RACE REPORT: IRONMAN FLORIDA 70.3 - Start with the Heart
IMFL 70.3 RACE REPORT
RACE: Ironman Florida 70.3
LOCATION: Haines City, FL
DATE: May 19, 2013
AUTHOR: Bart Stevens
PERFORMANCE
Swim: 39:39
Bike: 2:48:51
Run: 2:12:33
Overall: 5:52:12
I went a little overboard on this race report.
OK, so I went A LOT overboard. I recognize at some point this has to stop. But that day is not to-day. Sucks to be you.
Apologies. I'm dealing with a lot of personal issues right now, and frankly I just need to do this for me. So I'm sorry. These things happen.
This report is so insanely long that I've broken it up on my training journal into lots of not so little pieces to make it a little bit more digestible. For those that want to skip all the prequel garbage and vain external and totally useless pontification, you can skip right to the S and go to town. I won't take it personally. I practically dare you.
For those that have too much some free time and just want to wallow revel in some personal schadenfreude, I've got that, too, bro.
Just don't ever say I don't care about the people. I AM ALL ABOUT THE PEOPLE! I feed you with my misery and all I ask in return is that you smile down on my misfortune and avoid direct eye contact when you see me in public. Your smug and smarmy grins are enough validation that I'm making a difference in people's lives.
For the rest of you, you've been warned. Once you start reading this report, you're only going to grow more and more in love with me. Either that, or you're gonna' turn me in to the NSA.
Joke's on you, though. There’s a drone above my house right now, smart guy!
INTRODUCTION
Ironman Florida 70.3 2013 was a remarkable performance for me. As in remarkably poor. Like so bad it was funny, and not even my normal couple-of-weeks-after-the-fact funny. Like during the actual race I remember thinking, “Wow, this really is truly remarkable.” But while from a pure data perspective it appeared I laid a massive, steaming pile of underperformance at Lake Eva Park, beneath the surface I believe my experience was actually quite copacetic.
Don’t get me wrong. I had a good time. But I always have a good time- you know how I roll… I had some laughs, learned A LOT and suffered more than was truly necessary. You know, your typical long-course MOP experience…
But make no mistake… I made (quite) a few *execution* mistakes that sabotaged my fitness and induced some vulnerability to nutrition and equipment issues. While a majority of my execution transgressions were actually purposeful, others were involuntarily self-induced. A couple were just plain ig’nant. You know, I always thought I’d be further up the learning curve by now, but I’m still trying to figure this whole thing out. Live and learn. Good times…
How can this paradox be? Allow me to explain. Most veteran triathletes recognize (at some level) that they have a defined and finite quantity of matches to “extinguish” in a race. A match represents temporary, unsustainable effort- Z4/Z5 stuff… The really smart athletes can usually tell you how many matches they have to burn in a given race with some degree of accuracy. And baby, I’ve got some matches. Quite a few.
But Ironman Florida 70.3 was an experiment on what happens when one uses up all their matches as soon as possible, and then watches the results manifest throughout the remainder of a race. A fascinating experiment that I wouldn’t recommend ever trying, even at home.
My name is Bart Stevens, and this is my story.
Don’t despair, dear friend. This won’t be your normal sad-sack super-lame race report. (Or will it???) It seems most (non-EN) triathlon race reports these days follow a traditional script beginning almost immediately with bemoaning about a lot of surprise elements that the participant wasn’t ready for (“It was so crowded/windy/hilly/hot/rainy this year! Had it been just like my training… If not for (insert list of conditions), I was on-track to set a P.R.!.. I’ll be ready next year!") And so on and so forth.
And this report definitely has that, of course. (Who am I gonna’ blame, myself? Ha! Fat chance!) But I’ve added some variety this time, so as not to completely replicate all the reports I’d read leading up to Ironman Florida 70.3.
I try to keep things real. Fresh. Occasionally enlightening. And a little bit different.
But mostly fun, because this is a fun sport and a fun race.
Americans may collectively give pudgy thumbs up to The Bachelorette, The Hangover 3 and Fast & Furious 12 3D, but I’d like to think I have a little bit more intellectual horsepower than that. My race reports are modified journal entries absent some of the (most) offensive observations and frightening personal confessions, while trying to craft some semblance of coherent, politically-correct thought. And if I can embarrass myself, I will. Then I post to the web to immortalize my folly. It’s a solid, time-tested recipe.
So the following is my dispatch from the field of Ironman Florida 70.3 2013. There will be certain sections of the report that will seem irrelevant to some, and interesting to others. Many will be as impressed, but more will be disappointed. If I can rip on the President, I’ll try and I know that upsets a few folks. Agitating complete strangers is just a bonus for me.
Such are the risks of submitting one’s wild and subjective ruminations into the public domain. If you don’t like it, there are many other race reports out there that adhere to the traditional script. Or you can write your own.
Ironman Florida 70.3 served a distinct purpose in my 2013 training season, but none more pertinent than its location on my 2013 race calendar, situated almost equidistant between my two “A” races of the season: Ironman San Juan 70.3 (3/19/13) and Ironman Lake Placid (7/28/13). The race date, May 16, 2013 was ideal because it provided me sufficient cushion for full taper and recovery periods, while also providing sufficient build and peak cycles in between each race.
In addition, Ironman Florida 70.3’s promised good weather, a convenient travel destination (Haines City, a suburb of Orlando) and relatively low-cost travel accommodations- as far as Ironman racing is concerned. So the logistics met all of my needs and, of course, WTC always puts on a well-run race.
My triathlon objectives have never included winning a race, reaching the podium, or receiving a KQ slot. I simply desire to race in as many of the great venues as possible before I burn out or currency wars bring down the global economy. I figure I have at least a year. Maybe two. So now I can officially mark the great state of Florida off the list
I committed to using the run-up to Lake Eva to test as many variables as possible in advance of Lake Placid. As such, Ironman Florida 70.3, became a laboratory for massive experimentation in virtually every area of the sport I could conceive of: training, nutrition, recovery, gear and equipment, and race fueling strategy. These are the things you do when you can’t get dates.
Staying true to the roots of the Delphi Addiction, I’ve now evolved to the point in my triathlon career that individual races are no longer the end-all, be-all destination for my pursuits. PR’s are great if they come, but there has to be more for me to stay engaged.
I’m now “in it” for the journey, the long and gradual (and often error-prone) odyssey of self-discovery and enlightenment in which I uncover my full potential as an athlete by maximizing the various limits of my fitness, intelligence and equipment. This mentality has become the natural byproduct of years of soul-searching into why I do this crazy sport and why I continue to invest such absurd amounts of time and money and other resources into it, resources that could certainly be better diversified across my professional, social, mental and spiritual life.
If I’m going to neglect so many other important areas of my life, I figure I should have a good explanation of why.
I have roughly 15 hours across each week that I can train and still keep my job. I’m taking college courses at night for part of the year, and teaching night courses the rest of the year. I run a business, and I just added a new location. I’m busier than any two people I know. And fifteen hours of working out each week is already dysfunctional, let’s be honest. Stop and think about it. So if I had five more hours to invest in this elitist hobby, maybe I could get 5% faster? I might approach the podium at some race, or become the fastest swimmer/biker/runner in my town.
And no one would care. Half the cats my age in Boulder, CO would still be faster than me.
If I finish in the top 25% of the field at any given race, I’m ecstatic. If I just show up, I’m already in the top 1% of Americans in terms of athletic ability.
And what additionally would I gain by making it into the top .5%?
The privilege of consuming even more triathlon gear, questionable supplements and race fees to feed the beast?
Vain bragging rights that I’m one of the *X* fastest men, aged 35-39 in the Southwest USAT region who can swim, bike and run in succession?
La-di-frickin-da.
And every year, the performance gains get more and more difficult to achieve and maintain, and more and more marginal. Even with EN Jedi guidance. So perhaps it was inevitable I’d arrive at this point. I espouse all of this poor man’s introspection and cynicism only because I think it frames my report appropriately. Hear me out…
A few months back, Jesse Kropelnicki of QT2 System was quoted in Lava Magazine as saying that his goal for his triathletes was: “First, to be healthy. Second, to be consistent. Third, to be fast. In that order.” I thought that was a profound statement. It really got me thinking about a lot of the folly we voluntarily subject ourselves to in this sport.
Most of us jump into long course – in particular Ironman – way, way too early. I know I surely did. We get talked into it- or allow ourselves to be talked into it- or in a moment of inspiration or delusion or mid-life crisis, without a lot of consideration of the ramifications of our actions. (Sounds very American to me.) So we sign up for a full Ironman and wake up the next day wondering WTF.
Sound familiar?
If I could go back and do it again, I would spend more time in short course, getting fast. And good. And smart. Learning the sport, perfecting the fundamentals before jumping into the deep end mystique of 140.6. I think “the Ironman leap” can sometimes short-change not only our enjoyment of the sport, but also our long-term success. In that way, it's a lot like high-school dating.
So many folks cultivate this absurd obsession with going the (Iron) distance and what’s possible that they fail to contemplate what’s right. Also, a lot like high-school dating. Sometimes, like in life, it's worth the wait.
