Epilogue: Swim, bike, run….surf?

I’ve had a few comments that I omitted a critical part of the story in my IMC race blog. That was intentional.

The journey to IMC deserved to be a chapter in my life on its own right - there were too many long days and too much sweat poured into that journey for it not to. And I also fully expected that the end of the story would be written on or before midnight on Sunday, August 30^th.

But alas, the story continues.

With a little aloha to boot.

Those of you who know me well know of my fondness for Hawaii. Since my first vacation in Kona in 2004, I have gone back six times. I love everything about the land of Aloha - the breeze, the smell of plumeria, the crazy juxtaposition of black lava against lush rainforest, crazy hikes to hidden waterfalls and the laid-back island attitude. Oh, and maybe a Lava Flow or two….the silly tourist drink that is half pina colada, half daiquiri and totally addictive.

My athletic endeavors in Hawaii to date have been limited to a half-marathon (my first age group victory!) and some seriously humid training runs. Oh, and who could forget an ill-advised “pub” crawl in Maui (inspired and fuelled by a few too many mai tais as Linda will attest to…picture evidence below).

Something tells me that my next trip to Hawaii will be somewhat different…..

On October 9, 2010 at 7am, I will be doing it all over again - 140.6 redux, this time at the Ironman World Championship in Kona, Hawaii.

The big show. For a triathlete, and a rookie one at that, there is no greater honor than getting to the start line at Kona. My 10^th in age group at Ironman Canada was enough to catch me a roll-down qualifying spot. At first, I hesitated in taking the slot due to my complete and utter inexperience. This will be only my 7th triathlon ever. As a novice swimmer, the open ocean non-wetsuit legal swim terrifies me, never mind the heat and the raging tradewinds on the ride and run. However, despite the adversity, I realize that this may be the opportunity of a lifetime.

I watched the 2009 IM Kona live on Universal Sports last year, from my hotel room the day before the Victoria marathon. I had just signed up for IMC. I could barely swim, had never ridden a tri bike (and had only been riding for less than 12 mos period) and was still having time wrapping my head around the distance. Just finishing IMC would easily be my biggest athletic accomplishment.

One year later, I have a bib number at Kona.

I will have the chance to swim Kailua Bay and ride the legendary Queen K to Hawi. I will get the opportunity to endure the run through the lava desert. And if I am lucky, I will cross that very famous finish line on Ali’i Drive

Not in my wildest dreams could I have imagined this.

I am nervous. Thrilled. Awestruck. Every day I expect to wake up and have someone tell me that this is all a dream….but it’s really happening, isn’t it?

Aloha, indeed.

Do not get your Mogwai wet

So usually this blog is about me…but yesterday I got to trade in my racing kit to be a triathlon super –fan at the Vancouver triathlon for Donovan’s debut at the Olympic distance!!

Race day could be described in one word: CRAP. It was cold, wet, rainy and miserable. I felt so badly for everyone racing, teeth chattering before the swim start.

Combined with the completely crap weather, the swim course brought along some crap of its own – the low tide forced the participants to wade and mash through much of the start and the turn, and the swim exit was a mucky and rocky mess. Brutal!

Despite the challenging conditions, Donovan totally rocked his first Oly. His swim was solid (28:35), followed by an equally solid ride (1:10:30, including T1 and T2) and a fantastic run! Finish time was 2:15:53, good for 14^th place overall and a 6^th place finish in an extremely competitive age group. I suspect that due to the conditions there was some conservatism exercised on the ride, but the 37:49 run time was smokin' (5th fastest of the day!).

The day did have its moments, however. For those of you familiar with the movie Gremlins, you will recall that the Mogwai came with very clear instructions: do not expose to bright light, do not get them wet and do not feed after midnight.

I have suspected for a long time that Donovan may actually be part Mogwai as he comes with very similar instructions: do not get wet and do not allow to get cold. It is also quite possible that he should not be fed after midnight.

Evidencing the hypothesis that Donovan may in fact be Mogwai, here is a picture of him starting the triathlon:

However, as a result of two hours and sixteen minutes in the cold and wet, the metamorphosis into Gremlin seemed to be unavoidable. Donovan the Gremlin emerged from the triathlon looking like this:

Lessons learned from the day:

1. Never get your Mogwai cold and wet. It turns into an evil Gremlin with sharp teeth and claws.

2. If you do get your Mogwai wet, steer clear of the Gremlin. Get it home as soon as possible and try to avoid being bitten.

