drink in the morning before getting in the water.  I will not eat again until I mount the bike 1.5-2 hours later.

Now to discuss how awesome this event is.  Everyone here is super friendly.  At the welcome ceremony I talked to a guy for an hour who was a volunteer.  We were both alone, he saw my bracelet and we talked about the event for a while.  He took my race number to see how I faired.  While I walked away from bike drop off this morning there was another guy walking about my pace so we talked for the two mile walk into town.  We exchanged race numbers to see how each other did after the fact.  No one’s here to destroy other people or crush them into the ground, if you see another athlete you talk as if you’re best friends.  For the first time in BC history there are shutting down a numbered highway for an event; I guess this is a huge deal.  I guess the north town the bike course runs up to is literally trapped for five hours by the highway closure.  Litter penalties are strictly enforced due to the reality of bears in the area.    For dinner I found a Subway.  I walked in and told them I wanted a six inch Italian with a chicken breast on them.  I think I confused them, no cheese or veggies.  I literally ate a piece of bread with a chicken breast on it.  My family ate a pizza, it took a lot of will power to avoid eating any of it.

Today I have walked to drop off my stuff, walked around town, eaten several times, gone to the hot tub for an hour, ran, and typed this.  It’s agony, the event is looming over me and I just have to sit here and wait.  I want to get in the water and hear the cannon go off.  I want to be in action mode instead of hurry up and wait mode.  I feel strong and ready to rock, I can’t imagine sleeping much tonight.

This is the gear the I'll start with in the morning.

This is what I'll grab before mounting my bike.

My gear for the run.

Running

Running is the way I started triathlon, and it will likely be the way I end it down the line. Running is so care free; it doesn’t require special gear and it’s always a nice day for a run (it’s true). I started my Ironman quest with the Portland Marathon last year. The energy of the event was so great and I got a solid time for my first one. Running is one of those things where you can just flip the auto pilot switch once you’re used to higher mileage. If I forget about time for a second, there’s really no difference between a 10 mile run and a 20 mile run in my brain. Sure, one is a lot longer, but my legs just keep that same sweet spot cadence for longer. I need to eat a little more, but it’s such a rhythmic relaxing sport that I could just run for ever. Forest Gump wasn’t far from the target.

“True training” for running is a little tougher for me. I trained for the Portland Marathon by running at my preferred cadence for different length runs, and in turn didn’t do much speed work. These days, I mix in speed work. Speed work, for me, consists of running at between 4.5 mph and 5 mph at a cadence of 85 for three minute intervals, and then running at 8.5 mph to 9 mph at a cadence range of 90 to 112 for 105 seconds (this includes the time it takes to turn up the belt speed, shooting for 90 seconds at pace). Some days this is rough, but training through the hard stuff adds a little fun to the experience. I want to push myself and see if my brain can follow through. Two days ago I completed my last 2:30 hour long run before the Ironman in 13 days; I didn’t complete enough long runs during my training.

Running is the bee’s knees of the triathlon triad. The brutality on the legs and burden on the heart make it a solid activity to allow training with slower runners and still receive a benefit. Biking with a slower companion is agony and swimming with someone is kind of pointless. But running slow or fast can have differing benefits, but both are beneficial. Since running was my only real strong point upon signing up for the Ironman, there isn’t too much to write about.

The things I’ve taken from running are plentiful. I’m thankful I don’t have anything on my body that will chafe, especially my nipples, ugggh. I started running believing “Body Glide” didn’t do anything, but I have since become a believer. I smear some on the sides of my toes before a long run. Running long distance is great until heat becomes an issue. You never know what surfaces you’ll run on or how hot they’ll get; once your feet start heating up, they don’t cool down. I continue to believe in always buying quality running shoes. I’ve learned that Google Earth is great for mapping runs when you’re done, a GPS is nice but I don’t always want live details about my performance at my finger tips. I’ve learned that toe socks rock for running. I’ve learned that I have no one to impress, so short shorts are the way to go. I’ve learned to always run with a shirt and a $5 bill; you don’t have to wear the shirt, but you have something to put on and cash in hand to stop at a minimart if you really need calories. I’ve learned to forget the music from time to time. As great as music is at distracting you during a run, sometimes it’s better to actually take in the things around you while you run. This is where the, “always a nice day for a run” comes in. Sometimes in the winter it’s awesome to put on that heavy sweatshirt and run out into the pouring rain. You push hard and tell your brain to keep going, and then when you get home you get the mental reward of having completed a workout on a bleak depressing day, and the physical reward of a nice hot shower and putting on some nice cozy sweats.

