KERRVILLE TRIATHLON FESTIVAL 2012 - Six Of One
SIX OF ONE
By: Bart Stevens
RACE REPORT
RACE: Kerrville Triathlon 2012 – Half-Iron Distance
DATE: 09/30/2012
Location: Kerrville, TX, USA
REPORT CARD (From 1-5)
Weather: 5
When it was all said and done, you would be hard-pressed to dial in a better set of weather conditions for the 2012 Kerrville Triathlon Festival Sunday races (Olympic/Half-Iron). Compared to the brutal conditions of 2011, Kerrville was blessed with a summer of decent- if not spectacular- weather in 2012. Which basically means we weren’t suffering through oppressive drought. This kept the river water level about average and clean (enough). The week before the race delivered mild weather and even a little rain right up and through the Saturday race.
Expectations were for light early-morning precipitation surrendering to a beautiful day of sunshine at the starting gun. However, participants were even more fortunate to receive overcast cloud cover and mild temperatures (mid-seventies) until just after noon, when most were done or on the home stretch. At that point, the clouds opened up and provided a wonderful backdrop for a glorious finish-line celebration. In a perfect world, this event might be a week or two later in the year, but given the still-summer date it would be hard to ask for anything better than what 2012 delivered.
Cost: 4
The cost of today’s triathlons is a complex, dynamic and often controversial subject, especially in 2012 when many races across the country- from sprints to Iron distances- are experiencing major decreases in registration. The reasons for this sudden drop are often two-fold: the major spike in race entry fees over the past decade paralleling the meteoric growth of the sport itself, and a markedly-increased slate of endurance competitions year-round- not just in triathlon but also run races, bike criteriums and adventure races. Within about a 100-mile radius, you can now find an organized multisport event virtually every weekend from March through November.
Propping up these relatively high fees are two formidable realities. The first is the fact that endurance competition and lifestyle are genuine addictions (if you don’t believe me, then you’re probably not involved in multisport.) Once you’ve done one, you’re probably going to do another, and soon. Secondly, you still see most of the really good races selling out in advance. So according to my patent-pending “Apple iTest,” if something you like continues to sell out, then it’s hard to argue that it’s overpriced. (And if you still disagree with that theory, then it’s quite possible you’re simply not rich enough. Welcome to my world.)
The Kerrville Triathlon half-Iron distance is $200, while the Olympic is $130 and the Sprint is $80. Those may be premium prices for triathlon glory, but there are several factors that help mitigate this cost. First, of course, is that Kerrville athletes save on travel costs like lodging, transportation and bike shipping; while visiting racers enjoy cheaper travel costs on these aspects than they would experience in a real city like Dallas or Austin.
In addition, participants also enjoy a free Friday night party put on by the *attractive* folks at HCMS with free food, drinks and generous prizes. And a Saturday night spaghetti dinner organized by the Kerrville Women’s Junior Guild is also available for a requested $5 donation. (I tossed in a Jefferson, but hey, I’m a baller. That and I ate two cake balls.) Uh, hello? All this sounds like a great way to save some serious dough to me.
So when I consider the entire experience, and the not-insignificant fact that the race has almost doubled in enrollment (and should again next year), I guess somebody thinks KTF is a good value. Surprisingly expensive? Yes. Overpriced? No.
Organization: 5
I felt the organization of this year’s race was excellent, but I was a race captain (like virtually every other HCMS athlete) on Saturday so I’m biased. But if you do enough triathlons, you begin noticing and appreciating the little things, like being able to pull right up to the front-door of the race expo, walk out five minutes later with your packet, and check your bike in across the street- all without having to get back in the car or pay a parking fee.
And while a dual transition is never ideal, given the circumstances and the limitations imposed I believe this feature is managed appropriately. It does mean you have to exercise higher intelligence and advance preparation with your gear than normal, but I encourage you to race Ironman Austin 70.3 (which is complicated, stressful and poorly organized in many aspects) and you will then have renewed appreciation for the wonderful conveniences of Kerrville’s race logistics. And if you happen to live in Kerr County, which is deeply afflicted with backward thinking, the excellent race organization will cause you to think you’ve entered another dimension of time and space. Everything just runs so smoothly.