3. Aside from successfully coping with the Gremlin, my skills as a triathlon super-fan are decidedly, um, less than super. Not only did I forget my camera, cowbell and rainjacket, but also failed to have a sign. My blackberry photos of the event qualify as the worst photos ever taken. Epic fail noted - I promise to improve and will train hard for future super-fan events.

Ironman Canada - one wild ride!

Four days post IMC, I am at a total loss. I started to write my race report a couple days ago and gave up, so now here I sit again trying to put this experience into words. It is damned hard. So I apologize in advance for the length of this post.

At 7am on Sunday August 30, 2010 I took my place with 2,800 other wetsuit-sporting athletes on a very busy little stretch of beach in Penticton, BC. At 6:09 pm I crossed the finish line only a few hundred feet away, an Ironman finisher.

The days preceding the race were (not surprisingly) quite anxiety riddled, but otherwise very enjoyable. A nice beach vacation. I tried not to think too hard about the task at hand - in fact, the worst pre-race moments came when I did think about the upcoming race. Of course, the night before the race had its requisite sleeplessness.

In retrospect, one of the best decisions I made was to buck up and stay at the Penticton Lakeside resort - the host hotel conveniently located right next to the transition area. I woke up at 3:45am on race morning and hustled over to body marking and transition as it opened at 5am. There were no lines and I got through my pre-race prep very quickly. This afforded me almost an entire hour of relaxation, quiet and my very own transition area potty stop in the hotel room before I went back to the start line at 6:30am to join the swim start chaos.

I know I have stressed this over and over, but I am NOT a swimmer. My race would be first and foremost about getting through the swim without incident. Standing on the right side of the beach facing Lakeside Drive, I did not feel confident. Swim caps and neoprene everywhere.

Breathe deep. You can do this.

I waited a few moments after the start to see what would happen, walked a few steps, and dove in. To my absolute surprise, I found open water immediately. Buoy 1. Still going. Buoy 2. I can do this. My normal "I hate this and want to quit" feeling that usually accompanies open water swimming was pleasantly absent.

It was not until Buoy 8 that there was a problem with congestion. The batting and pummelling started and I took a few looks around to assess the situation. Bad idea. Flailing swim caps everywhere. I felt the swim demon lurking. Great big yellow capped male swimmers were everywhere, kicking, grabbing, hitting. It was at that point that I somehow remembered Peter Scott's advice from my very first open water swim lesson: Be Spaghetti. If they hit you, move. If you hit them, be flopsy. Don't get hurt. Just keep moving along like a piece of floating, pliable, floppy spaghetti.

So in my disguise as a piece of pasta, I made it through what felt like a really, really long time in the water. Exiting the swim, I was just ecstatic. I had no idea what my time was, and really did not care. I was out. Goal #1 accomplished: do not drown.

Emerging from the chaos.  

T1 was clogged - I had to grab my own bag and fight for a spot in the tent. I dumped my own bag and started rifling through it - a volunteer started packing my stuff and helped a little with my socks and gloves. I waffled a over the arm warmers but put them on (they were a last minute addition to my gear bag) - this turned out to be a wise decision.

Riding down the first part of Main Street was surreal. Riders everywhere, people cheering everywhere. I was really here.

I rode fairly conservatively, but with a little tailwind it felt fast. McLean Creek Road was a total disaster - congestion everywhere. It was frustrating to be ground to a halt by all the riders on the hill. I looked down and saw 9kph and was really pissed off. Move it people!

I started eating and drinking at about 45 minutes into the ride. I choked a little on the bonk bar and had to immediately abandon my nutrition plan of bonk bars and GU chomps. They just didn't go down the way they did in training. No more. It would be gels and GU Brew, and that's it. Shortly after this decision, I launched a bottle of GU Brew concentrate off my bike and realized that I would now need to rely on course support to get me to special needs. Being Spaghetti would need to be my strategy on the bike too.

Average speed at this point was around 35kph and I was still caught in a lot of congestion. It was impossible to get past the hordes of riders and if you dropped back, you got caught in more riders. It was extremely frustrating since the riders were predominately male and I was not competing against them. So you can imagine how ticked I was when I got penalized for drafting just as a horde of male riders past me outside Oliver. Argh!!!! (I am not going to waste time complaining about the officiating but it is TOTALLY ridiculous to be giving drafting penalties to EVERYONE on the road. Where are we supposed to go???)