Time to rant: the best thing about triathlon, running, or whatever is that most likely you… wont… win…(this is a positive thing). For a given marathon there will be one winner. Break that out to age groups and gender and there may be ten winners. This top one or top ten are not the reasons that most people run. You run to run. You run to be around runners. You mix with people who enjoy the same thing you do. When I race I am racing against myself. I want to perform better than I did a week ago, month ago, or year ago. I am running to improve myself from yesterday. This year at the Portland marathon the only person I will be racing against is that chump 2012 Justin who only trained for two months.

This blog is soon to die. I have the Ironman in 13 days. I will likely post before the Ironman when I arrive in Canada and post again when I’ve completed the race.  I will write a summery of the Portland Triathlon and the Portland Marathon after I complete each one.  This blog didn’t go the route I intended, which was to be more about hands on actual training. I started way too late into my training and can’t remember actual details or differ between what I think is important now and what I thought was important as I completed key check points over the training months. If any person wants to push themselves into any event be it running, swimming, biking, triathlon, mountain climbing, or anything, I would be glad to talk to you through email, Facebook, or in person. I don’t know what I’ll do after the Ironman, maybe coach triathletes in the future. At this stage in life I shot big, and even though there are some parts of my body that may get sore or make me slow down in the race, I hope to cash the check my brain wrote a year ago.

Retiring the old to make way for the new.

Sauvie Island to the Oregon Coast: A Club Cycling Event

Today I embarked on a club ride with the Portland Triathlon Club.  The ride was from Sauvie Island to the Oregon Coast.  The club rented the largest school bus I’d ever seen; time for a tangent.  This bus was huge.  It had about 25 seats to hold 50+ people.  The thing was monstrous!  Anyways, The ride was broken up into two pit stops, with riders starting at each point.  So a person could do 100, 66, or 33’ish miles; pretty awesome group ride.  So the bulk of us started at the 100 mile (century ride) point.  This is the point where the cosmos made it clear I’ve wronged someone in life, hard.  One mile, ONE MILE! Into my ride I have a flat.  I could feel my bike handling sluggish and realized that my tire was slowly deflating.  I hoped to the other side of the guard rail and whipped out my gear.  One of the club organizers stopped to make sure I was okay.  I used my tools like I’d never used them before and threw on a new tube and racked my tire.  Away I went with John, and we were behind everyone.  About two miles down the road… yeah, I’ve logged about three miles at this point… remember that thing about wronging people?  My rear tube EXPLODES.  John was a good few hundred feet in front of me and turned when he heard it.  Thankfully, other than a few scrapes, my tire was fine.  John continued on, I changed my tube again, and I backtracked to grab the shuttle to the first check point; there’s no way I could reasonably pick up the time lost from two flats.

Some riders had beaten the shuttle to the first check point when we arrived.  The 66 mile crew (which now unfortunately included myself) took our bikes out and got ready.  I waited for few minutes after a large group headed out and hit the road.  I kept a pretty solid pace on the leg and keeping some time between myself and the pack in front of me paid off; they turned down the wrong road and I picked them up right as they got back on track.  The ride was pretty relaxing, I felt very comfortable on my aero bars.  I have settled in to doing most tasks on the bike like opening food packages and reading a map and directions.  The road we were on was pretty rough at times and we had to slow down to not tank our tires.  I had no idea where I was and it was great.  My GPS watch was the only thing letting me know how far was left. 