A robust and easily-navigable website, a simple but comprehensive race brochure (instead of the typical packet-stuffers so common in other races), reliable shuttle service to and from the two transitions, simple and safe swim/bike/run courses, well-stocked and enthusiastic aid stations, an army of supporters and volunteers from packet-pick up all the way to the finish line, and an efficient and well-conceived transition-bag model- all lead to a race experience with virtually no flaws.
Support: 5
As previously mentioned, all aid stations exceed expectations in every aspect. They are well-spaced apart, consistently staffed with high-energy volunteers, and containing a plethora of nutrition options. The multi-loop run course allow organizers to employ three aid stations- or one every half-mile. At some point the race will be able to leverage the river trail that will necessitate greater coverage, but for now it works.
The finish line is your typical High Five production- medals, water, food, and probably too many volunteers but what the heck? In addition, HCMS seems to have free access to the VIP tent; I wasn’t sure because I was too busy lying in a crumpled heap on the sidewalk afterwards.
Swag: 1
Organizers designed a great shirt for 2012, no doubt about it. And you know coming from me that’s a huge compliment. The material is higher quality than last year’s A4 shirts, which appears to be (mercifully) on its way out. Not a fan.
This year’s shirt is white- always a safe and smart choice. In addition, it has slimming black side panels and balances the seemingly impossible feat of improving on the simple design of Ironman’s new shirts while also avoiding the NASCAR-like “clutter” of shirts from some other race series. The logo design doesn’t try too hard, but isn’t too lame either- apparently a real challenge for even the *cough cough* largest race series. And no sponsor logos, which I am always impressed with. In the end, it’s a shirt any of us would wear out in public.
That’s about it for swag, because this year’s race consolidated all sponsor promotion and information into a single concise race program. So you get an attractive and functional green-grocery bag (slim, no less), a cool shirt; your standard envelope with swim cap, wristband and chip inside, and that’s about it. Honestly, it’s like High Five read and implemented every one of my old race report swag reviews and didn’t even pay me royalties. I do believe that this is the best model I’ve seen since I started doing triathlons in 2009. Well done, well done indeed.
Food: 3
Notwithstanding the most-excellent pre-race mixer spread put on by, ahem, HCMS, and the equally-delicious spaghetti dinner from the Junior Guild on Saturday night, I would say that food is not a strength of this race. Organizers are clearly focusing that money elsewhere. I’m not sure where that is exactly, but it’s somewhere I’m sure.
The aid station food is plenty adequate. I roll with my own nutrition so that’s not something I focus on during a race, but from my recollection each consists of lots and lots ‘o gels. And water and some form of energy drink. Flat soda would have been nice, but otherwise no complaints here.
However, where I think the race food falls short is primarily at the finish line. I guess I’m just spoiled or a closet fatty (or both) but this is the second year that I’ve been disappointed by the food selection. Maybe I missed it, or maybe my inner chi just led me away from it, but it seemed to me that there was very little in the way of finish-line fare. What I did see was mostly knock-off cookies and fajitas I believe. There was definitely plenty of beer (some donated once again by our heroes at HCMS!), but I’m just not in that category of racer that craves alcohol after a six-hour workout. I want substance, I want carbs, and I want as much wicked food as I can ingest waiting for me at the end when I get there. I wanna’ be bad.
To its credit, this is definitely an area of triathlon that seems to lack much consistency. As all my loyal fans know, Ironman California finish line food this year was the bomb- with unlimited pizza, chocolate milk, soda and a multitude of sweets, and a bunch of healthy stuff I wouldn’t even waste my time on. Ironman Coeur d’Alene was somewhat lesser in variety but pretty good nonetheless. Ironman Boulder decided to skip any food or drink except water- biggest disappointment of my season. Ironman Austin makes a decent effort, but they consistently run out of food before half the folks have even finished.