Let me posit a question to prove my point: If today you were offered the chance to drive in an official NASCAR race this year, would you do it? How about a live NFL game? Dakar Rally? Professional Bull Riders Association sanctioned event?
Answer? Hell, no.
You’d probably get hurt, if not killed. People would think you were stupid. You wouldn’t impress anybody. An no one would admire your courage.
The good news is you can’t “jump” into any of these. There’s a formal system of progression in almost all legitimate sporting activity in this country where people must train for years (often decades) to rise up through the ranks, prove themselves and acclimate to the size/speed/endurance of the more difficult conditions and competition. We all know and understand that you have to put in your time.
Why is long-course triathlon so different? Well, we all know there’s a confluence of logical and illogical reasons why Ironman is accessible to the masses and has not evolved in the manner of all other (fitness) sports. And I would be the first to agree that this inclusivity is part of the wonderful fabric of the sport and lifestyle.
But hopefully my point is obvious. We have a sport where even the highest level of competition- WTC-brand full course Iron distance races- is accessible to anybody. Even Kona is quite accessible if you have enough money. Or drink milk.
And so not surprisingly, we have a lot of people of various skill levels jump in way over their heads way too early. They do it for a lot of good- and frankly, not so good- reasons. But Kenneth Cooper (the inventor of aerobics) says, “If you are running more than 15 miles a week, you are doing it for some reason other than health."
Translation: you have mental problems.
Again, I’m not against the spirit of triathlon. Watching average people overcome insurmountable odds is the stuff of Kona lore. I just wonder if, like everything else in life, the two-sided coin of race inclusivity isn’t both a blessing and a curse. Something we’ve both abused and exploited, an extreme we’ve super-sized like everything else in our culture. And if many of us wouldn’t be better off following a more logical progression through the sport, instead of just signing up for Ironman Louisville because “it’s the only Ironman still open this year,” and then dogging the bike and walking half the marathon. And then doing the same again the next year. And the next…
Sure, I could finish a NASCAR race distance in less than a day if they would let me on the track, but what would that prove? Very little. And certainly not that I’m exceptional at driving a car, that’s for sure. Probably just that I'm lonely and insecure.
Robin Williams once described cocaine as, " God's way of saying you're making too much money.” I often hold long-course multisport endurance- and people who drive Land Rovers- in similar regard. (Triathlon and me, we have a complicated relationship.)
I simply believe I would be further evolved as a triathlete today had I had taken a more disciplined and patient approach to long-course. If I had prepared like athletes in other sports prepare, over time and through the ranks. If I had earned the right to race the distance, instead of simply being able to enter a credit card number and press Submit. If I had taken years, not months, to enjoy the journey.
Just something to think about.
I’m not convinced there shouldn’t be a warning label on registering for your first Ironman. Possibly even a qualification requirement. And I’m starting to believe that the “sweet spot” of the sport actually may be the Olympic distance or possibly 70.3. You know... you still get to see your kids occasionally, maintain a strong marriage, succeed at work?… Sobriety? But hey, that’s just me. I can barely stay awake at work during training season, so I’m probably just rationalizing…
Anyyyyyways. Florida 70.3 meant very little to me from a performance perspective. I mean, of course, I wanted to do well and compete against my (past) self and other trained triathletes. I was fit. I had worked extremely hard throughout the Out Season and Advanced HIM training plans. I had defined and realistic goals, both performance and process. And I’m still a Type-A, OCD triathlete after all- my card’s been stamped.
But I simply went in to this experience with more of a relaxed perspective than I’d ever had before. More casual, more inquisitive, and a lot more fun. I wanted to test some theories, and disprove others. And finalize exactly how I was going to race Lake Placid.
Comments
TRAINING
Resistance Training
Unlike IM San Juan 70.3 in March, I was fortunate to navigate this full training cycle in great health. I was completing virtually all of my training sessions and hitting the majority of my goals. Power was creeping up, and durability was improving. Swim technique was definitely apparent.
Nevertheless, I was also quite interested in observing what functional strength training might be able to do as part of my regimen, so despite the advice of, ahem, some folks, I decided to add in 2-3 sessions a week of strength training for about 40 minutes. I’m single, with no kids, and live in a cultural wasteland, so I had enough time to do this without sacrificing SAU’s (spousal approval units), missing out on anything important or upsetting the prescribed (EN) Endurance Nation schedule. Mostly off-day or single-session days.
I’m a P90X guy, and I’m not afraid to admit it. Not anymore. I know jumping around in your living room is looked down on and Tony Horton is well... he’ unique… but the program freakin’ works, man. And as a subscriber to the Big Three triathlon magazines, I frankly found it hilarious that every issue always includes some strength article with movements that could have come straight out of P90X. Has anyone else noticed that? It’s like every month, they just rotate highlighting a section of the body (core, legs, back) and then insert P90X moves.
Now I know Tony Horton didn’t invest these moves, but it’s crazy how not one move is left out of P90X. The program is legit, yo- even if I do have to superimpose my Pandora Wu-Tang Clan station over his lame jokes to get through a video.
Yes, I’m probably the only guy over 21 in South Texas who rocks out to Wu-Tang. I’m just attempting to develop a character sketch here.
My priority workout for the week is always core. I’m in Year 3 (of 5) of my swim evolution and I’m just now starting to absorb the incredible value of form across all three disciplines: running tall with hips forward, engaging the back stroke on the bike, but especially the ability to lift my legs from the core in the pool and swim horizontally. No amount of strong catch or pull can overcome dragging legs acting as anchors. And once those legs come up, the whole world becomes your oyster.
Similarly, I’m absolutely convinced that lower body resistance training will be one of the next big things to hit triathlon training- specifically lunges and squats. I’ve finally identified that the first part of my body to break down in LSD running is my glutes, hamstrings and lower lumbar.
Is that because of poor bike conditioning? Perhaps. But I know one thing: a P90X Legs & Back workout (like all of their videos) will humble even the fittest triathlete on Day 1, so I know the value’s there- the biggest problem is honestly taking it easy enough in the first few sessions so that the workout doesn’t knock you out of commission for a week. I’ve lost an entire week before because of P90X Ab Ripper X.
My next workout (if it makes it into the rotation) is Plyo X (Jump Training), which focuses primarily on fast-twitch explosive movements and strengthening the stabilizers. It may be the toughest video in the series, and not just because of the terrible jokes. (And they are, indeed, terrible.)
I think we all recognize deep down that a dedicated triathlon-focused training regimen focuses almost-exclusively on forward movements across the sagittal plane, at the expense of lateral movements (on the coronal plane). Just one game of pick-up basketball will make that fact abundantly clear.
Lots of smart people would say that this type of training modality siphons valuable time away from the three disciplines and will limit success in the sport, and I could not argue with that. But triathlon is not my life’s goal- overall fitness and long-term sustainable health is (along with looking good and kicking ass, of course.) And both require comprehensive strength and conditioning. So I guess I’ll never make it to the podium at Ironman. Oh well. Darn. I guess I'll save that $10,000 and skip Kona this season.
Adding resistance training (sometimes in place of run/bike/swim) has helped keep my training fresh and dynamic, and I have definitely seen renewed strength across three disciplines. Most importantly of all, these workouts have produced unexpected improvements in my form, which I soon discovered resulted in speed and endurance gains beyond previous plateaus. Which then beget further improvements in my form, and so on and so forth. Which makes doing the swimming, biking and running more fun. And down the rabbit hole I go.
Diet
The next major area I committed to this season was to improve my diet. I had garnered significant perspective over the past year that forced me to objectively evaluate the causes and effects of what I was ingesting into my body, and whether the food choices I was making were moving me closer to or further away from my goals.
When I first started that internal interrogation, the responses I was eliciting were not good. Not good at all. I was a (food) junkie. Just living off the FDA food pyramid, man. Which is to say I was just another lab rat for Big Ag and Big Pharma. Playing great offense (training), but then getting ‘owned’ on defense (eating).
After six months of dedicated focus, I can acknowledge that the results have been simply incredible. When I exited the Out Season and began my build training for Ironman San Juan, I weighed 182 lbs and supported 12.7% body fat. Not bad, but not spectacular… When I left for Orlando five months later, I had slimmed down to 165 lbs and 9% BF. Whoa! (BTW: My “healthy” weight is 170 lbs with 11% BF, so I was equal parts surprised and elated.
When t’was a younger lad, I used to work out. A lot. In the gym, all the time. Like a lot of dudes. In the dark ages (everything before tri), of course, that meant primarily lifting weights, up and down. Many folks may relate to my experience. This was “back in the day,” before P90X, TRX and Cross-Fit flipped the entire industry- with all its false notions of true fitness- on its head. This conclusively proved that I could pick weights up, and set them down.
During that time, I’d often scour/troll the Internet for hours absorbing new ideas and information- not much different then what I do now in the EN Wiki. And buried deep in the main “muscle” forums, underneath the cryptic steroid dialogue and ubiquitous before-and-after, love-me-please vanity shots and profiles, I began to pick up on a constant theme emerging: hints that diet was actually the true secret, and should be one’s primary focus before making the fateful decision to enhance one’s “internal chemistry.”