I used the penalty stop (aka the Sin-bin Stopover) to use the potties, refill my bottle and have some fuel. I hopped on my bike and made short work of Richter, and was really happy to see that I was passing the same people that I had been near and around prior to the Sin-bin Stopover. I felt good. The sun was shining. The top of Richter was like a little party....but I knew that this party was only getting started. The rollers and Yellow Lake were calling.

Top of Richter!

I rode pretty conservatively through the rollers (aka the 7 Bitches) and even forgot to count the ascents...when I hit the Seven Stones winery I knew that the heavy lifting was done. Or not. The headwind started blasting and my speed plummeted. The out-and-back section was tough work.

I stopped briefly at special needs to load up on GU Brew, shotgun the best V8 juice of my life and do a little pee-pee dance outside the potties before giving up and, um, watering some tumbleweeds. I know that this cost me some time and kind of regret stopping - next time I skipping the potties and am going on my bike!

Refreshed, energized and ready to roll, I came out of the out-and-back feeling great.

And then I saw the cloud.

The biggest, blackest, bad-ass storm cloud you have ever seen was perched right in front of me. The wind kicked up. The rain started. The hail started. I grabbed my bullhorns and held on for dear life. Teeth chattered. I can't remember exactly, but there may have been swearing.

I was cold, hands numb and totally delirious by the time I peaked Yellow Lake. The crowds, in their rain gear and umbrellas, did nothing to inspire me. I wanted off my bike. Now.

The ride down from Yellow Lake was easily the most terrifying ride of my life. The pavement was soaked and slippery and I had no braking capacity. The cross wind gusts were errant and threatening to throw me off my bike....I held on for dear life. Each kilometer closer to T2 made me hopeful and when I rounded Main Street onto Lakeside, I was just so so thankful. Anyone who says luck has no place in racing was not there on Sunday. I was so very lucky to be back in T2 in one piece.

T2 was less congested and much easier to get through. However, the fact that I now had to run a marathon was a reality I did not want to face. I denied.  I balked. Went to the potty. Stalled like a little kid at bedtime. Crap. 42.2 k to go.

Little steps, little steps, one mile at a time. My run mantra. Coming out of T2, I dared look at my watch - 2:20pm. If I could run a four hour marathon, I would be finished just over 11 hours. I immediately banished the thought - it was too early for predictions. Little steps, little steps, one mile at a time.

The run plan was this: run the first 5k and then start walking each aid station. No matter how much I felt like conquering the world, I would walk the aid stations. And the hills. I drank from my Camelbak regularly, had a gel every 45 minutes and just stuck to this strategy.

And it seemed to work. Breaking the marathon down into little pieces was less daunting than trying to conquer the entire thing. Every time my stride would start extending, I drew it back. Little steps. High cadence. Heart rate 150. Keep it light. Keep it smooth. I started passing people. When the brutal stitch started in my left side, I willed it to be gone.

Keeping my cool along Skaha Lake

Skaha Lake was sunny and calm on the way out to OK Falls and it was a perfect afternoon. Then, as quickly as the vicious cloud had appeared on Yellow Lake, the blasting wind made an appearance. The return trip to Penticton was like running in a wind tunnel, complete with water splashing from the whitecaps on Skaha. I had sand in my eyes and the constant wind just sapped my energy. I was so thankful to finally reach the houses at the north end of Skaha, to enjoy the respite that they offered from the howling wind.

At Cherry Lane mall, I allowed myself to believe. The run plan had worked - I still had spring in my step (although a cramp was nagging in my calf) and I felt pretty good down Main Street. The crowds were energetic and inspiring. I could do this! 40k mark. Turn down Winnipeg. I saw my family waving at me from the crowd on Lakeside and felt a leap in my heart. I was almost there!

Almost. What must be the looooongest 7 minutes in sport lay ahead of me. The Most Painful Seven Minutes of My Life. You see the finish, and you run away from it. Evil. Yet somehow, you find the energy to pick up your feet and continue running. There is no way you are walking now, dammit.

After making the turn on Lakeside I felt like I was sprinting (although anyone watching me will probably tell me otherwise). I saw my dad, gave a few high-fives and the next 500m passed way too quickly. The noise, the crowds. The finish line. 11:09 on the clock and I was done.

Just like that, the incredible journey was over. I had put my heart into this thing - swam, biked and ran in every condition imaginable, put aside my fears and did it. No more doubts, no more anxiety. I made it.

My favorite picture from the race is not the one of me at the top of Richter. It is not the one of me running along Skaha or high-fiving along The Most Painful Seven Minutes of My Life. It isn't even the shot of me breaking the tape at the finish line.