The big Austin Olympic races (CapTexTri and TriRock) have a multitude of quality options, but they charge money for most of them, which I always find strange. Like, “Oh sure, I just ran a 180-minute triathlon, let me pull out the wallet I’ve been carrying in my shorts…” And I think Kerrville still has a lot of room for improvement in this regard, which completely baffles me when you’re sponsored by a grocery store. Maybe I’ll just pack my own pizza next year.
Anyways, most people know I’m not afraid to stand up and be counted as someone who demands more from our races. You know, I’m mad as hell and I’m not gonna’ take it anymore, etc… Even the volunteer party ran out of food before I got there. What’s the point of being fashionably late when there’s no food to spill on your only clean shirt?
So who is with me? You.. you? Nobody. That’s fine. Eventually you will all see things as I do. (Dear High Five: Chocolate milk. Cookies. Pizza. Some fizzy sugar water. Please don’t make me beg. Because I will.)
Competition: 3
I had to put some real thought into this one, especially since KTF was the official bookend to a landmark season for me, in which a lot of good things happened to me that I never expected while others things didn’t happen that I thought should have. I’ll save that for my 2012 year-end recap (that you’ll surely not want to miss…)
On one hand, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to gauge the outside tri-world around me, because I’m certain that I’m getting faster, stronger and better looking as I progress upwards in the age group ranks, like some tri-Robert Redford. And this year was no exception. Obviously. It’s like measuring distance when you’re traveling at the speed of sound. (Okay, I’m done.)
But in all seriousness, I assumed that as the race doubled in participation from 2011, the level of the competition would improve by similar proportion. I also noticed from serving as bike course captain for the Saturday sprint that this was definitely the case there. And Kerrville’s position as the final race of the Texas Tri Series guaranteed- as usual- that a higher quality of racer would be coming to town.
But just to be sure, it’s helpful to take a look at the data, for my age group in particular. (Because honestly, is there really any other age group that really matters besides your own? Uh… I think not.) I don’t have power files for 2011, so we’ll have to look at indirect measurements to gauge quality. Let’s start with overall numbers: in total, 347 racers competed in the half-iron distance this year, compared to 262 in 2011, a 32% increase. Not bad, not bad at all… I wish my business was up that much.
Interestingly, the men’s overall average was 4 minutes slower than last year, while the women’s average was a whopping 25 minutes slower- reinforcing my suspicion that this year was a much more difficult race, due almost exclusively to bike course winds that whipped up significantly in the late-morning. But that also meant the data would be skewed and more difficult to interpret.
My Athlinks file shows that my time of 5:34 in last year’s race put me 7th in my AG, 51st with the men and 66th overall. My 5:26 time this year moved me up only one spot to 6th in my AG, but 39th for men and 45th overall- clearly proving that my age group had become much more competitive in twelve months. But by how much? My 2012 time was only 2.5% faster than 2011, which is nothing to be embarrassed about but not what I had hoped for either. However, this moved me from the 25% percentile in 2011 up to the 13% percentile in 2012, and up only one spot in the AG? So what gives? We would need to look deeper.
Based on last year’s competition for Men 30-34- and some back-of-the-napkin extrapolation and even some amateur astrology- I thought I would need at least a 5:15 to make the podium this time. I actually even wrote this time on my aero bottle. (As it was, third place in the AG this year finished in 5:15:30, proving once again that if I was as fast as I was smart, I’d be a racing god. Conversely, if I was as smart as I was fast, I’d be writing this race report in crayons in a padded room.)
So let’s get down to brass tacks and summarize: last year’s 7th place time of 5:34 would have moved me all the way back to 12th in my AG this year, while this year’s 6th place time of 5:26 would have actually kept me at 6th last year. So improving 8 minutes only allowed me to stay in place in my AG. Wonderful.
