Category Archives: Race Reports

Seawheezed

Wow, sure has been quiet in here.  See, I’ve been building robots (to take over the world), and spending too much time being ill, lately.

Robots are fun; being sick isn’t.  I had a really stubborn cough that just wouldn’t go away.  Still have a bit of it.  It comes and goes.  I’d like for it to go away, really.

This cough started around the beginning of July, and caused me to miss a lot of training, and even a few days’ work.  But of course, I had gone through the trouble of signing up for Seawheeze, and I wasn’t about to give up a ridiculously heavy carrot medal just for a cough.

My respiratory system is feeling much better than it was a month ago, when I could barely walk a few blocks without going into a coughing fit.  And I know that my physical form can take a half marathon — or at least, I’ve successfully run them in the past.

I’m not going to talk about my performance, but rather how this race became a step in my recovery from injury to health.  Yesterday’s race was about a few “moments” that really stuck out to me.

  1. Spin class on the Dunsmuir viaduct.  Maybe they shouldn’t tear down that thing after all.  Turn it into a gym!
  2. Running off the Burrard St. Bridge onto Cornwall: Wall-to-wall people, all running, all being amazing.
  3. Band on a barge, making up running-based lyrics to well-known songs.
  4. Legs hurt, can barely walk home.  Can’t wait to do it again.

The Multisport Event Formerly Known As Subaru Victoria

Success in triathlon is all about successfully carrying out a set of well-orchestrated tasks, in a specific sequence.  Whether you’re one of the professional elite, or whether you’re an enthusiastic age-grouper, it’s all the same.  Flawless execution of a race plan is what we strive for.

Of course, flawless execution is only half the battle.  Triathlon is as much about going through the physical actions, as it is about the mental discipline and preparation.  Leading up to the race, I spent a fair amount of time, creating a race plan.  Well, I can’t really call it a plan, because it It became more of an over-analytical checklist than anything, and landed as something of a race visualization guide.  I wrote my checklist, choosing words which created a mental and emotional picture of each step in the process.

So, while my splits (except perhaps for my T1 and T2 times) don’t come close to world-class, my performance in Victoria was a near-flawless execution of my race plan.  It was a successful race, in my books.  By the numbers:

500m Swim 10:04
T1 1:13
20km Bike 42:59
T2 1:18
5km Run 31:44
Final Clock 1:27:17

Package Pick-Up

I don’t think I’d normally include a comment about the package pick-up as part of a race report, but in this case, I must.  I felt that the organizers were more interested in making sure we all knew that the race was Ironman™-branded, than actually giving us useful information.  Especially for those of us racing the short course events.  The process of finding my race number, and making sure all the forms were filled out, was very disorganized.  Upon arriving at the athlete registration tent, I was told, “Go there first, and then come back.”  There was a small tent, crammed full of athletes trying to figure out their race numbers and which forms they needed to fill out.  It was as much a melée as a mass swim start.  Nevertheless, we were all able to figure it out.  But it wasn’t a great first introduction to the race experience, and in all honesty, I wasn’t mentally prepared to deal with it.  Fortunately (and I’m getting ahead of myself), the night’s sleep would help.

Bike Check

Once I had my race package, I went back to the car for my bike.  This is where the execution of my race plan begins.  This is the last chance I’ll have to make sure everything is in good shape before leaving my bike in the transition area overnight.

  1. Race number goes on the bike.
  2. Check that wheels are installed with quick-release levers at an appropriate tension.
  3. Check that brakes are well-aligned, and I didn’t forget to tighten the little screws on the brake pads.
  4. Get air in the tires.
  5. Take a quick spin to make sure everything is still in sound mechanical order.
  6. Make sure the gears shift smoothly and correctly.
  7. Choose an easy or appropriate gear for the start of the bike course (in this case, a short flat and a slight uphill grade).

Bike Drop-Off

After a successful test ride, I took my bike into the transition area.  I’m familiar with transition areas, and how little space is normally available.  I know to only bring the absolute necessities into transition.  But, when I found my race number on the rack, I wasn’t quite prepared for this.  What I found, was a clearance of at best 15cm to the bikes on either side of mine.  Not to mention, those stupid short racks that simply don’t work with my 58cm tri bike frame.  Fortunately, I hadn’t removed my rear bottle cages (as I have sometimes done in the past for a sprint distance), so I racked my bike off the rear of my saddle, so I’d be able to simply lift it out of the rack in T1.

I left transition, after trying to make sure that the adjacent bikes wouldn’t rub their icky metallic grossness on my carbon.  But I couldn’t quite shake the worry about being able to get my bike out and back in to transition without trouble.