No, it's the one of me the day before the race with my two biggest fans - my niece Lily and my dog Bogey. We were sidewalk chalking in front of the finish line. Later that evening, after finishing the race I stopped and looked down - and saw Lily's scribbles on the pavement. It was the best part of the day.

Congratulations to everyone out there on Sunday racing, cheering and volunteering - you are all an inspiration to me. Thank you to all the iron-fans and supporters who have been there for me, not just on race day, but over my entire journey. I could write a whole blog of thank yous and I hope to thank each one of you individually in the days and weeks to come.

OVERALL PLACE

TOTAL TIME

LAST NAME

FIRST NAME

RACE DIVISION

DIVISION PLACE

SWIM DIV PLACE

SWIM OVR PLACE

SWIM TIME

SWIM 100M PACE

T1

BIKE DIV PLACE

BIKE OVR PLACE

BIKE TIME

BIKE PACE

T2

RUN DIV PLACE

RUN OVR PLACE

RUN TIME

RUN PACE

HAWAII QUALIFIERS

430

11:09:22

FRANK

RICHELE

W35-39

10/165

43

1079

1:10:58

1:53

4:16

11

588

5:52:37

19.1

6:15

12

372

3:55:18

8:59

This is just a long training day with valet parking and catering, right?!

A friend of mine posted this podcast to his blog and, although not terribly original, I wanted to repost it. Seeing someone else's words describe the way that I am feeling right now somehow felt comforting.

There is lots of doubt. Anxiety. And time to think. Those long hours spent training are now vacant. So the mind churns.

Reading this made me laugh. No one said this would be easy, and yet, in just over a week it will all be over. There is nothing more to do now except pass the time, trust that the training I did was enough and relish in the day when it arrives.

http://www.iwillnotbonk.com/becoming-ironman.php

********
Right now you’ve all entered the taper. Perhaps you’ve been at this a few months, perhaps you’ve been at this a few years. For some of you this is your first IM, for others, a long-overdue welcome back to a race that few can match.

You’ve been following your schedule to the letter. You’ve been piling on the mileage, piling up the laundry, and getting a set of tan lines that will take until November to erase. Long rides were followed by long runs, which both were preceeded by long swims, all of which were followed by recovery naps that were longer than you slept for any given night during college.

You ran in the snow. You rode in the rain. You ran in the heat. You ran in the cold. You went out when others stayed home. You rode the trainer when others pulled the covers over their heads.

You have survived the Darwinian progression that is an Ironman summer, and now the hardest days are behind you. Like a climber in the Tour de France coming over the summit of the penultimate climb on an alpine stage, you’ve already covered so much ground…there’s just one more climb to go. You shift up, you take a drink, you zip up the jersey; the descent lays before you…and it will be a fast one.

Time that used to be filled with never-ending work will now be filling with silent muscles, taking their final, well-earned rest. While this taper is something your body desperately needs, Your mind, cast off to the background for so very long, will start to speak to you.

It won’t be pretty.

It will bring up thoughts of doubt, pain, hunger, thirst, failure, and loss. It will give you reasons why you aren’t ready. It will try and make one last stand to stop you, because your brain doesn’t know what the body already does. Your body knows the truth:

You are ready.

Your brain won’t believe it. It will use the taper to convince you that this is foolish – that there is too much that can go wrong.

You are ready.

Finishing an Ironman is never an accident. It’s the result of dedication, focus, hard work, and belief that all the long runs in January, long rides in April, and long swims every damn weekend will be worth it. It comes from getting on the bike, day in, day out. It comes from long, solo runs.

From that first long run where you wondered, “How will I ever be ready?” to the last long run where you smiled to yourself with one mile to go…knowing that you’d found the answer.
It is worth it. Now that you’re at the taper, you know it will be worth it. The workload becomes less. The body winds up and prepares, and you just need to quiet your worried mind. Not easy, but you can do it.

You are ready.

You will walk onto the lake shore on August 29th, 2010 with nearly 3,000 other wide-open sets of eyes. You will look upon the sea of humanity, and know that you belong. You’ll feel the chill of the water crawl into your wetsuit, and shiver like everyone else, but smile because the day you have waited for for so VERY long is finally here.

The bagpipers will walk across the beach. Steve King will ask you to sing along. You will.

O Canada! Our home and native land! True patriot love in all thy sons command. With glowing hearts we see thee rise, The True North strong and free! From far and wide, O Canada, we stand on guard for thee. God keep our land glorious and free! O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.