We slowly trickled into the second check point.  Waiting at the check point was a glorious bag full of food fit for endurance athletes: cookies, candy, yogurt pretzels, fruit.  We all gorged and lay in the sun at the wildlife viewing area.  We started heading out in small packs.  I took off alone to start at a slower pace that I could increase as the next pack caught up.  At this point my rear tire started to feel sluggish… welcome to flat number three.  The tube could hold air, but not for long.  If I changed this tire and continued on I would be riding more than 30 miles with zero reserve tubes and zero cell reception.  I took my pump out, over inflated my tube, and booked it back towards the second check point.  The bus was already leaving so I flagged it down.  I hopped on the bus with my bike and took a seat.  I was defeated by sheer luck.  We arrived at the final coast stop where subs and snacks were waiting.  People slowly arrived and grabbed food.  One guy a long way back on the course needed to be picked up due to extreme cramping.  I was glad I didn’t push on without reserve tubes because the phone communication tree took over an hour to even get across where this guy was and what was wrong.

We hung out at the coast for several hours.  People talked about upcoming events, nutrition, and goals.  I didn’t talk about my events much other than an occasional “I’ll see you there.”  As much as I like to surround myself in the environment of endurance racing, I think I just like hearing the background noise of it more than actually being front and center in a conversation.

So remember that monstrous bus?  So we loaded 32 bikes onto that bus, while still needing to fit 32 people as well.  I was involved with the bike loading along with one other guy.  It was like playing Tetris with really expensive blocks.  I didn’t care much about time so I don’t know how long it took to meticulously load 32 bikes, but I’m sure it took quite a while.  The ride home took about two hours and everyone was glad to be back.

I learned a lot of things from this trip.  I became a pro at changing tubes.  I observed other bikes and learned about containers I didn’t know existed.  I learned about sacrificing a water bottle holder to place a cut open bottle that can hold whatever munchables you want (pretzels, in her case).  So I didn’t get in my century ride, but knowledge is power and I sure learned a lot.  In the end it was a worthwhile day with fun activities and fun people.

 

Cycling

Cycling is the realm of triathlon that required the largest investment. I did not own a road bike prior to signing up for a triathlon. I opted to purchase a true tri-bike and found a deal on Amazon for a bike I’m pretty sure wasn’t supposed to be sold online. I got the bike for a little over $1100, and it’s an $1800 bike. The big thing is that it shipped in a “signature required” box and had huge stickers all over the box saying “To be assembled by an authorized retailer only.” Bahaha, I laughed at that; then I assembled it myself. Assembling a bike is pretty difficult with all the cables that need to be fed… and cut… and adjusted, but with the money I saved I was more than willing to deal with it. Just some additional information, the main difference between a road bike and a tri-bike is that a tri-bike has a steeper seat post. A tri-bike seat is closer to the vertical position of the pedals. The goal is to incorporate more work out of the hamstrings to decrease the load on the quadriceps for the run portion of the race. Another interesting difference in gear is that the Velcro strap on my bike shoes opens away from the bike, which is opposite of most bike shoes. With the strap securing towards the bicycle the shoes can be opened while still riding when approaching the transition point without getting caught up in the gears.

In the winter I spent a lot of my cycle time in the gym. My gym has new very decent trainers that display wattage, cadence, and the readings from my heart rate monitor. Most workouts last about 90 minutes with short sessions of an hour and long sessions of 150 minutes. I bring books from time to time to read for portions of the ride and always have music to keep me entertained. Don’t get me wrong, it’s pretty boring from time to time, but worlds better than swimming. My solid cycling cadence is between 80 and 90 RPM. Intervals are a common workout and basically alternate between a normal cadence and a faster cadence of 100 to 120 RPM. I usually just get on the bike and shoot for a target heart rate to hold for the majority of the workout. The trainer is a nonstop workout, there’s no coasting “down hill” or anything, so it’s great for getting ready to hit the road when you can stop pedaling for periods of time.

Now that summer is into full effect I try to ride outside twice a week. I’m still narrowing down how to equip myself for long rides. I need to carry tools, tubes, nutrients, and fluid. Unlike a normal cycling jersey that has two to three pockets, a tri race jersey usually has one tight fitting pocket. So far I’ve been wearing my small running belt to hold a few tools with some spare tubes crammed under my seat. Today I bought a small seat pocket that will hold my tools and tubes. So far I’ve been adjusting my bike and aero bars on the fly. Tonight I will take a level and make final adjustments to my handlebars and aero bars. Tomorrow I’m going on my first 100 mile ride with the Portland Triathlon Club.