The entire premise reeked of duplicity and hypocrisy for me, coming from a bunch of douchey meatheads with chicken legs and arms bigger than their thighs. But now I look back and understand:
1.) Yes, those guys truly were douchey meatheads!
2.) But they were also speaking the truth! (Sorta')
I think we all know instinctively that what we consume into our bodies is really, really important. We also recognize that in modern America, nutrition is constantly under attack, and we must remain eternally self-aware and vigilant to simply break even.
I suspect we each understand significantly more today about diet than we did before we entered this lifestyle, and most triathletes wouldn’t even recognize the eaters they were before induction into the sport. And when we hear, “You are what you eat,” I think that touches us at a deeper- almost philosophical- level than most people. At least it does for me.
Example: A couple years ago, I probably would have also told you that a Gluten-Free diet was the biggest fraud ever perpetuated on the public (short of those diets requiring you to buy their food), and only the latest fad diet to steal from the ignorant. Just the mere mention of those two words in triathlon magazines and restaurant menus (“gluten" + "free") made we want to roll my eyes and groan. Like hearing “reality TV.” Or “hope” and “change.” Or "fair" and "balanced." But that was way back in 2011.
It’s also worth noting that I had already begun my journey down the path of successful eating habits earlier that same year by adopting a reasonably decent adherence to the Paleo Diet. I had eliminated three of the “Big Four” antagonists- dairy, caffeine and (processed) sugar- but I had thus far been unable to shake free from the bondage of grains.
I absolutely love bread, and thought that if I could just stick with the healthier variations- wheats and multi-grains primarily, I would be doing very well. And I was. Honestly, anyone who can reach that level of self-discipline is already a nutritional ninja in my book. But I secretly wondered what it would be like to abstain completely, and so I decided to give it up for Lent.
I’ll spare you the lengthy testimonial (no, seriously!) I don’t know whether I’m gluten-intolerant or not. And I can’t claim to understand whether the problem was gluten, or instead some other ingredient consistent in gluten-rich foods (like coloring or additives). I honestly can’t even tell you authoritatively what gluten is. All I know is that giving up all breads has been one of the most challenging and incredibly rewarding dietary experiences I’ve ever had.
First, there was the spiritual benefit of following through on my Lenten pledge (‘nuff said.) Then there was the empowerment of cutting out possibly the most pervasive ingredient in our American diet, so ubiquitous that it’s free at many sit-down restaurants (chips, rolls, loaves). Intuitively, I was thrilled to be moving even further away from a food system that most of us recognize as toxic and killing us slowly. But there was also the ridiculous amount of calorie-savings to be gleaned by eliminating processed bread and beer. (Sweet, sweet beer...)
In the end, the biggest benefit of all (after the initial shock to the body) was my body chemistry- how I felt. I sleep better after giving up bread. I rarely- if ever- experience the monthly allergy flair-ups and debilitating migraines that had plagued me with increasing regularity for years- especially whenever I traveled to major cities like Dallas and Houston with pollution. And once my body was able to acclimate and adapt to life without it, I found myself getting through my afternoons with greater energy and free from the infamous 3:30 PM crash.
I cannot say that Gluten-Free is a solution for everybody. I cannot say I’m not occasionally tempted, or that I never fall victim to the temptation. But I can tell you that its wholesale removal from my diet has coincided with many positive gains in my weight, BF and performance. And if it worked for me, maybe it can work for others. And if it doesn’t, well then people can go back to their old diet. Clearly that’s been a raging success for most of the country.
Right now, the Ideal Protein Diet and the HCG Diet are all the rage down here in Texas. But a miracle from above for many terrifies the crap out of me. I won’t waste ink with a lot of commentary, but I doubt that either is a long-term viable solution. This is because both initally discourage exercise- that’s the first white flag. Both cause major changes in your internal chemistry- changes that no one pretends to have any clue of the long-term side-effects. You have to pay someone for it, and in the case of HCG you need a prescription.
I know that the only sustainable diet is the one acquired around the ***OUTER*** walls of a grocery store. (Can I emphasize that more?) It requires daily exercise, and that exercise requires some elevation of heart rate. So save your miracle weight loss cure until you can do all three. And you don’t have to pay someone for access to either of them. Everything else is a derivation, a fraud, or a scheme used to separate you from your money. Sorry, bro. That's the truth. You don't hear that thrown around in this country much anymore.
Infinit
One experiment this season that has not been a roaring success has been my spring race-nutrition plan. Last season, I chose to switch from fueling with Perpeteum to Infinit. Perpeteum has its place, and someday I might try it again, but I found the stuff to be unsuitable for my physiology. And if you want to really question its value, mix it in a gallon of water and let it sit for a week; it’s kinda like putting a human tooth in a glass of Coke- pretty scary stuff.
Infinit is an Endurance Nation sponsor, and I believe it’s a viable product for long course training and racing. I know people are having success using it. I think it’s a solid company, and the science seems totally legit. And I’ve tried many different recipes from them- including Napalm, their newer generic blend, as well as two distinct custom blends I developed. One is called Purple Drank and the other is called Sizzurp (shouts out to my Houston thugs and Lil’ Wayne.)
I wonder if the guys applying labels to the packages in their factory shake their heads or laugh when they apply mine.
I have been using Infinit consistently for about a year now, right up to and during the Florida race. I’ve experimented with heavy doses and light. I’ve combined it with all manner of mixers, including Nunn, Crystal Light and Propel. I cycled with it for weeks and months on, and then off. And after it’s all said and done, I have uncovered little difference between my workouts with it without. There is still more testing necessary, but having not seen any noticeable improvement across many different scenarios and intensities, I’ve decided to move on to something else.
Right now, I’m trying out EFS, with significantly more success. Stay tuned. If I grow breasts, I’ll solicit interest in the EN Forum for a class-action lawsuit.
Fake Food/Natural Food
As part of my established Paleo program from last year and subsequent entrance into the Gluten-Free universe this winter, I further committed to limiting or even eliminating nutrition bars from my diet this spring. You know, that enormous wall of bars, paks, bloks, jelly beans, health cookies and other various packaged products that line the shelves of the “nutrition” section of your local grocery store? I’ve started to call the entire genre “fake food.”
The genesis behind my epiphany occurred after I started consistently counting calories with the Lose It! smart phone app over the holidays. (I believe you have to measure anything you hope to improve, and calories are by far the best example of this phenomenon. Lose It! has been great.) As I started looking for the most obvious areas of my diet to attack first, I kept coming back to my nutrition bars.
I would eat them for one good (or bad) reason or another, and then find myself having to cut back in other areas throughout the rest of the day to compensate. I was constantly playing defense, and their inclusion in my daily intake was taking up a huge percentage of my RDA in sodium, sugars and worst of all, saturated fats.
In addition, something intangible began nagging at me as I consumed the bars in and around workouts. In something that is- or should be- becoming a common theme for others- I believe that I have now become so in tune with my body that I can actually recognize and identify the internal effects of various products as they’re absorbed by my body. And what I was feeling was not constructive.
When I drink a soda (it happens), I can feel it. When I overeat, I feel it. When I binge on candy/sweets/chips/etc., it’s remarkable how my body almost rejects the intrusion of this alien intrusion. It’s akin to the seminal (ya, I said seminal) scene in Super Size Me! when Morgan Spurlock makes his first fateful trip to McDonald’s. It’s never been quite that dramatic, but you get the idea.
And when I would eat one of these nutrition bars or energy chews or gels, I would experience a feeling inside not that different than if I were to eat a cookie or a piece of candy. My body would quickly inform me that it was having a hard time with this substance. It was a clear and unmistakable sign that something wasn’t right.
I believe my main problem with the bars, however, was that I found myself not only eating them during intense or long-duration training sessions and races (where almost anything is converted immediately), but also at less-ideal moments like breakfasts, afternoon snacks and too-late dinners.
And it doesn’t take a genius (thankfully) to review the labels of some of these so-called nutrition bars and recognize their peculiar location somewhere on the very same spectrum of nutrition as other processed snacks. It’s all a matter of degrees, as I have discovered. And like virtually everything else involving nutrition and diet, it does seem to be closely related to both moderation and behavior. It’s not the product that’s always at issue, it’s the usage. Just like money and power.
For instance, does Coke have some redeeming qualities in the final stages of a long-course run? Probably. Does that mean it’s a good choice at the end of the killer five-hour bike session? Probably not. And is it something we should include in our normal eating habits? Definitely not.
So is Coke good or bad?
And so it is with all manner of other foods, as I am increasingly understanding, accepting and ultimately internalizing. I suspect that most people are like me: when we make such enormous deposits into the “training bank” (my favorite term for the repository for all collective training efforts across a season), we believe a small transgression is warranted- a Coke, a Snickers, or a Clif Bar- and can serve as a small reward for our efforts. And obviously I’m all for that. We work hard.
After having also just finished Rich Roll’s excellent Finding Ultra, where he expounds in depth on this idea, I was ready to consider that there was be a better solution. And maybe fake food, like so much of triathlon, wasn’t all we had been led- or led ourselves- to believe. Maybe there was even a higher level of diet quality than even being a loyal student of Paleo and Gluten Free could provide. Another reason this sport and lifestyle is so awesome- the learning never ends.