You will tear up in your goggles. Everyone does.

The helicopters will roar overhead.

Maranatha will roar. The splashing will surround you.

You’ll stop thinking about Ironman, because you’re now racing one.

The swim will be long – it’s long for everyone, but you’ll make it. You’ll watch as the Penticton Lakeside Hotel grows and grows, and soon you’ll hear the end. You’ll come up the beach and head for the wetsuit strippers. Three people will get that sucker off before you know what’s happening, then you’ll head for the bike.

In the shadows on Main Street you’ll spin out of town – the voices, the cowbells, and the curb-to-curb chalk giving you a hero’s sendoff.

You won’t wipe the smile off your face for miles as you whisk along the lakeside, past fully stocked, silent aid stations for the run to come.

You’ll spin up McLean Creak Road. You’ll roll down towards Osoyoos, past the vineyards glowing in the morning sun. You’ll settle down to your race. The crowds will spread out on the road.

You’ll soon be on your bike, eating your food on your schedule, controlling your Ironman.
Richter Pass will come. Everyone talks about it, but it’s really nothing. You’ll know this halfway up, as you’re breathing easy and climbing smoothly. Look to your right. Look how high you’re climbing.

Look at all the bikes below, still making their way there. You’re ahead of them. All of them.
You’ll climb over Richter, and descend to the valley below. You’ll ride the rollers, one at a time. You’ll start to feel that morning sun turn to afternoon sun. It’s warmer now. Maybe it’s hot. Maybe you’re not feeling so good now. You’ll keep riding. You’ll keep drinking.

You’ll keep moving. After all, this is just a long training day with valet parking and catering, right?

You’ll put the rollers behind you. You’ll head into the Cawston out and back. You’ll put on your game face, fighting the urge to feel down as you ride the wrong way for what seems like hours. 10 miles in, you reach special needs, fuel up, and head out.

By now it’ll be hot. You’ll be tired. Doubts will fight for your focus. Everyone struggles here. You’ve been on that bike for a few hours, and stopping would be nice, but you won’t – not here. Not today. You’ll ride on leaving Cawston behind you and head for the final showdown at Yellow Lake.

You’ll grind the false flats to the climb. You’ll know you’re almost there. You’ll fight for every inch of road. You’ll make the turn towards the summit as the valley walls close in for the kill, and put your head down. The crowd will come back to you here – the cars are always waiting to cross the summit, and you’ll soon be surrounded in the glorious noise that is the final climb of Ironman Canada. Let their energy push you. Let them see your eyes.

Smile when they cheer for you – your body will get just that little bit lighter.

Grind. Fight. Suffer. Persevere. Summit.

Just like that, you’ll be descending. 12 miles to go, and no climbing left. You’ll plunge down the road, swooping from corner to corner, chaining together the turns, tucking on the straights, letting your legs recover for the run to come – soon! You’ll roll back into town – you’ll see people running out. You’ll think to yourself, “Wasn’t I just here?” The noise will grow. The chalk dust will hang in the air – you’re back in Penticton, with only 26.2 miles to go.

You’ll relax a little bit, knowing that even if you get a flat tire or something breaks here, you can run the damn bike into T2.

You’ll roll into transition. 100 volunteers will fight for your bike.

You’ll give it up and not look back. You’ll have your bag handed to you, and into the tent you’ll go. You’ll change. You’ll load up your pockets, and open the door to the last long run of your Ironman summer- the one that counts.

You’ll take that first step of a thousand…and you’ll smile. You’ll know that the bike won’t let you down now – the race is down to your own two feet. The same crowd that cheered for you in the shadows of the morning will cheer for you in the brilliant sunshine of a Penticton summer Sunday. High-five people on the way out. Smile. Enjoy it. This is what you’ve worked for all year long.

That first mile will feel great. So will the second. By mile 3, you probably won’t feel so good.

That’s okay. You knew it couldn’t all be that easy.

You’ll settle down just like you did on the bike, and get down to your pace. You’ll see the leaders coming back the other way. Some will look great – some won’t. You might feel great, you might not. No matter how you feel, don’t panic – this is the part of the day where whatever you’re feeling, you can be sure it won’t last.

You’ll keep moving. You’ll keep drinking. You’ll keep eating.

Maybe you’ll be right on plan – maybe you won’t. If you’re ahead of schedule, don’t worry – believe. If you’re behind, don’t panic – roll with it. Everyone comes up with a brilliant race plan for Ironman, and then everyone has to deal with the reality that planning for something like Ironman is like trying to land a man on the moon. By remote control. Blindfolded.