Casting a wider net, my 2011 time would have moved me from the 51st man to the 62nd this year, while- surprisingly- my time this year would also have kept me at roughly the same gender place as last year (40th). So, essentially the upper-tier men’s race got eight minutes faster this year, or almost exactly my improvement in time: 2.5%. (And proving once again the cliché that if you’re not moving forward, you’re falling back. At least at the KTF, that is.)
So while Ironman Kona would be, of course, a competition level of a 5, and a full Ironman might be a 4, the KTF half was just below 3. But since we always round up (unless we’re talking about my race times, that is!), we’ll call the 2012 version of KTF a 3.
Swim: 4
I was actually looking forward to this year’s swim for a few reasons. First, I’m slowly learning how to swim, and that’s a cool thing. Like so much of the sport, swimming (at least for the non-genetically gifted) takes hours and hours (and hours) of practice sometimes over many years and there’s absolutely no short-cut. Believe me, I’ve tried. When you understand and accept that, you can neutralize the stress we all feel as late-in-life swimmers and get back to focusing on unlocking the mechanics of the sport, kinda’ like golf or Monopoly.
I’m by no means fast, but I did finally achieve my 2012 season goal of dropping below a 2:00/100 meters (1:55), knocked three full minutes (8%) off my time from last year, and set a PR. So, of course, I was happier than a pig in slop as I exited the water. (Only in triathlon can training for nine months in the pool to improve by three minutes be seen as time well spent. It’s a sickness.)
There were other positives to enjoy from the swim as well. As the home team, HCMS has the advantage of swimming in our own river. I think we should own the swim, even if we don’t yet. In addition, the forecast delivered brisk winds that morning, which may not intuitively seem like a positive, but anything that an athlete can use against their competition is an advantage, and because our evening swims usually occur in late-afternoon when winds and choppy water are greatest, we were acclimated to a hostile swim environment that much of our competition could not replicate in their indoor pools. As anyone who has participated in open-water swim can attest, there is major psychological advantage derived from abandoning the black line. You learn how to swim without a wall, as well as sighting and (hopefully) drafting. All of which came in handy that day.
Moreover, the swim course itself is great because our river is wonderful. KTF is a water-start going roughly a quarter of a mile west first, before returning a half-mile east, then returning back to the start another quarter mile east. Straight lines like this are beneficial to swimmers with good technique because they allow you to simply point and go. Less buoy turns also mean less violence circumventing those as well as preventing you from getting confused during your journey. (If you haven’t experienced temporary stupidity during a race, you aren’t swimming far enough yet. Keep kicking.)
One dirty little secret I learned later was that some our, ahem, more “industrious” members, because of the slight dog-leg nature of the half course, actually shaved about a hundred meters off their swim by ignoring the left inner course buoy-line (and some concerned kayakers) and instead hugged the (right) southern shoreline right through the halfway point, effectively swimming a more direct path toward the dam. Of course, most swimmers just intuitively hug the buoy line, but that’s habit and conditioning more than anything. I don’t know if that’s cheating or not, but I tend to think that until buoys are placed on the outside lane, it’s fair game. I’ll know better next year.
Lastly, the cooler weather and rain showers in the weeks before the race lowered water temperatures just enough to make the swim wetsuit-legal (~75 degrees), a bonanza for weak swimmers like me. I am blessed to have a sleeveless and full-sleeved wetsuit, so I used a practice swim the day before to test out both. Wetsuits are such a tenuous trade-off and I ultimately decided that the buoyancy of the extra Neoprene rubber was not worth the fatigue produced in the shoulders from the full. So I went with the half and still believe that was the right choice. If the water is below, say 72 degrees, or you are a 2:00+/100m swimmer, and have a full-sleeve, you should probably wear it. Otherwise, I would generally suggest leaving the arms naked. But that’s just me.
I also shaved a full minute off my transition from last year, which I’d like to suggest was because I’m such a pimp but honestly had more to do with the fact that my buddy, Bobby Cummings, beat me out of the water by nine damn seconds, and then added another two freakin’ seconds on me in T1. So I knew I had to make up 11 seconds to catch that fool. If it weren’t for my fat ankles causing some major issues for my wetsuit stripper, we probably would have exited T1 hand-in-hand. Point being that if you’re endowed with abnormally large “ankles” like I am (come on, everybody knows it), then stay away from strippers. Just sayin’, you shouldn’t even go there. Nothing good can come from that.