Obviously, I’m not alone, as many of the magazines are really starting to beat the drum for natural foods like fruits and nuts and eggs and trail mix as superior fueling options. In addition, I’m starting to see more and more promotion from trainers and coaches and athletes towards actual fueling with natural ingredients containing better energy profiles than even quick-hit gels and bars.
This trend is such a departure from the conventional wisdom of the past that it’s easy to discover if you look past the mainstream literature largely supported by the fake food industry. Next time you’re reading a triathlon magazine, take notice of how many pages are advertising supplements that come in a wrapper, pill or bottle.
So I started experimenting. Pre-workouts with a banana instead of a GU. Long rides without Clif Bloks. Recoveries with nuts instead of Stingers. And in the beginning, it was a tough habit to break. It’s just as hard now. And like bread, sometime I lose that battle. And I’m not convinced natural and fake cannot coexist in some capacity. But making this switch for a couple workouts a week, and then building from there (and then failing, and then rebuilding again) has provided some interesting results, not only to my physiology but also my pocketbook.
Again, I won’t say I’m a perfect student. There are still lots of times I’m tempted by Stingers and Energy Blasts and Clif Bloks and Hershey’s Dark Chocolate syrup in my recovery drink. Many times I still give in. And there are times of weakness when I bring home dozens of bars and they’ve disappeared by the next morning. But I’m not embarrassed. This is Ironman training. If you haven’t fallen off the wagon at least a couple times this season, you’re a damn liar! (Or a freak!)
So I’m trying. And just like with the breads and the Infinit (and even the resistance training), it’s all part of the journey. An idea might pop into my head, like “What would happen if I did (this)?” or “How would my body react if I changed (that).” Sometimes nothing happens, while other times the results are worse.
But every once in a while, something happens that catches me completely by surprise. I’m not even expecting it. Occasionally, it will have such a profound effect that I’m almost stunned, and my initial reaction is to dismiss it.
I look back and wonder how I got to this age without even considering the possibility that I could be/look/feel/perform even better than I did before.
Experiences like these often inspire me to do something else wacky. Things others might criticize or consider foolish or reckless. In this country, that usually indicates I might be onto something. This is yet another unique and profound gift of endurance sport; it’s literally woven into our DNA to test and retest, and tinker and adjust, and then test again. At the end, it may end up increasing our budget. But it’s still a powerful feeling when your brain expands to accept a new idea or concept. Because it never goes back to its original shape- you’re permanently changed, physically and mentally. Another example of why this sport is so cool. Can you do that in your bowling league?
Incredible. Believe me, I know. Talk amongst ya’ selves.
Sleep
Yah, my biggest and most important goal for 2013. And my biggest failure. I’ve been told my biggest flaw, among many big flaws, is becoming overwhelmed with obligations and frustrations with an inability to bend time and space. Somehow I get it into my (thick) head that if a woman can create a baby in roughly nine months, then all I need to do is get nine women together and we can knock this thing out in a month.
But life doesn’t work that way. I think lots of triathletes can relate. We’re the masters of time management, or like to think we are. But we’re not. Life happens. And balls get dropped. Eggs break.
So, while I set out this season to devise a way to introduce more sleep into my schedule, the truth is that I haven’t made any progress whatsoever. None. I’m still sleeping about 5-6 hours per night, a level that is woefully inadequate for most people, dangerously lacking for endurance training. And I can sit down and draw up a schedule with the best of them. I can multitask. I can watch my class webinars while on the bike trainer. I can eat on the way to work. I can squeeze in workouts over lunch.
But when it’s all said and done, there’s still only 168 hours in a week, and that seems to be fairly fixed. No matter how accommodative your schedule or how efficient you are with your time, something has to give. And for me, it’s still sleep. Because sleep rarely complains out loud and directly, and its consequences are so intangible and often delayed for days or even weeks.
But there is no doubt that inadequate rest has been a major limiter of my training performance. Its abstract nature belies its insidious adverse effects. It’s like a governor on my progress, and there is no corner of training- including and especially nutrition- that has been immune to its impact.
This is part of a growing groundswell within me that something has to give in order to bring rest back into its proper place in my plan. I either overhaul another area of my life (become a stay-at-home dad, marry a sugar momma, rob a bank, invent time travel...) or find a race distance more appropriate for the time I have available to invest. Or continue being crappy at long course. That seems to be the extent of my options.
Right now, I’m still living the zombie-existence of many triathletes, where sleep is simply not an option. Basically Edward Norton from Fight Club, moving in and out of coherence from day to day. So I certainly haven’t unlocked that code. Stay tuned…TAPER
For Ironman Florida 70.3, I made a commitment to completely overhaul my previous traditional tapers. Normally, I adhere to general EN guidelines and maintain reduced volume in my workouts in the week before the race. This roughly entails a single higher-intensity, low volume session each day until race day.
For Florida, I wondered what would happen if I shut it all down the week before the race and completely eliminated all activity from six days out. Just went on furlough like the government. Doing absolutely nothing for a week was a bold and intimidating proposition, especially once you arrive to the expo and see all the other fit athletes hanging around, being beautiful.
One would be forgiven for thinking they could squeeze just one more workout in days before the event. Ha-ha, yah right! But I did it, I resisted the temptation. My buddy, Juan and I rode just one loop of the run course on Saturday just to get our bearings and test our bikes, but it was extremely casual and short.
I made the decision to go with a no-taper taper because for several of my past races I noticed some definite soreness in the early stages of the race, whether I trained right up to race day, switched to some light resistance training, or even employed cross-training. Regardless of the taper technique employed, it seemed I always exited the swim on tired legs and spent the rest of the race fatigued.
So in the spirit of making Florida 70.3 a laboratory of triathlon experimentation, I decided I would try the exact opposite approach and test a minimal range of taper activity. I basically wanted to discover how much recovery I could absorb by removing any activity. And without giving away the story too early, I will confess with some degree of certainty that I lost absolutely no fitness by taking virtually the entire race week off.
While many other events and conditions conspired against me on that day, traditional soreness and fatigue were not something I experienced. In fact, I believe there was actually a hunger in my muscles for activity all week leading into the race, which literally sprung to life when the race began and allowed me to salvage some performance in an otherwise crazy day.
With full and proper build and peak cycles, I do not believe I surrendered any fitness from a minimal race week taper for a long-course race. Going forward, I definitely plan to err on the side of laziness that last week, rather than roll the dice with muscle fatigue and soreness from a defined workout schedule. I’ve read somewhere about The Couch Potato Taper employed by some professional triathletes and runners, where they practically sit on the couch and do nothing for a week, and I believe it to be the appropriate taper modality for me. I suspect the longer the distance, the more beneficial the couch.
PRE-RACE
Shipping
For the second race in a row, I decided to break down and ship my bike personally instead of using a bike transporter. This is due to a standing conflict I have with WTC’s partner, Tri Bike Transport, a beef well documented in my past race reports which does not need rehashing. And while I’d like to be able to promote all of the many suitable bike shipping alternatives to TBT, the truth is there are virtually none. For Ironman San Juan 70.3 in March, I shipped the bike with me on the airline, Air Tran. For this race, however, I decided to ship via Fed Ex for the first time.
I won’t go into a lot of specifics, but I will tell you that regardless of the circumstances, I am certain that I will NEVER use the Tri All 3 Bike Case to ship my bike again. Most airlines and shipping companies have a fairly similar policy when it comes to bikes: a line of demarcation is drawn at 80 inches (the combined sum of height, length and width), and almost regardless of the weight and value of the contents of the box, the difference between a few inches over and under 80 inches will be a couple of hundred dollars. Per leg. Ya, exactly.
The TriAll3 box is approximately 100 inches. Without totally embarrassing myself, I will tell you that each of those extra 20 inches cost me about $10 per leg.
I am still researching options, and have not totally given up on shipping via the airlines or FedEx Ground. Right now, I have pretty much settled on these two options. Someday, I’ll go into much greater detail (you would expect nothing less, right?) But it must be acknowledged up front that both of these options require the traveler to significantly disassemble their bike, and unless you are 1.) stubborn as a mule, 2.) bored as hell or 3.) cheap as *@#^, I’m not sure a dedicated shipper like TBT isn’t the best option for those traveling less than say, 3 times each year. I’m just being real. I’ll never use them ever again, but I’m a cheap, lonely obstinate bastard. Please don’t be like me.
Anyways, mercifully ignoring the outrageous cost of this failed experiment, the rest of the self-shipping experience went extremely smooth. I dropped my bike off at my local Fed Ex facility the Monday before the race (about a week after TBT requires, fwiw), picked it up Friday morning before the race, assembled it that afternoon, and had plenty of time for a test ride before dropping off on Saturday- well before bike check-in.
IMFL 70.3 was a Sunday race, so I didn’t have quite as much time to break down and pack up my bike for return transport before my flight early the next morning. But I’m becoming quite the bike mechanic. And because it was Orlando, there were plenty of 24-hour Fed Ex locations available near Disney to take it to later on a Sunday evening. In some of Ironman’s more remote race locations like San Juan; I would have been in some serious trouble.