Cycling is the most fun part of triathlon training. I have a Timex Global Trainer watch that will track everything possible. I can use the watch to review my ride speeds and look at my position on a map when I get home. This makes it fun to see how fast I can go down certain hills or on flat sections. Cycling is fast paced enough that sights are changing regularly, unlike running. I can people watch, watch cars go by, and see if I can get ahead of cars. The hardest thing to get used to is being bent over using the aero bars for 20 to 30 minute periods. I have an amazing seat made by Adamo that has two posts instead of the normal saddle nose. These two posts make contact with the “sit bones” which allows me to stay seated for very long periods of time without discomfort (except for the initial adaption to the saddle). I’ve had some instances where I’ve nearly wrecked, but have yet to have a true accident.

I’ve had bad days with cycle training. I’ve had a day on the trainer at the gym where I felt like I was going to pass out and had to cut the workout short. One “long ride” produced a flat tire within 5 minutes. After replacing the tube I went home. I had barely hit the road, not even truly warmed up, and spent more time fixing the flat than on the bike; I just didn’t want to deal with it anymore that day. One day I hit something hard in Newberg and my right aero bar shifted about 20 degrees so I had to stop and fix it. At this very moment I’m dreading changing my rear tube before my long ride tomorrow. So while the cycling is fun, it’s the largest piece of “gear” I have and it requires the most time and effort to maintain.

 

Swimming

I purchased a fair amount of my gear during a good sale before I even registered for the Ironman. Triathlons definitely seemed like a route I wanted to go so I didn’t mind buying the necessities before I registered for anything. So when it came time to start training I owned most of the base goods for training. I began swimming having no idea what I was doing. I had goggles and I had one of those itsy bitsy swim suits just shy of a true Speedo. So I began hitting the pool. It was treacherous… I can’t even begin to describe the boredom. This is a lot for me to say; I’ve spent hours in the woods during backpacking trips literally just sitting there waiting for the sun to set so I could sleep. Even though while swimming you are thinking about leg mechanics, arm mechanics, breathing, and whatever else, I still was just so chaotically bored.

The bulk of my swim training is a culmination of youtube and watching people swim while I was in the hot tub at the gym. I’ve learned that almost everybody swims “wrong” compared to the supposed perfect form, so I focused on finding those wrongs and trying to limit them. To a pro I probably look like a fish flopping in a skillet, but I’m fine with that.

To swim I would wake up at 4:30am on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I would pack my gear the night before and grab the gear and a banana or two on my way out the door in the morning. Swimming in the morning is terrible. The water feels even colder in the morning and half the time I would end up in the lane with the auto fill (nice fresh cold water). On top of this it means no one has checked the chemicals in several hours. But it was necessary, so I did it.  Another effect of training is the decrease in body fat over the months.  The pool is the foremost place I feel like that insulation is missing and I get colder faster while I rest.

I learned a fair volume of things over the months of swimming at the gym. I learned to always keep actual gym clothes and shoes in my bag in case the pool was full; if the pool fills up right after opening it means you’re going to be waiting a long time so you might as well change your workout. I learned to crack my bottles before getting in the pool; a tightly closed bottle can be a bitter enemy once you’re soaked and pruney. I learned to always wear a swim cap to help keep water out of your ears and limit hair exposure to chlorine. I learned that gym soap is terrible and to always keep body wash, shampoo, and conditioner in the gym bag; conditioner can be used as hair gel, by the way.

I feel I need to summarize what swimming is like to me. I wake up having no clue what is going on with a confused body. I take that confused body to a gym and submerge it in water. People talk about punishing their bodies? Well to me that is punishment, and that’s before even actually swimming. Having short lanes doesn’t help your brain wanting to take breaks.  It’s like a nice sofa sitting at the end of each mile while you’re running.  When I’m done there’s a series of things that take place.  With other workouts I can put off the shower for some time, I can go home, eat and surf the internet for a half hour. With swimming I’m freezing and I need to shower. My body is coated in chlorine and I have to peel off my swimsuit.  Once I shower I have to rinse my swimsuit and occasionally clean my goggles.  When I get home I need to hang everything that’s wet so it doesn’t fester in my bag.

In the end, I have an immense respect for swimmers. The boredom, the fluctuating pool environment, what it does to your skin and how you smell. It’s the most uncontrolled of the training environments.



A heron during one of my lake swims.