How you react to the changes in your plan will dictate your day. Don’t waste energy worrying about things – just do what you have to when you have to, and keep moving. Keep eating. Keep drinking. Just don’t sit down – don’t EVER sit down.

You’ll make it to halfway at OK Falls. You’ll load up on special needs. Some of what you packed will look good, some won’t. Eat what looks good, toss the rest.

Keep moving. Start looking for people you know. Cheer for people you don’t. You’re headed in – they’re not. They want to be where you are, just like you wanted to be when you saw all those fast people headed into town.

Share some energy – you’ll get it right back.

Run if you can. Walk if you have to. Just keep moving.

The miles will drag on. The brilliant Penticton sunshine will yawn, and head for the mountains behind the bike course…behind that last downhill you flew down all those hours ago. You’ll be coming up to those aid stations you passed when you started the bike…fully alive with people, music, and chicken soup. TAKE THE SOUP. Keep moving.

You’ll soon only have a few miles to go. You’ll start to believe that you’re going to make it. You’ll start to imagine how good it’s going to feel when you get there. Let those feelings drive you on. When your legs just don’t want to move anymore, think about what it’s going to be like when someone catches you…puts a medal over your head……all you have to do is get there.

You’ll start to hear town. People you can’t see in the twilight will cheer for you. They’ll call out your name. Smile and thank them. They were there when you left on the bike, and when you came back, when you left on the run, and now when you’ve come back.

You’ll enter town. You’ll start to realize that the day is almost over. You’ll be exhausted, wiped out, barely able to run a 10-minute mile (if you’re lucky), but you’ll ask yourself, “Where did the whole day go?” You’ll be standing on the edge of two feelings – the desire to finally stop, and the desire to take these last moments and make them last as long as possible.

You’ll hit mile 25. You’ll turn onto Lakeside Drive. Your Ironman Canada will have 1.2 miles – just 2KM left in it.

You’ll run. You’ll find your legs. You’ll fly. You won’t know how, but you will run.

You’ll make the turn in front of the Sicamous in the dark, and head for home. The lights will grow brighter, brighter, and brighter. Soon you’ll be able to hear the music again. This time, it’ll be for keeps.

You’ll listen for Steve King, or Mike Reilly, or Whit Raymond. Soon they’ll see you. Soon, everyone will see you. You’ll run towards the lights, between the fences, and into the nightsun made just for you.

They’ll say your name.

You’ll keep running.

Nothing will hurt.

The moment will be yours – for one moment, the entire world will be looking at you and only you.

You’ll break the tape. The flash will go off.

You’ll stop. You’ll finally stop. Your legs will wobble their last, and suddenly…be capable of nothing more.

Someone will catch you. You’ll lean into them.

It will suddenly hit you. You will be an Ironman.

You are ready.

Taper time

According to my Garmin training logs, since January 1, 2010 I have swam 190km, rode 4,362km and run 1,531km. At first it is shocking to see those numbers logged, and then again, not so surprising.

The weeks of long training are officially over.

It's taper time for the big show, Ironman Canada, on August 29, 2010. In three (short) weeks, this adventure will be over.

Tapers are interesting beasts - while seemingly rest and less training should be a good thing, this is the time when all the aches, anxieties and uncertainties come to roost. The physical labour is over, yielding to the purely mental task of actually gearing up for the A race - rest, nutrition and removing stress from my life are more important now than ever.

Looking back on other tapers for "A" races - my first half-marathon, my first marathon, my first triathlon, my first Boston - I know I can draw some experience from them, but at the same time know that I will still make some mistakes. I've heard the horror stories - the broken goggles, the forgotten nutrition, the broken derailleur. Hopefully a stroke of good luck will be with me to ensure that my mistakes are little ones.

Right now, my legs are tired and I'm a bit drained. I'm tired of long rides and long runs, of early morning swims, and of sicky sweet carb drinks. At the same time, it has been amazing to see how the long hours of training have forced my body to adapt to the mileage and long days. Last year at the same time I was struggling to train for my first Olympic distance tri - two hour rides would leave me sapped, and yet here I am today, doing five hour rides with a run immediately afterwards!

I am nervous, anxious and fearful of Ironman Canada, and yet at the same time, ready to try and tackle it. I'm still not convinced I can swim 3.8km with 2600 people and am definitely not sure I can run a marathon in 30 degree heat...never mind AFTER doing one of the most challenging rides I have ever done. But, hey, I think I've done the work....I may as well give 'er a shot.