SUMMARY: My advice for those so inclined is to take DC Rainmaker’s advice and ship your bike via airline using a smart bag shipping option. The actual Biospeed Aerus he promotes is no longer being produced (of course), but there are several other good alternatives. I recommend Ruster Sports’ Hen House and insure it.
The Shotgun Approach
I designed what I thought was a pretty clever innovation about a month before the race that was looking forward to trying out in Orlando. I'm pretty sure I didn't invent the idea nor the prototype, but must have ripped it off from some pro in Kona- Caroline Steffen 2012, perhaps?- while watching it for the millionth time on the trainer. I call it my "sawed off shotgun." It works as thus:
I take your standard triathlon water bottle- about eight inches in height, right? I carefully cut out about half (3-4 inches) of the middle section- where most people grip- with a pair of serious scissors. I then place the contents of my wheel repair kit - inner tube, Nano CO2 inflator, two 16 gram threaded CO2 cartridges, a small patch kit, two tire levers, a (very) small Swiss Army knife and some alcohol wipes- inside the bottom half. When packed efficiently, it collectively and completely fills the half sawed-off shotgun to the top, leaving just enough room to seal the lid. I then tape the top half and bottom half together with a single layer of electric tape to keep it secure.
This design allows the bottle to keep the lowest profile possible for a single rear saddle cage, barely clearing the top of the cage. I believe that this has been proven- in combination with the aero bar bottle holder- to be the most aerodynamic 2-bottle combination possible. Of course, this requires a second actual water bottle to be relocated to the down tube, where it can be rotated with the aero tube bottle in what I believe to be the most efficient model possible.
This arrangement also eliminates having to reach around behind you to replace water bottles, while also avoiding the need for the bike repair bag, a clumsy contraption I've just never been a huge fan of. In my opinion, keeping the entirety of the bike repair kit all together and condensed into the sawed-off shotgun is the smartest, tightest and most drag-efficient set-up possible. I'm sure someone will eventually patent this idea in a cleaner design, test it in a wind tunnel and make a million; but for now, it's mine all mine. For the race, I used the X-Lab Sonic Wing dual cage holder, but since then have switched over to the single-cage X-Lab Delta holder.
Ironkids
One of the experiences I was most looking forward to in Orlando was the Ironkids event held the Saturday before our race. If you haven’t had the pleasure, Ironkids is the Ironman-equivalent event for youth triathletes, and is probably one of the more entertaining experiences in triathlon. And it’s free!
I stumbled into my first Ironkids race at the 2012 Ironman Boulder 70.3 race and was completely blown away by what I saw- the talent, the intensity, the endurance and the fun. And the 2013 UnitedHealthcare Ironkids Florida event was no different. Taking place at the same Lake Eva Park hosting our race, these young whippersnappers began by completing a 50-150 meter pool swim (depending on their age and skill level), followed by a challenging 2-mile loop bike course through the surrounding neighborhood, and concluding with a scenic run around the lake that led them through the same finish line chute as us adults. In the meantime, spectators get to witness some wild behavior and intense effort from the kids… and their parents.
OK, so by now most readers know that I live well outside the mainstream, physically but also spiritually, mentally and psychologically. I work, I train, I study, I eat, and I sleep. I pray for just one more race, and occasionally I write. I have few friends and I don’t interact with a lot of strangers. All of this is primarily a self-defense mechanism to protect myself from self-implosion as the culture precipitously descends into chaos, degeneracy and eventually destruction. (When People of Wal-Mart does not lead to immediate Congressional legislation, we’ve crossed a societal point of no return.)
Because of my own disturbing internal makeup, I simply cannot handle what’s happening to the country and the planet and still keep it all together. Most readers already know that about me. But instead of simply acclimating like everybody else does- and like I know I should do- I’ve chosen to passively revolt, drawing ever-inward and away from the dysfunction and disease that is so much of America today. Just building my own little reality fort and then crawling inside. Where it’s safe and warm. Like a lonelier, creepier version of Second Life.
I know, I know, can you believe how hard it is for me to make friends? Ponderous.
Neo didn't have a lot of friends, either. And he got to meet the Oracle. So there's hope.
Training provides so much reason and opportunity to disconnect from the Matrix without attracting the attention of law enforcement (I assume...) So when I say I love endurance sports, it’s not hyperbole. I really love it. In fact, I need it like 70%+ of Americans need their prescription drugs. You have yours, I have mine. I’m just not of this world. And I’m okay with that. Like a poor, untalented, taller, sober Lil’ Wayne.
Anyways, from time to time, even I cannot outrun the lunacy and idiocy. I’m just not that fast. And sometimes I put myself in the middle of it. Like when I travel to Dallas, for instance. Sometimes I speculate that Dallas may be the actual front door to the vortex of societal insanity, but I’m not sure. That’s a conversation for another day.
I will tell you, however, that Ironkids makes an entertaining and valiant attempt at honorable mention in this cultural beauty contest. Allow me to paint the picture as best I can... It all happened so fast that I’m sure I missed a lot, but I what I saw will be forever scarred onto my brain:
I don’t have kids (obviously, thankfully, presumably...) So, of course, I’m shielded from the grisly intersection of modern American parents and youth sports. Except for the occasional hilarious YouTube video of some dad beating up a ref making $11/hour at a pre-school soccer game. I’m admittedly sheltered, and so the behavior that I observed at Ironkids Florida was nothing short of shocking.
From the minute I arrived at Lake Eva to watch the event, I was navigating hundreds of helicopter parents from wall-to-wall. These couples weren’t spectators; they were gladiators in the arena, like Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome. Huge, expensive cameras with foot-long lenses and fanny packs made it feel like an NFL game. I saw parents literally sprinting from swim exit to transition with five-figure cameras, running around- and at least once, over- other people to capture the best shot possible. And screaming the whole time.
They were red-faced and chanting, “Go, go, go!” and “Keep swimming!”
I often wonder if people ever think about their cheers in races, like do they really think their kid is floating in the middle of the pool, wondering, “What should I be doing right now?” Or “What discipline am I currently in?” Maybe the yelling is less for the participant, and more for the spectator- like dog racing. Or maybe they're on the wrong prescription drugs.
I quickly exited the excitement of the swim action to check out T1 and pick up some pointers on how to actually execute a proper transition, something that apparently continues to elude me... I witnessed many, many parents loudly instructing their children on what to do next, and I saw at least one parent yelling (in scary-Spanish) at their child- to the point of berating them- on what order to get dressed.
It was cringe-inducing. Think about your last transition. Can you imagine how stressful it would have felt if your dad was screaming at you from the other side of a fence five feet away not to put the race belt on before the helmet? And when I say screaming, I’m not exaggerating. I think Brett Sutton would have been uncomfortable at the level of verbal abuse. I was embarrassed.
No lie, at one point toward the end I even saw one kid getting flustered and actually yell back at his dad. I couldn’t translate exactly, but the look on his face communicated something to the effect of “STFU!” Again, there was so much Spanish being thrown around that it was hard to catch it all, but certain words even I knew from grade school. Whatever was being said, the tone was aggressive. It seemed to work, though- that particular parent recoiled- visibly shocked. I made a mental note that if I saw that guy see on the course tomorrow, to stand clear.
These young triathletes were extremely competitive. I can only imagine what goes on in the head of a kid that age who thinks suffering on that scale is fun. Someone might want to start tracking these boys. I think suffering is fun today, but I was a messed-up little kid with a lot of issues, and it took me into my quarter-life crisis years to embrace this kind of pain as a form of therapy. So these young athletes were evolved.
I saw one kid heckle another kid on the bike course- I think he had been cut off. They were both just coming out of T1, so that was a little disconcerting. Little Macca’s in training. Clearly these kids were in it to win it. I also noticed a huge disparity between talent and skill level between individual competitors of the same age group. Many participants, who couldn’t have been much older than 10 or 11 years-old, were ripped. Even I felt a little insecure in their presence.
Other kids appeared as if they would have been just as happy playing in the sand. All told, though, the majority were the real deal.
Now, down here in Texas right now the whole state’s one giant boom-town. With most of the country on the dole, it’s politically divisive to acknowledge why and Texas-tacky to brag. But no doubt Texas is the reason America is still functioning as a (pseudo) democracy. So lots and lots of people of average-intelligence are getting incredibly rich, and lots of that wealth is spilling out like a leaky sieve. And- no surprise- your local long course has been a great venue to witness crazy wealth on display in lots of crazy ways. But even I was caught off guard by the collective young wealth residing within the borders of T1. It felt like I was in Switzerland.
I saw lots of identical kits, with parents also in matching shirts. I saw a bunch of kits with sponsors. Needless to say, there were plenty of bikes much nicer than mine. I partially expected to spot some Shimano Di2 electronic shifting group sets on display, but thankfully these kids are still doing it the old fashioned way- manually.