Hotel Check-In and Dinner

Once the logistics were taken care of at the race site, it was off to the hotel to relax and get some food in.  We went to the hotel restaurant.  At this point, it’s worth noting that the adage, Never try anything new on race day, should be extended out to at least one day before the race.  This is all I will say about my pre-race dinner.

And then, after a suitable amount of time spent doing as little as possible, it was bedtime.  I set my alarm for some ungodly hour, and turned out the lights.

Race Morning

Setting up transition always seems to take me longer than it should.  But I think I’m getting the hang of it.  When I got into transition, everything was like clockwork.  I set down my backpack, and  went through it like a checklist, starting with the bike.

  1. Aero bottle on handlebars.
  2. Elbow pads on aero bars.
  3. Bike shoes un-velcroed and clipped into pedals, with elastic bands.
  4. Spare tubes and repair kit in one of the rear bottle cages.
  5. CO2 and inflator attached to rear of bottle cages.
  6. Gel taped to top tube.
  7. Helmet ratchet loosened.
  8. Helmet placed beside front wheel.
  9. Sunglasses, with arms out, inside helmet.
  10. Garmin mounted to bike, in Auto Multisport mode.

Then the run:

  1. Race belt in hat
  2. Hat behind bike helmet
  3. Bodyglide rubbed on shoes (inside edge of heel)
  4. Shoes on top of hat

And finally, the swim:

  1. Anti-fog applied to goggles
  2. Swim cap and goggles in back pocket of tri top
  3. Post-swim gel in back pocket of tri top

Once all my stuff was in the right place, I visualized all of the critical stages of the race.  I wasn’t really going through a checklist at this point; rather, drawing on my past race experiences.  And yes, everything was where it needed to be for my race plan.  My race day went perfectly.  While I didn’t win (nor even come close), I executed on my plan almost flawlessly.

 

Race Report: Cultus Lake Sprint Triathlon

Early in the year, I had an interesting conversation with a man I didn’t know.  He told me that he no longer raced triathlon, because he’s no longer as good as he used to be; that the fun of the sport had essentially been lost.  I found out later, that this man was none other than Peter Reid, multiple Ironman World Champion.  What struck me most was, although he is a world-class athlete, our conversation was humble and, for lack of a better word, normal.

But what of this, getting to a point in the sport where it is no longer interesting?  This concern framed much of my season.  I’ve gone through many interests and obsessions over the years.  I was into rock climbing a few years after high school.  I took up yoga for some time.  My interest faded in both.

It has been a challenging year on many fronts, full of all kinds of issues and drama.  And unfounded fears.  I had initially planned on Kelowna being my season-ender.  Kelowna was my A-race.  An Olympic-distance course shared with the ITU elite, the likes of Paula Findlay and Simon Whitfield.  But there was something missing.  I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, until I expressed my concerns among a few friends, about losing interest in the sport.  What if I’m not good enough?  What if I reach my limits, and never see improvement?  In a moment of genius, one of my friends suggested that the game ends, once it is no longer fun.  I signed up for Cultus Lake, thinking, this is going to be fun.  I even joked about racing with handlebar streamers, spokey dokes and a hockey card taped to my chainstay.  I was going to have some serious fun!

I never had dreams about rock climbing or yoga.  But about a week before Cultus, I had yet another triathlon-related dream.  I’m sure it was full of metaphor.  The message: The race is not over.  The race is not over.  It is so not over.  So, of course, I looked up last year’s results online.  I realized that it was well within my reach to push harder than ever before, and give more than ever before.  And it was well within my reach to get a 3rd place medal in my age group.  I can do this.

So I decided to take it seriously.  Still have fun, still enjoy it.  But let’s take it seriously.

The race is not over.  This athlete isn’t tired.  Not yet.

Swim: 15:20 (2:03/100m; 10th overall)

My swim is usually pretty consistent during wetsuit-legal races at 1:55/100m, so this split is a little slower than I thought it would be, but I’m by no means disappointed.  At the start, I found myself weaving through a crush of swimmers, and my ankle-grabbing training with Kyndra and the rest of the Canwi gang came in handy here: I got kicked a few times.  I got kicked square in the chin by a guy wearing a yellow swim cap.  He elbowed me in the face later, too.  Yes, it’s all about wrestling in rubber suits.  I had my trepidations a year ago.  Now, I almost enjoy the frenzied mass swim start.  We’ll see if I say the same thing at IMC next summer.  But for now, it’s a small race, with a couple hundred participants.