R.

Iron [insert word here]

Since training for Ironman Canada has become an all-consuming aspect of my life, I have taken to affectionately using the term “iron” as an adjective for all the side-effects related to this endeavor. Some examples of this amazingly flexible and descriptive adjective are:

“Iron-broke” ….new bike, carbon wheels, wetsuit, a never ending supply of GU chomps – it never stops. I did not quite believe that the $600 entry fee would be the cheapest part. But it is!
“Iron-hungry” …the concept of first lunch and second lunch is quite novel. I have also recently starting introducing first breakfast and second breakfast. Eating is good. (Note:  The less politically correct version of iron-hungry is “Iron-pig”. I have assumed that this is an affectionate term, of course.)
“Iron-tired” ….5 am wake-up for swim class. ‘nuff said.
“Iron-you-gotta-be-f’ing-kidding-me-another-brick-workout” …no explanation required.
“Iron-orphan” ….my poor pup Bogey.

and my personal favorite:

“Iron-bitch” ….reserved for the end of those sixteen-hour training weeks when some poor, unsuspecting barista at Starbucks screws up my order for a double no-foam non-fat cappuccino.

And so the story goes. During those long training sessions, I find a lot of time to reflect. Most of all, it amuses me to step back and consider the remarkable changes in my life over the last nine months, absorbed by the strange lifestyle of an Ironman trainee.

I realize I have always been a bit more Sporty Spice than Posh, but the tomboyishness has elevated to a whole new extreme. For instance, at any given moment in any day I am sporting either chain grease or chafing of some sort. Really very ladylike and glamorous, I know.

My aesthetician would be horrified to know that butt butter is my moisturizer of choice, and forget anything about a manicure. Gotta keep the fingernails trimmed to facilitate putting on the wetsuit and doing bike maintenance. Those dark circles under my eyes? Goggle marks. Together with my weird tan lines, they complete the “iron-dork” look.

My hairdresser recently suggested a chemical straightening process, requiring three days without getting my hair wet to let the treatment set in. Horror of horrors, doesn’t she realize that my hair is soaked at least twice a day? And who needs cute hair when it is always stuffed into a bike helmet, swim cap or visor? Just don’t trim the ponytail off. I need that.

My eating habits have turned into simple necessity. Iron-pig indeed. Forget about preparing meals a la Bon Appétit. I need food, and I need it NOW. Gourmet out. Quick food in. The owner of the sandwich shop across the street from my office is floored by the fact that I order a sandwich, cookie, pop, fruit AND a bag of chips. Likewise, the girl at Jugo Juice always questions me when I ask her to double the protein shot in my smoothie. Although, to be fair I suppose it does sound kind of crazy coming from a 115 pound, petite female.

I hope to one day see my family and non-triathlon friends again and perhaps will again stay awake on a Friday night past 10pm. I also hope to plan a vacation that does not involve toting a Rubbermaid container full of gear, and will someday soon ban Ensure and nutritional supplements from my diet until I am at least 80.

Aside from all this strangeness, though, perhaps the best side-effect of being immersed in training has been the people I have met along the journey. Everyone in the triathlon community, from my training buddies to my coaches to the peeps at the bike shop have been supportive, helpful and inspiring.

Even complete strangers are supportive. Last weekend in Penticton, we were doing a ride along the Ironman course and one of the support vehicles for another group of riders stopped to offer me a cookie, water and some encouragement. In this day and age, a total stranger going out of their way to be helpful and friendly completely floored me. Even more so, he actually seemed genuinely interested! I can commute to work and back in Vancouver for weeks before a stranger actually speaks to me or acts friendly….it has sadly been my experience that people would rather look at their feet, avoid eye contact and try to escape any type of interaction. If it takes getting on a tri bike and sporting an aero helmet to get people to be friendly, then hey, I’m all for it.

I have also been fortunate to get to know a wonderful group of people who have become my support network, my training cohorts and at times, my mind of reason. While some may reason that misery simply loves company, I have in the past couple of months been fortunate to meet and get to know some amazing people - all incredible athletes and wonderful souls. You all know who you are – thank you for the support, the laughs and the inspiration. It makes it easier to keep at it day to day with you beside me. You are my “iron-peeps”.

So, it is with a combination of amusement and heartfelt appreciation that I move into my last month of training for this ridiculously expensive, tiring yet character-building adventure. Giddy up!