I left the event trying to remember everything I had seen. There is a lot I’m leaving out- it was overwhelming. But I think perhaps the most memorable recollection was the young lady, maybe 10-11 years old, who rolled out of T1 with a cute pink bike sporting a cute pink basket attached to the handle bars and… honest-to-God… Zipp Wheels… I’m not sure you can say you’ve “seen it all” until you’ve seen a basket and an aero wheelset.
You can’t help but watch an Ironkids race and wonder where this level of the sport is going to go from here. That next "On your left, punk!" could be one of these young guns about to run your a$$ over.
Don't be deceived. These kids are stone-cold killas'. They must eat Ritalin for breakfast.
Race Weekend
I spent the majority of the 48 hours before the event purposely doing nothing. Which is not easy for me. Not only am I seemingly always on the go, but I find myself running perpetually late for registration, bike check-in, pre-race dinners, etc. It’s just who I am, you can ask anybody.
But I had made a commitment to keep it calm and chive on all throughout the race weekend, and I largely succeeded. I laid around the hotel a lot. I reviewed my gear, and then reviewed it again. I read several old race reports on the Internet. There definitely seemed to be a constant theme I picked up on.
Race Preparation for the Mentally Disturbed
Reports frequently referenced a rough swim, followed by an easy first bike split, and then a tough, hilly second bike split. Which surprised me, because driving the course the day before didn’t demonstrate that much variable terrain to me. Nobody mentioned wind in the past few years, which surprised me. Everybody brought up the difficulty of traversing the big hill at the beginning of the run. As previously mentioned, it’s not the biggest hill of all time, and it’s frankly the only major ascent on the loop. But runners navigate the loop three times, so the effect definitely seemed to compound for folks as the race wore on.
Despite the commentary, I felt confident. We train on some tough hills where I’m from, both running and biking. It’s hot where I’m from, too. And Lord have I seen rough swims. The majority of the run and bike course didn’t seem overly complex in terms of false flats and turns and such. I felt like I could just execute a reasonably smart execution strategy and not make too many mistakes, then things might go well.
Social
Gold star if you can guess who married up?
Probably the highlight of the trip was meeting up with fellow EN teammate, Juan Vergara, and his smart and beautiful wife, Carla, the Friday night before the race. It’s the EN magic in action. Juan and I had met earlier in the year at Endurance Nation’s Training Rally in Tucson, AZ and committed to meeting up in Orlando. Initially, I only knew Juan as the only guy I know who owns NormaTec Recovery Boots. But, in real life, Juan is also a very gifted athlete, with the typical story of self-rescue triathlon transformation from negative physical state to absolute fitness badass in a very short span of time.
Juan is a true EN student, an Al Truscott disciple, dedicated to nutrition (through Core Diet), cognizant of power and pacing strategy and just plain intelligent when it comes to every aspect of the sport. Like most of us, he’s 100% crazy about triathlon. But most important, he keeps things simple in his head and in his game plan. Not surprisingly, he’s experienced an impressive string of consistency in his short tenure in the sport and the long-course distance. As a result, he’s a wonderful teammate and friend.
This guy is so nice that he actually gave me the shirt off his back. No, seriously. He had a backup EN tri jersey in my size (I mean, who doesn’t?), and lent it to me the day before the race. He took me to dinner on Friday (and paid for it), invited me to ride the run course and drive the bike course with him on Saturday. We even shared an early lunch on Saturday, and he came over to wish me luck pre-race on Sunday. And when I didn’t finish on schedule Sunday, he called to check on me.
We should all be so lucky to roll with guys like Juan. He had a monster race, hitting all of his performance and process goals. And he was casual about getting his jersey back whenever I had the opportunity. He’s the only reason I’d be seriously considering IM Brazil 2014. What.a.pimp.
Oh, and I would be remiss if I didn't mention that Juan has probably the sickest ride in all of triathlon, as of this writing: Cervelo P5 Six Shimano Dura Ace Di2 with SRAM Red Quarq Crackset/Power Meter Combo and Zipp 808 wheelset. If you know tri-bikes, you know that anything extra added to this bike would probably make it illegal. Personally, I'd like to see that thing outlawed- I'm just being honest. No triathlete should have that kind of weapon in their arsenal.
I'm pretty sure if he wasn't my buddy, I would hate him. I mean, seriously, that thing’s like a unicorn. It's people like Juan that keep Porsche in business- they only roll on the best. Riding around the run course with him the day before the race was like hanging out with a damn celebrity. People would pass us on the road, turn around to get another look and say something like, "Sick ride, bro!" or something more colorful. It was hysterical.
This bike even had the X-Lab Stealth Pocket 200 Aero Stem Bag that's made solely for one bike on earth- the Cervelo P5. I could only dream of being successful enough in life to own something like that without being terrified of theft. Way to go, Juan. Thanks for the trout.RACE
OK, so obviously a lot of lead up to the main event… so let’s get down to business, shall we?
Ironman Florida 70.3 is a very tough, very fun race. According to RunTri, it boasts one of the longest average race times of all 70.3 events, primarily due to its possession of the second slowest run average on the entire Ironman circuit- behind only Philippines and tied for second with Singapore. As with those Southeast Asian races, it’s the conditions that distinguish this race from all others, with race temperatures reaching mid-eighties on the bike and topping out in the low-nineties before the average age-grouper finishes. Hey, it’s Florida. It’s summer. It’s hot. It’s humid. What do you expect?
As mentioned previously, the primary advantage of this race is its convenience. It’s easy to get to (Orlando), with lots of options for rental cars, lodging, restaurants, grocery stores and all the other amenities. It’s close enough to Disney World to be family-friendly, and close enough to Central America and the Caribbean to attract lots of triathletes from that area. The race site is remarkably easy to navigate, find parking, and get into and out of. In that respect, it feels like a much smaller, more local triathlon for most folks. Florida brings in some strong age groupers from south of the border- no surprise there. Otherwise, it’s your typical WTC experience.
The expo and registration are well-supported and well-attended. The professional interview panel is also popular and interesting. The race itself seems to attract a strong field of pro and elite athletes and the weather is generally pleasant, if slightly warmer than I’d like. In this day and age, that seems to be the status quo for virtually all Ironman events, especially at the half-distance.
Ironman Florida 70.3 isn’t the best race I’ve ever participated in, and I probably won’t come back- if only because of the distance from home. However, I’m glad I did it- placement on the calendar suits a lot of triathletes revving up for full distance races in the summer and fall, and it’s one of several WTC events in the Southeastern United States- including New Orleans (April), Raleigh (June), Augusta (September), and Miami (October).
The race’s main highlight is a fast, fun and smooth bike course. In fact, I would go so far as to say that it has some of the best pavement I’ve ever ridden on ever. The road is protected and safe, and aid stations are adequately positioned and staffed. It does have a lot of turns, which I personally dislike because of my terrible bike handling. The elevation variety is slightly above-average, but feels worse because much of it comes early on the back half of the split.
I’d say that the swim was probably the lowlight of the race. Most Ironman races have at least one aspect that is not ideal- a discipline, route or obstacle organizers have to work around to take advantage of other enjoyable aspects of the race. I won’t name names, but almost every race has them. For Florida, it’s the swim.
Lake Eva, the small body of water hosting the swim course, has seen better days. The old lady is dirty and extremely low, and you can tell by the rings surrounding the residential property around the lake. Boat ramps have attached extensions so that they’re not suspended in mid-air. The middle of the lake has an island that is growing dangerously larger every year apparently. The water is so low that a thin land bridge connects the island to both sides of the shore, despite what the Ironman map says.
The swim retains very little redeeming quality except that it’s adjacent to Lake Eva Park, which is an otherwise great venue for a race or any event. You can’t quite touch the bottom, but you feel like you could probably stand up in several spots if you needed to. I wonder how many more years Ironman can continue to use this body of water, as its retreat seems almost irreversible. The course design is a victim of this issue, and results in a fairly tough, bruising swim for MOPers like me.
The run course is average in all major aspects- beauty, challenge and logistics- as you essentially just wind through some middle- and lower-middle class neighborhoods in three loops. The course is well-supported with supplies and personnel, and the multiple loops do provide plenty of opportunity for friends and family to cheer on their athletes.
It’s organized well as all WTC races are, and I really can’t knock anything about the set-up. Transitions are in a parking lot, with plenty of bathrooms for participants and spectators alike. The Lake Eva complex is a wonderful resource for Ironman, and provides tons of athletic amenities like basketball courts, tennis courts, playgrounds, indoor facilities for emergency triage, open spaces for the expo and finish line festivities. All in all, an event with little that I can criticize.
Swim
Despite all its flaws, Lake Eva has a generous beach for spectators to watch athletes begin their journey. Which is good, because my age group and Men 30-34 had lots of time to spectate- about an hour. Normally, this is the point of the report where I complain about being in nearly the last swim wave in every IM 70.3 race, starting near or over an hour after the pros. I won’t go there this time, and even the reference retires with this report.
As the men and women professionals exited the water, I noticed that their swim times as a group were definitely slower than normal, which didn’t surprise me. (What surprised me is that I’ve been in the triathlon game long enough to actually recognize those kind of things. Seriously, what MOPer thinks, “Wow, the pros are a couple minutes off their average today?” Scary stuff, folks.)
