I haven't posted since March 3rd, which incidentally is the only post that I have. But there's been reasons. I didn't want to put up boring play by play race reports just to post something. I've been really, really busy working almost full time at the shop and putting in two workouts a day. I couldn't type because I have carpel tunnel... alright that's not true. But sincerely, every time I've sat down to write something I've gotten 3 lines down and then something has gotten in the way. But not today. Today I have the day off, and I have something worthwhile to write about: The hardest race of my life that nearly killed me, aka my first half iron.
First the punch line: I look forward to the run in every triathlon because it's effortless and I tend to do really well. Today on the other hand, I imploded like a supernova at mile 8 of the 13.1 mile run and while harnessing every ounce of will power I have to keep my legs moving during my 5 mile death march to the finish line I briefly considered slowing to a walk and/or dropping out of the race to pass out underneath a tree. Surprising? Not really, any sensible triathlete would have seen it coming from 56 miles away.
Now the story: It all started two weeks ago after Lifetime. I took about 10 days before the race easier than usual to be rested and race fast. It worked, I had a great race. Looking forward to the championship season of late August/early September I set up a schedule to try and get more strength and speed. I'd put in two heavy mileage weeks, racing back to back days on the first weekend, and then racing Chisago half the second weekend. Then I'd take a down week to recover, and put in 3 weeks of light mileage and interval workout before starting to taper. Everything went great last weekend and the mileage was logged. I, however, forgot one thing, that I have never done a half iron before. And foolishly did not respect the race distance.
So this morning I woke up at 4:15 and drove out to Chisago. Transition was packed, but all the racks were numbered, which I love because I don't have to fight for a spot. I did a very light warm-up... because it's a 4 hour race. The race started a little late because of fog on the water or volunteers getting to their spots late, doesn't matter. What does matter is that the air temp was low 60's and the water was very warm, so the entire lake was covered in a thick fog. The Chisago swim is an out and back course, but no one swam out and back this morning. After the initial set of buoys the fog was too thick to see the next buoy, so we all spent a good deal of time blindly swimming towards a blank wall of fog, hoping that we were headed in the right direction. David and Thad led out the swim, and didn't even know which buoy to turn at and had to ask volunteers at every buoy if there was another up ahead. I got stuck in no man's land after the turnaround and alternately swam blindly into fog, futilely breast-stroked while trying to spot the next buoy, and dodged swimmers that had gone off course and swam onto our side of the buoys.
I got out of the water in sixth and rode up to Alex Hooke in 10 or 15 miles and settled in for a long push. It felt like we were battling a head wind no matter which direction we were headed, but I felt pretty good. At the first bottle exchange I tried to grab a bottle going full speed like a total rookie and may have broken the volunteer's hand. (I'm very sorry if I did...) I dropped the bottle, but didn't think it'd be a big deal since it was so cold and I wasn't really sweating much.
Mile 30 was where I started to feel it. I watched my watts slowly drop off as my legs started to burn more and more, but kept hammering. (Foolish, I know.) It was a little depressing to think that I still had more than a full Olympic bike left before starting that half marathon, but I held out hope that I'd catch a second wind. I did not catch a second wind. I pushed in to transition in fourth, about two minutes back from 2nd which is where I wanted to finish knowing that I can't catch Thompson. I hurriedly shoved my numb feet into my shoes, put my race number on upside down and took off for the last 13.1 miles of running.
Then, a miracle happened. My crappy bike legs felt great on the run. My confidence was back. I would stay relaxed on the run, and everything would be okay. This did happen for awhile. I caught Alex Hooke about two miles into the run and slowly reeled in 2nd place, a 20 yearold amateur from Wisconsin who looked way too heavy to be running a half marathon. After running together for half a mile or so at the halfway mark, I started to pull way. Mile 7 ticked by and I started to feel it. Then mile 8 rolled around and I really started to feel it. That's when I smashed into the wall headfirst and bonked so hard that my eyeballs ran out of glycogen. Slower and slower I ran, knowing that I would be repassed shortly. At mile 9 or 10 it happened, but I didn't even blink. At that point I didn't care. I was too busy thinking about whether I would be able to finish. I set my sights on mile 10 without walking and made it. With only 5k to go I set my sights on 11 miles without walking. I made that, but just barely. At this point I was trudging along, totally shot and feeling delirious.
But now the lesson: I did make it to the finish, and after stopping immediately after crossing the line and spending the morning in a complete haze, I now realize something: that was almost fun. It wasn't, but only because I went out too hard and didn't have my nutrition right and thought that I could race a half iron with tired legs. Stupid mistakes, but I've always thought the best teacher is slogging through 5 brutal miles at the end of a race. I won't be doing any more halves until next year, but I look forward to the challenge. And most of all I have a completely new level of appreciation and respect for long course racers. You guys are missing out on the speed and excitement of short course, but you have grueling personal battles to keep putting one foot in front of the either. One day I will join you, but not today. For now, give me back the intensity and excitement and hot nasty speed of short course.