Bike: 4
At its essence, the KTF bike course is unabashedly simple. It only has one hill of note and that’s the one we all know and love at the end of Wharton Rd. about an eighth of a mile from SH-173. There’s also a slight incline on the way out to the airport that is only mentioned because the remainder of the course is so utterly flat and boring.
Which is fine by me. This 26-mile loop to Center Point and back is equal parts fast and straight, giving cyclists the opportunity to really pin their ears back, get aero and just pedal. Not every course has to be a ball-buster, and I think at this point of the season (the end, for most), it’s quite enjoyable to ignore cornering and intervals and just focus on pacing. So it’s a different kind of challenge in that respect. When you remove all the technicality from a course, all you’re really left with is speed and strength. Which, combined with looks and charm, is definitely my strong suit.
What did make this year’s ride challenging was the wind coming in strong from the northwest. Local riders are somewhat familiar with this environment (although it’s usually the southeastern variety), but this wind was more pronounced than usual both in the week before and also during the swim. It continued to creep up during the first lap of my ride, before topping out and just punishing riders from about 10 AM all the way until they were fortunate enough to exit into T2.
My guess was that wind for the back half of my first lap was probably in the range of 13-14 mph, while my second lap probably hit 17-18 mph. Most of us can endure such gusts for a little while, but it becomes exponentially more stressful to handle them over a 15-mile stretch, and very few of us are adequately trained to run a half-mary immediately after doing so twice. So for those that went out too hard early on, lacked sufficient pacing skill or (cough, cough) fixated on a time goal despite clear and obvious evidence to back down, it was a long day, and I think the bike and race averages showed that.
So the Sunday wind was tough, very tough, and probably added the necessary dimension of difficulty to prevent this thing from just turning into an all-out time-trial. Instead, it became a valuable opportunity to refine pacing and energy management for more experienced triathletes. Make no mistake, though: some year- perhaps next – it won’t be so windy and bike times will just be stupid low. Without the wind, I believe I personally could have laid down a 2:30:00 ride easy (roughly 22.5 mph). It’s insane to wonder what a real rider could do on this course under the right conditions.
For the sake of comprehensiveness, I should note that the course starts with some snaking through town in order to get out onto SH-27, itself a stretch of road most of us try to avoid at all costs because of it’s lethal combination of poorly maintained pavement, heavy industrial truck traffic, direct alignment with sunrise and sunset, and- let’s be honest- an abundance of drivers traveling to and from East Kerr County. At best, these folks are simply not used to seeing cyclists; at worst they’re just not that intelligent. A large percentage is under the influence of alcohol or old age. Those are just the facts, every city has theirs. Which is unfortunate because SH-27 still serves as a vital artery to some of the area’s most enjoyable and challenging rides. As a result, it will continue to carry significant risk for cycling enthusiasts who choose to brave it.
As a result, it’s a rare treat (in some bizarre cycling universe) to get somewhat-free reign of the roadway on this 12-mile stretch from Kerrville to Center Point for the race. I took this advantage to another level by riding with a small mirror, a strategy that worked to perfection. This is because- as anyone who has ridden this path will tell you- while the shoulder of SH-27 is inconsistent and junky, the actual road has been worn down to a perfect glass-like state. Check it out next time you’re out there, it’s beautiful.
I have always lusted over that long, smooth strip of chip seal on the actual road, and I committed to riding it as much as possible during the race. This made a mirror a necessity because, while there are very few vehicles on that stretch that early in the morning, those vehicles that do travel that road drive fast and mean. The good news, of course, is that you can see them coming from far away, so whenever given the chance, I rode on the road, and as a vehicle approached to within about 100 yards, I would move back to the shoulder. Other riders looked at me like I was insane, but that was okay because I am insane. This race report alone took longer to write than the race itself.