Florida 70.3 provides one of the absolute toughest swim and run combinations on the planet. (This is compensated by a screaming fast bike course.) The primary reason for the swim in my estimation is the course. As previously mentioned, it’s hot, low and dirty (I know, I know.. that’s what she said.) As a result, Ironman has gotten quote creative with the design: instead of a giant loop, rectangle or out-an-back pattern like almost every other venue, swimmers traverse a giant “M” clockwise. Seriously, I’m not making this up! It’s stupid!
Because of the "island" in the middle (don't believe the map- it connects), the swim is confined to a lake within a lake. You have to give WTC credit, though- they’ve succeeded in utilizing almost every available inch of water they have available in Lake Eva. And they also promote the "M" as if it was designed this way on purpose. As a result of the goofy design (Goofy? Orlando? Get it?... Ya, I should probably keep working my day job...), swimmers have to deal with not one, not two and not three turns- like most other races- but six turns! It's felt like a small maze.
And veteran triathletes know that where you have turn buoys, you have traffic- not just in the turns themselves, but also in between- because nothing prevents necessary separation of a field of 1000+ swimmers like continual stopping, paddling, turning and sighting. So in general you’re gonna’ have more contact and more anxiety during your swim. And the murky water does nobody any favors.
Of course, the third cause of a slower swim is that the water is warm, like approaching 80 F, so there was no chance of wetsuits at this race- this was the first time ever I didn’t even bother to pack mine. I went with the TYR Torque Elite swim skin instead, which I found online for half off earlier this spring. The Elite is really the poor man’s swim skin- it doesn’t have nearly the fabric quality of its expensive older brother, the Torque Pro, but it does compress your body junk enough for some hydrophobic advantage, and frankly I really enjoy “the squeeze,” in a Temple Grandin sort of way.
And who doesn’t like to be wrapped in nylon and spandex?
Exactly- I’d wear this thing to bed if I thought it could put me to sleep faster (It won’t, I tried. And if you died in your sleep, people would talk.)
Anyways, I knew I had an okay swim because I was in the midst of the bumpin’ and grindin’ (what I call the swim scrum of MOP MAMILs) the entire time. On the surface (pun), I was able to stay below the 45 minute race average: 39:39- for a 2:03/100 m average. That was disappointing, since I’d put together a consistent string of low 1:50’s in my last year of half-course races. But the culmination of the three main swim features- heat, visibility and navigation- exposed my weaknesses and left me in the middle of the pack entering T1.
The Ironman website for the race promotes, “The M-Dot swim course, in particular, receives rave reviews from athletes.” Ha-ha. Either I’m taking crazy pills, or these people are high. The only thing rave-like were all the bodies around me waving their arms (minus the glow sticks.) Because they also claim “the water is clear” on the main site, I have to wonder what planet they’re living on.
Transition 1
This race was the site of one of my worst transition experiences on record, with nothing and no one to blame but myself. And that was unfortunate, because I believe transitions are great opportunities to manifest true race intelligence. First off, I almost got on my bike with my swim skin still on. Ya, I know, genius. I had worn mine at IMSJ in March and in a several training sessions leading up and things had work swimmingly (okay, I'm done. Seriously.) But the run from swim to T1 in San Juan was crazy long, like 500 meters, so you had lots of time to relax and focus.
I believe the primary impetus behind my error was the fateful decision to wear calf AND arm sleeves on the bike and the run. This would ultimately serve as THE critical mistake of the day, but we’ll get to that later. (One bonehead maneuver at a time.) So I knew when I committed to wearing both sleeves that I would need to apply them first thing to avoid trying to pull them on later- over socks, watches, etc. So I was completely focused on the sleeves, and once those were on, I graduated to the shoes, the helmet and the sunglasses.
Not so fast. I was successful at applying the dual sleeves quite fast because I roll them up in advance and then basically roll them on- up the arm and leg- to avoid a lot of costly adjustment later on that might cause me to face plant into a bush while on the bike. But their distraction caused me to completely forget I was still wearing the swim skin until I had already unracked my bike and started sprinting away from my rack. I also threw up upon exiting the swim, because I had taken in my fair share of the dirty lake water.
I had probably run about thirty yards from my bike rack before realizing my swim skin folly, and immediately stopped, positioned my bike against a random rack, pulled the swim skin off over the shoes and then ran back to my transition spot to drop it off
I probably gave up a couple minutes in T1 because of this mistake. Oh well, worse mistake have happened. Lesson learned. I’m kind of the king of lessons learned.
NOTE: One of the coolest things that happened to me at IMFL 70.3 occurred in transition, and will be appreciated by any veteran triathlete. It was such a wonderful surprise that I was certain it was a precursor to an exceptional day. When I showed up at transition, on race day, I discovered that by absolute chance I had been assigned a bike rack section that just happened to run adjacent to a sidewalk connecting the two levels of transition. The walk was composed of a slab of concrete, surrounded by grass and a tree.
To be brief (ya, right!), the location of the rack up against the sidewalk curb prevented race organizers from utilizing the opposite site of my rack for more bikes, thus decreasing the amount of bikes on my rack by half. So instead of the normal say, 12 bikes, we only had to split the area by six. For someone who's been squeezed into the tightest spaces imaginable in various triathlons of the past, it felt like I had hit the transition real estate lottery. While a few more bikes showed up before race start, this was the site that greeted me upon arrival:
I was like, “No way!” Every once in awhile, the tri-gods shine down on me, and I thank them for their eternal tri-blessings.
Bike
As mentioned, the bike course is the preeminent draw of Ironman Florida 70.3: very slick pavement, protected roads, and generous riding conditions almost guarantee P.R. opportunity. I, however, had one of my poorest cycling performances in years from a pure potential perspective, and I barely stayed below the overall average time of 2:53, itself one of the fastest averages in all of Ironman 70.3. I’m consistently near the top 25-30% of the field on the bike, so to lose so much ground there was frustrating. The bike ended up being my worst showing against the field, which has never happened before in a long-course race.
Unlike in past years, I really felt the wind on the bike. And I know this is gonna’ sound crazy and totally lame, but I’m almost certain it screwed us, and screwed us good. As we headed south on the front stretch, I felt it coming in from what felt like mostly SSE, perhaps 8-10 mph. But the first split is extremely flat so you couldn’t help but feel it was a fair compromise.
And of course, like an idiot, I decided it would be worth the challenge to get some tailwind as we navigated the back split up some hills and the steady ascent back to town. The worst, of course, is when you’re confronted with both wind and elevation and you possess the maturity of a teenager. As we headed back north, and I begin to slip, I was convinced the wind was now coming in from the west. But immediately thought impossible, right?
“You’re just soft,” I thought (and I am), but no lie as I reached the top of the northern straightaway, as you start a reasonable descent back to town, I looked up to see two flags at the turn blowing right in our face. We received a little benefit as we turned east, but within a couple of miles we were riding back into the west wind, and then the final ascent back into Haines City.
For all the geeks out there, I rode 2:49, at about a 20 mph pace and averaged about 160 W of power. Speed wasn’t bad, but obviously not the power output I was expecting for a half. What made things even worse was that my experience was very much a tale of two races, with the front split going fairly smoothly, followed by pure disaster on the back half.
The most aggravating thing for me was that so many race reports I had read earlier recounted an identical experience to mine: specifically riders pushing too aggressive on the easier early section, only to be punished on the back half with elevation, winds and heat. I had sworn I wouldn’t do that. As someone who sees himself as somewhat of a reasonably intelligent triathlete (ignoring T1 and the bike, of course. And the swim and the run), I had failed to heed multiple warnings and as a result enjoyed running right into a buzz saw.
So here’s the alibi, and I’m sticking to it. Here’s the reason my strategy blew up so spectacularly at Ironman Florida 70.3 2013. Listen up, children- you might learn something.
Earlier I mentioned how the sleeves would be my undoing on this day, right? So, I ride with power (we know this) and find it to be an incredibly valuable tool in my (slow) development in the sport. I had read with great interest Jordan Rapp’s interview with Quarq about his win at IMTX the previous season and found it absolutely fascinating and telling. Besides the fact that his ride stats are frankly, ridiculous, he was also kind enough to provide a glimpse of his strategy and specifically what fields he displays on his computer. Now, inside the haus, Rappstar is kinda’ a turd, and deservedly so. And most of us know why, but if you don’t you should ask somebody. But regardless, the guy knows how to move around a long-course at a reasonable clip.
Quarq: The lap markers in your file are interesting. There are 13 in total. The first five are 30 minutes long, but then they become somewhat random – 10, 15 or 30 minutes long. What are they based on?
Jordan: I will always lap on the 30min, if I haven’t lapped before then. However, I sometimes lap for what I consider to be a decisive point - like when I pass someone and want to make sure I keep the power up after the pass. Or if there’s a climb (which obviously isn’t the case on this course). Or maybe if there is a long straightaway where maybe I think I can see the leaders and want to put in a surge to catch them. Almost inevitably - unless the topography shows a climb - I will have no idea why I pushed lap when I did. The one exception in this case is that lap at 105km. Sometimes, however, I’ll use a later lap button to reset the overall clock, so that I continue to work on a 30min base - for example, when I look at my clock at see a lap time of 5:05, I might know that I’m 3hrs, 35:05 into the ride because it’s very easy to keep track of how many 30min chunks I’ve done (7 in that example). That’s important because I use the overall time of the bike ride to guide my nutrition, so it’s important that if my lap clock gets out of sync with the overall clock that I work to bring them back into sync with each other when I can.