Subaru Vancouver Half-Iron race report

My first triathlon was exactly one year ago - the sprint distance at the Subaru Vancouver. I accomplished exactly three goals that day: I did not drown. I finished. I did not finish dead last...but not by much.

365 days later, on the road to Ironman Canada in August, I lined up on the very same beach for the half-iron distance. Pretty tall order for someone who purchased their first road bike 20 months ago and learned to swim front crawl 15 months ago!

Somewhere in-between I have turned into the tri-geek that I vowed I would never become - complete with funky spandex outfit, aero water bottle, carbon tri bike, elastic laces for my shoes, compression socks and a visor. And on Tuesday of this week, I completed the transformation to the dark side with my purchase of the aero-helmet. As though being an accountant were not dorky enough.

SwimGoal(s): Avoid the chaos. Don't puke.

My swim is still not pretty, but it is getting more comfortable despite the rampant flailing. I am a land mammal, that is clear. However, I succeeded today in staying out of the chaos of the start, sticking to my own pace, and legging it out without incident. There was a wicked current and some interesting wave action, leading to some very high sodium intake and a little bout of seasickness. However, I made it through....albeit in a very un-outstanding 37:27.

Bike
Goal(s): Drink. Eat. Wee.

For the uninitiated, I apologize. Long distance runners and triathletes alike tend to fixate on certain topics that are somewhat less than glamorous. Nutrition and its by-products are one of such topics, and were the focus of my ride today.

After having suffered from sub-par nutrition at Oliver, my goal here was to drink every last drop of my GU Brew (which included a few scoops of extra carb for good measure), eat my gels, take my salt pills and widdle at will.

It was all good except for the widdle part. Not for lack of trying! I experienced complete mind-body dissonance between the necessity to stay hydrated and the total social unacceptability of weeing in public. So the good news is that I arrived in T2 with a clean bike. The bad news is that I wasted some time on the run trying to find a socially acceptable place to widdle.

Other than the fixation on nutrition, the bike was pretty uneventful. It was a tough course with constant undulation, some funky crosswind and no real chance to just settle in and cruise. Not surprisingly, my average speed was less than at Oliver.

The new aerohelmet was really comfortable. Not sure that it really sped me up, but damn, did I ever look like a dork :)

Run
Goal: Tough out the fade.

Easier said than done! For those of you cheering, I want you to know that I really, really appreciated it. The lack of cognizance or any blink of recognition was not aimed at you intentionally - my energy was completely and utterly consumed just keeping the run going.

The darkness first appeared around 6k, went away with some gel, and reappeared at 12k. It tricked me into a lot of negative thoughts and taunted me to stop. For anyone who has done an endurance event, this is familiar territory. Feel good. Feel awful. Want to quit. Feel good again.

At the final turn at Spanish Banks, I was really really excited that there were only 3k left. And then I saw Nicole charging up behind me, running the same blistering pace that she did in Oliver. The fear of being passed took over and lit a fire under my rear end....miraculously I even managed to speed up over the last 3k!

Thought I was around 5:08, so was really surprised to see 5:02 and change on the clock when I arrived at the finish line. Official finish: 5:02:48!

The best part was that my race effort was rewarded with a visit to the podium as 2nd place for my AG. Even though I know that the best age groupers in my category were not racing, I am still pretty proud to have been named the BC Provincial long-course AG champion for 2010!

(OK, so it's kind of like being Starbucks barista of the year when you kick all of the other coffee shops out of the competition. The title really doesn't mean anything...but it's still fun!)

All in all, I find it totally amazing that all the training is paying off. I look back to one year ago and realize that I have come a LONG way from the sprint tri last year. Knowing that a very tough month of training for IMC is coming up, it was nice to relish in the small victories of the day, even just for a few moments. Triathlons are complex, with lots of moving parts and things to master, but I am slowly learning.

Some shout outs! Great bigs hugs and thanks to....

• everyone that came out to cheer!


• my training buddies who keep me motivated day in and day out and share in the collective suffering


• to Coach Calvin for great guidance and the cowbell


• to Nicole for being such a bloody fast runner and scaring me into running faster. I have no doubt you will run me down at IMC.


• and last but not least, to Speed Theory for selling me some speed :)

STATS
Finish: 5:02:48
Swim: 37:27
T1: 3:20
Bike: 2:44:42
T2: 1:48
Run: 1:35:34

Overall: 59/241
Women: 12/72 (includes pros)
Category: 2/11