I was hoping for some speed advantage from this strategy, but my primary objective was to avoid a choppy ride, a tire flat or excess fatigue for the run. And it’s hard to know whether a benefit was truly derived or whether it was more of a placebo effect. I didn’t care; I figured if you spend that much time in the saddle, you should at least try to enjoy the ride as much as possible. I for one know it was awesome riding on that slick asphalt, and would do it again if given the chance. The dirty looks of the other riders were just a bonus.
The low point of the bike course is, without question, the stretch of road immediately after the turn-around off SH-27, at the halfway point of the loop. Whether you choose to call it FM 1350, RR 1350 or even China St., this wicked marriage of chip and seal between the turn-around and “downtown” Center Point is absolutely horrendous. Its ability to consistently chew riders up regardless of skill and experience marks ol’ China St. as the great equalizer, as virtually everyone feels some degree of pain on its merciless tread. The residents of Center Point should truly be ashamed. I mean, like more than usual.
Am I painting an accurate picture of this atrocity or what?
Now, I’m the first to embrace adversity in all form and fashion, and the enjoyment that always comes from conquering it. I am even beginning to crave it in a creepy sort of way. And it’s no great revelation that I’m shockingly weak on hills, all the while appreciating their fundamental value. I even have a tumultuous love-hate relationship going with the wind that borders on unfettered masochism.
But I absolutely abhor riding on a crappy road. I harbor a diabolical disdain that makes me want to shake my fist at the gods (or TxDOT), which I frequently do on occasion. This scares my riding partners, but.. well, you know where this is going… Unfortunately, this affliction promises to only exacerbate in the future as our national infrastructure continues crumbling under the weight of this country inexorable descent into self-profligacy. But place me on a bike on a piece of smooth pavement, and I’ll just about marry your daughter.
The point is that if you plan to ride this course soon or in the future, you should psychologically prepare for this stretch and remind yourself that everybody else has to endure it just like you do, so just deal with it. Just be glad that you don’t live there; that always seems to help me turn that frown upside-down.
Anyways… back to the race. So riders navigate through CP, tackle the mini-hill after the Center Point Lake Crossing, and grab a bottle of water at Dave’s Place on their way back to Kerrville. Aside from the goofy ¼ mile out-and-back stretch on Sutherland Rd., the rest of the course is relatively non-eventful. Of course, it’s also worth mentioning that from the moment riders left Center Point this year, they were riding into the wind instead of with it, and had to accept and adjust for that. And once we entered onto SH-173 for the final stretch back to town, we were then riding dead straight into a relentless headwind that only compounded our desire to get ‘er done and start the run.
And here, dear children, is where yours truly made his biggest, and most costly mistake of the race, the quintessential rookie faux pas that should never be made by someone with as much experience as me. For while I seemed to wake up on the wrong side of the bed that morning (like most mornings), and enjoyed minor gut rot from the very moment I exited the swim, none of those afflictions would have major consequence throughout the rest of my day. What did manifest, however, was entirely self-induced suffering from an ill-conceived decision to maintain the speed of the ride group I had exited T1 with.
For the first 40 miles of the course, there was a compact and competitive dispersed collection of riders with roughly the same strength and ability. There was me in the lead position for the majority of the first lap and a half. And there was also fellow HCMS-er, Bobby Cummings always in proximity. In addition, we had about 3-4 other riders including one in a kit from Tri-On-The Run (Houston), a guy with a Texas flag on his rear and another with a fancy LG aero helmet with drop down face shield- a young tri-nerd posse if ever there was one. I only knew (and feared) Bobby.
I can attest with absolute conviction that there was no illegal drafting occurring whatsoever during this time. In fact, for most of the first two hours of riding the group seemed randomly spaced within about a 100 meter “train,” like what you might see in Kona, and well in excess of the allowed 10 meter spacing required to avoid a penalty.