The first turn came up faster than I expected.  Before I knew it, I was swimming in clear water, finding a pair of feet to draft off for a while, then pushing ahead to the next pair of feet.  I don’t recall thinking about much of anything on the swim, but I tried to remember that I have legs, and that I can use them to help propel myself forward.

Coming around the second turn, I found myself neck-and-neck with another swimmer.  He tried to pull away, and I pushed a bit more.  There were also two swimmers behind us, drafting off our feet.  I didn’t know it at the time, but Jeremy (who finished 3rd overall) was one of them.  His remark: We were drafting behind two guys.  One was kicking up a storm and the other wasn’t moving his feet at all.

I was tenth out of the water.  And I don’t know any of these people were at this point, because as far as I can remember, I was the only one around.  I see from the results that I was definitely not the only one around, but it seemed like it.

Transition 1: 1:47 (3rd overall T1 split)

Wetsuit off.  Sunglasses.  Helmet.  Chin strap.  Bike.  Go.  I lost my goggles somewhere in T1.  They were decent goggles, but I’ll just have to get a new pair.

Bike: 34:29 (34.8km/h; 1st overall bike split)

I was the sixth athlete to get out onto the bike course  My previous race in Kelowna had a much larger pack, so I passed a lot more people on the bike.  I had no idea how many people were ahead of me.  I passed three competitors fairly early on the bike course, and didn’t see anyone else for at least ten minutes.  It was very strange, being completely alone on the bike course.  I looked back, and there was nobody chasing me.  There was nobody ahead of me.

I wasn’t as diligent about hydration as I should have been, mostly because I was running a single bottle aft, with nothing between my aerobars, and nothing in the frame.  I think I took three or four sips, but really: it’s a sprint, and it wasn’t all that hot yet on the bike course.  I think in the future I’d like to have something between my aerobars.

Not a lot else going through my mind at this point.  I was comfortably spinning about 94rpm, keeping it nice and easy.  Focussing on an even pedal stroke.  10k to the turnaround.  It didn’t seem like 10k.  I began watching the other side of the road to see how many cyclists had already made the 180°.  I counted two.  I was apparently in third place, behind Joel from Victoria, and Jimmy, the speedster in a Canadian team tri suit.  I’m pretty sure I counted wrong.  There’s no way I’m in third place overall right now.  I made the turnaround, and then caught up to Mr. Team Canada.  Passed him like he was standing still.  Riding into T2, I hear Jordan’s voice over the speakers.  “We now have our second athlete coming into transition.”  I’m still pretty sure he’s talking about someone who’s ahead of me.

Transition 2: 1:52 (2nd fastest T2 time overall)

I racked my bike on an empty rack, slipped on my running shoes, grabbed my hat and race belt, and go.  There’s not really much else to do in transition.

Run: 25:59 (46th overall run split)

They say that runners win triathlons.  Unfortunately, I’m not as strong a runner as I am a cyclist.  I was first overall on the bike split, but 46th on the run.  I’m seven minutes slower than the fastest runner (who, incidentally, finished almost exactly five minutes after me).

The phrase, if you feel like you’re about to puke, you’re going too slow was in my head.  I kept repeating to myself anything I could, in effort to dig deeper and push harder.

As I approach the finish line, it’s time to turn on the afterburners and use up what little is left in my legs by this point.  I don’t remember seeing the clock, or there was something wrong with the clock, so I had no idea about time.  So I pushed, hard.  Darryl-style sprint finish.

While I didn’t do terribly well compared to 45 other runners (and particularly the five who did well enough on the run to make up for the dust I left them in on the bike), I did achieve my best 5k split ever.  I consider it a resounding success.

Overall finish: 1:19:25 (7th overall, 1st in age group)

Technically not a sprint PR, because my last sprint was 1:18 and change.  The asterisk though, is that the 1:18 course was a little shorter on the bike.

What’s unique about this finish though, is that I placed seventh overall, and first in my age group.  First.  I thought I could barely make third, and here I am, placing first.  Mind buzzing.  I kept looking at the posted results, thinking, there must be something wrong.  But it was right.  I’m first.  For the first time in my life, I’ve won something.  It’s not ITU world championships, but I won something.

More importantly, I had a fun time doing it.  It was a great race, and I made some cool friends.  I’m sure I’ll see them again next year, somewhere.  I’m sure I’ll be a better runner.  I’m sure I’ll be a better swimmer.  Now, more than ever, I believe in me.  I had my doubts, before.  I had my doubts that I wasn’t good enough.  But now I know, that I am worth it.  I believe that I am good enough to justify the time and expense required to reach the next level in my sport, to become an even better triathlete.