However, two major aspects of this poor-man’s peloton proved confounding. First, we were not riding efficiently in my opinion, and this pissed me off. As previously mentioned, I seemed to be squarely in the lead for the majority of the first lap, before finally surrendering the position on the windier final stretch (SH-173).
It should be reiterated here that I strongly believe that one primary reason triathlon is superior to all other forms of recreation is its ability to enable one to compete and thrive using copious amounts of mental capacity and strategy, like chess for the fit crowd. And being the elitist endeavor that it most definitely is, the ground is fertile with participants possessing this level of intellect (in other words, smart people).
So for all the uninitiated, it bears repeating once more that there is a difference between illegal drafting (within 10m, or three bike lengths) and legal drafting (in excess of 10 m). What distinguishes the two is that while the former is considered excessively dangerous, the latter is accepted and still beneficial for aerodynamic purposes. In other words, there are huge advantages to be gleaned from riding 10 meters behind another rider.
Ergo, it behooves the intelligent cyclist to know this distance, practice it, and stay right on the edge of it. But the guys in our group seemed content to just gut it out on their own throughout the entirety of the course, oblivious to the collective propulsion advantages of working together as a group into T2. Either that or they just didn’t care. Maybe I ask too much, but in my mind, it’s a rare gift when you can cohabitate with a group of reasonably equal riders in the same general vicinity, and there is no benefit to neglecting this opportunity.
Especially during the second loop, no one rider seemed to be willing or able to wrestle the pole position for very long. In a normal race and under normal circumstance, once you get passed by another rider, it’s unusual to see that bike again. It stands to reason that their superior strength is not an aberration, but a manifestation of a better rider. Ergo, as Rider A continues on a pace A, Rider B should continue on at pace A+1 and gradually lengthen the gap between the two until they are ultimately separated. That is how it works about 75% of the time.
Not our group. One rider would surge 50 meters ahead for a minute or so, only to fall back behind us later. Another might take his place, but just as likely would fall back similarly. For well over ten miles, no consistency existed at all- no matter how hard a guy road, no one was able to break free more than 40-50 meters before returning back to the group. They’d pass, you’d think “they’re gone,” and then a few minutes later you would reel them in, and they’d be behind you. Some would actually come up out of the aero position while out in front to drink, as if this was some some sort of casual ride. It was baffling to me.
Now, of course, the most pertinent reason for this was the wind. It was no joke. If you were out front or on your own (which is, presumably everybody), you were feeling it. There was nowhere to hide and very little tree line to block the wind whipping down Center Point River Rd, Wharton or SH-173. You were out there exposed to the elements just the same as the next guy. And to me this is where it should have “clicked” that some type of legal cohesion would be beneficial to all. But it just never happened.
Of course, consider my bias. As we merged onto Center Point River Rd. for the final 13 miles, I begin to feel the weight of fatigue accumulate throughout my entire body, and my power meter confirmed what I already knew: I had exceeded my FTP and lactate threshold, the point where lactate cannot be expelled from the body as fast as it is being produced and, effectively, my clock officially begins to tick down for the day. Smart racers can forestall this inevitablility until the run, but I was already miles down a highway to The Danger Zone. I had gone too hard, led too long, and most importantly paced too fast in order to keep up with a stronger group of cyclists.
Maybe it was naïve hope that our group would eventually combine efforts that compelled me to make this error, or maybe it was simple ego that wouldn’t allow me to get dropped by a faster group. The more likely scenario, however, was that I simply had in my head a 2011 bike performance that I had to beat, despite the intuitive knowledge that this year’s riding conditions were far more difficult and far less forgiving than they had been a year ago.
The wind I had enjoyed on the ride out of town wasn’t going to just go away because I asked. It didn’t play favorites or discriminate, either- it would be with us all day. My computer was displaying power thresholds that I knew I couldn’t sustain. And my RPE (rate of perceived exertion) was increasing rapidly. My days (or in this case, miles) were numbered. Could I hold pace until T2, or would I crack?
One might wonder how I could have reverted back to my old cycling self after having made so much progress with power and pacing in 2012. But it should be pointed out for those that read my Ironman Boulder 70.3 Race Report Rage Against the Machine that the goal of the second half of my season was to push myself to the edge of my ability, and possibly over it, to establish a new ceiling from which to build on for 2013. I had already established a fitness floor back at Ironman Oceanside 70.3 and Ironman Coeur d’Alene, two races where I enjoyed massive gains but still left effort on the table as I adjusted to my improved strengths.
Boulder had been a fruitful effort to establish the other side of the fitness box I was currently in. I had succeeded there, but there was always an asterisk, always a question mark because the conditions of Colorado in early August were so much more extreme, with the high altitude conspiring with unseasonably warmth for that race. So, at much lower elevation and in much more comfortable conditions, I resolved at KTF to revisit this discovery process again in Kerrville, an environment that was more closely aligned with my training environment because it was, in fact, my training environment. Well, mission accomplished.
My bike time in 2011 was 2:40:50. My bike time in 2012 was 2:40:20. First of all, what are the odds, right? Second and more importantly, what power had produced these essentially equal times? That would be the story of this race. But without power last year it would be impossible to answer this for sure. But what I can tell you is that my Normalized Power (NP) this year was 204, and my Intensity Factor was .88, both of which were way above any other race performances in 2012. As an example, at Ironman Boulder 70.3 two months prior, my NP was 179 and my IF .77, a full 14% less effort at a race where I had thought I had given it my all. So if I was hoping to peer over the edge of my envelope in calendar year 2012, I had succeeded in the final race of the season.
So what was the result? Well, my 2:40 bike time last year was the 49th fastest that day (out of 262), while this year that exact same time moved me all the way up to 30th out of 347. So moving up 14% on the rest of the field with the same time seemed to once again reinforce my belief that 2012 presented tougher conditions and also validation that I had indeed gotten stronger from last year. Which I felt was apropos for a year in which I improved immensely across virtually every aspect of the sport but yet failed to really prove it. Between better competition, a slew of tougher conditions and a lot of choking, it was frustrating to know I was so much stronger (and smarter!) than a year ago, yet not be able to see in in the race day numbers. Oh well.
Around about the Wharton Rd. section of the back-half of the course, I made the fateful decision to consciously pull back the reigns, revert to my original goals and begin preparations for the run. Unfortunately, this meant surrendering my place in the group that I had led predominantly (lose the fight) in order to protect a stronger run (win the war). I assumed that I would see my fellow riders again as I pulled them back to me with a better run. I believed that those that continued at that pace would ultimately pay for it on the run, as I had seen so many times before. Or at least that was the calculation I made.
As we entered SH-173, the distance between me and my group widened quickly, and by the time we crossed Loop 534 (the bridge), they were gone. I spent the final five miles of the ride riding alone, finishing my nutrition, stretching and maintaining a reasonably-consistent cadence, but honestly I was spent. The stretch passing the Rio Tinto movie theater and River Hills Apartments was brutal, between the fresh chip seal, the trashy shoulder and the driving head wind just pressing on me all the way back to the finish.
Intense pain was now emanating from my glutes and hamstrings, a feeling I had not felt in a long time during a race. Of course, this was the result of the additional horsepower I had applied towards the back half of the course. I was equal parts concerned and curious to learn how this would affect my off-the-bike run, which had consistently improved all season. Would this be the day my luck ran out, or would I rise to the occasion? We’d soon find out.
It’s worth noting that I did get passed handedly by a 41-year-old woman on the last four miles, but she was fit and lean and biking in a jog-bra, so I knew she was a baller. She didn’t even nod or acknowledge me, just another cold-hearted man-eater like the rest. It always hurts to get chicked, but over time and with enough experience, you eventually get used to it. I’m at peace. Because tri chicks are the toughest.
Run: 4
As I exited T2 onto Water St., I began to accept that I wasn’t going to have the run I had hoped for on that day, or even close to the same run experiences of Ironman Oceanside, Boulder or even Coeur d’Alene. My incre