Quarq: Continuing the previous question, what fields do you have on your head unit? It sounds like you watch lap power at those decisive points.
Jordan: Primary screen is: 3sec average // Lap Average Power // Cadence & Lap Time. Secondary screen is: 3sec average // Ride Time // Avg. Cadence & Avg. Power. Tertiary screen is: Distance (I use this primarily to reference when I’ll hit an aid station, but also for some courses for when I’ll be approaching a certain climb or descent, etc).
Either you understand what that means or you don’t. But what’s most interesting is that Jordan totally ignores speed and some other metrics that most of us might think important. Further, he employs 30-minute intervals in his riding, primarily for short-term power monitoring purposes, which was a concept I was totally unfamiliar with.
It makes sense now, as anyone who rides with power knows that after about an hour, it’s almost impossible to make or notice major changes in overall power until it’s too late. When I finally understood this, it all suddenly clicked. Kinda’ like differential equations and fractals in college. So I figured if it was good enough for Rappstar, it was good enough for me, and so I’ve been training in his model ever since. Life (as it relates to cycling performance) is all about the 30-min interval.
When I review my files of the entire ride in WKO+, it’s not a pretty picture. Two metrics stick out: power and heart rate. Let’s start with the heart (sounds like a boy band lyric, I know.. when in Orlando...)
[Bonus Points if you picked up the Lou Pearlman reference without googling it!]
Heart Rate
Anyways, here’s my average heart rate for the six 30-minute intervals of my ride, with min/max for context:
INTERVAL
1
2
3
4
5
6
AVG HR (bpm)
165
161
159
156
155
155
MIN HR
178
168
166
165
164
164
MAX HR
157
151
146
130
144
146
What you don’t know is that I typically ride a course of similar length and difficulty with an average heart rate in the mid- to high-140’s. For me, anything that much higher (157-159 bpm) is Z4-ish stuff, absolute knocking on the door of sprint interval training.
What does that mean? Well, this means I basically rode an entire half-Ironman course at a physiological equivalent of a one-hour sprint interval workout with no run afterwards. Translation: I was “lighting matches” the minute I cleared the gate, thereby generating lactate like it was perspiration. I had burned through the entire box of matches before I even unclipped for the run. Kids, please don’t try this at home.
I have discovered that there are three primary causes of poor race performance in my book. (Or at least in my experience!) In order, the first is inadequate fitness. We’ve all been there- whether it was because we were inexperienced or unprepared, life got in the way, or we just got cocky. I’m more than happy to accept that excuse when it’s warranted. If you're not under-trained once every couple of seasons, then you’re probably not pushing hard enough. HTFU!
The second most common reason is strategy. We just didn’t execute. I see this a lot, especially in short-course. Again, this could be because we’re new to the sport and don’t understand the value of strategy- or that it even exists, we didn’t have sufficient training time available so we focused on fitness first- hoping to “wing it” on with our smarts- or we just got cocky. Noticing a theme?
The third reason for disappointment is often equipment. The tools we use. Wheels matter. Carbon fiber matters. Nutrition definitely matters. We might have tried something new and untested- fuel, recovery technique, pacing, poorly-fitting kit, a wheel rental with an unaligned cassette- I’ve seen it and I’ve done it all. And at Ironman Florida 70.3 2013, this was my fatal downfall…
I’d run and ridden with sleeves before in a race without a major problem. IMSJ had been slightly problematic wearing arm sleeves on the run (I left the calf sleeves at home for that race), but I took them off halfway through and everything ended fine. I was undecided on whether the value of water retention exceeded the restrictions of compression.
But here’s the problem that ultimately broke me. I hadn’t been weight training nearly as much before IMSJ, for a variety of reasons. My arms and legs weren’t as large as they were this time, after a full cycle of resistance training and a full week of rest, and the super-compensation that comes with that.
As a result, the compression on both arms and legs was tight. My best guess is that they were too tight, but I wasn’t thinking about them at the moment. They were forcing blood back to the heart way too fast, causing my heart rate to spike to unsustainable levels.
One might say this crude explanation is circumstantial. I respond by saying that no way my heart rate should ever reside 10 bpm higher than my average for that long. It wasn’t even that high a year before in Boulder, at much higher altitudes.
One might say that it’s just 10 bpm, who cares? I say go out and do anything- swim, bike, run, play tiddlywinks - for a couple of hours at Z4 (your near-max) heart rate, and then tell me 10 bpm doesn’t matter. If most Americans raised their heart rate that high for that long, they'd be in the hospital.
Power
We now know that power is the name of the game. It’s the alpha/omega of cycling, and really the only metric that matters when evaluating performance. And it won’t come as much surprise that it’s heavily affected by heart rate. So the numbers will perpetuate a similar theme. My training had indicated I had an FTP somewhere in the 210-220 range, depending on my ATL (acute training load) and CTL (chronic training load.)
That was my benchmark for this point in the season, and I went into Florida tapped into that. I was aiming for a negative split, or given the challenge of the back half due to terrain, close to an even-split (same time for first 28 miles as last 28 miles.)
I dialed in around 170 W of power right out of the chute, keeping things calm and under control for the first interval. I decided that was where I should be so I did it again (roughly) for the second interval. I was a little over 20 miles into the course by then and approaching the split. I was gonna’ crush the back half, I thought.
Then as we attacked the hills, the wheels just started to come off (figuratively, not literally). I was down to just a few matches, and didn’t even know it. I just knew I was working too little for the effect I was feeling - a very odd feeling, indeed. I didn’t even notice my HR numbers at all until the end. Even with the hills over the next two intervals (each 30 minutes and 10 miles), I only could produce an average of 165 W on the first, and then all the way down to 146 W on the second. Uh-oh. WTF!?!?
It was at this point that I knew that something was definitely wrong, but just didn’t know what exactly. The wind also influenced those dismal readings, but I’m rarely one to lean on that unless it’s just crazy strong (14 mph+). There had to be something else. So I initiated my “self exam,” where I start from the feet, and purposefully and methodically work my way up the body confirming that everything was functioning how it was supposed to.
Legs? Good. Back? Good. Core? Good. My gut felt okay, my aero position was appropriate, and muscles were fatigued but not strained. My wheels and gears were in proper alignment, and everything else seemed to check out okay. It was a tri-conundrum, for sure. I felt relaxed and loose, so I knew it wasn’t the taper. I just was lethargic, almost like I was some kind of sick. As such, I resigned myself to the idea that perhaps it simply wasn’t my day.
I really was in great shape for this race. The best shape of my life. (Maybe the novel I wrote preceding this report wasn’t perfectly clear on that.) And I had a solid strategy in place- even if it was only to cause some personal physical mischief just for the fun of it. I had a power plan dialed in and road-tested for a ride of this length from over a dozen previous race rehearsals. And I was healthy.
But in the end I blew it because I failed to account for a clothing malfunction that was reasonably untested on a more muscular frame, on a bike AND a run, and in quite hot conditions. (Texas had been quite pleasant this spring, so I was less prepared for the heat than I would have been a few months into the year.)
The sleeve-issue at IMSJ had been a warning I failed to heed on the run. And I’d be lying if I said I had had a ton of training with the arm sleeves on the bike. Although I’d warn them to run and ride separately many times in the past- including IM CDA 2012- it wasn’t a consistent piece of equipment in my arsenal. And as a result, I spent a beautiful bike ride slowly blowing up inside, furnishing lactate at an astounding pace and slowing sowing the seeds on my long-course demise.
And I would have an entire run for the consequences of this to play out in exacting measure.
Transition 2
T2 went reasonably smooth: no major surprises, no major mistakes. I didn’t forget to undress this time, so that was a positive. By the time I parked my rig, however, most of the rack was full, and I knew that wasn’t a good sign- most of my peers had already arrived and departed. I ‘racked and sacked’, which is my term for setting the bike on the rack and grabbing my zip lock bag of necessities for the run, something that I randomly picked up a few months prior from Chrissie Wellington on an old Kona telecast from back in the day.
I have (what I believe to be) a pretty pimp set up at home for my indoor bike trainer workouts. I have three computer monitors mounted to my wall in the pain cave. One screen displays the Computrainer software power application, while another streams Internet, television or movies. If necessary, I can hook the third screen up to the network to display my Endurance Nation workout protocol, or even a sporting event that I don’t really care about but want to keep up with big plays or highlights. So I can converse with people who spend their fall weekends with their television. And if I need to complete a ride and also be present for my online college course in the evenings (it’s a thrice-weekly three-hour webinar that is mind-numbing), I can do all three simultaneously.
This arrangement has been a great advantage because it provides me access to a full screen of ride data without going completely bonkers staring at a bouncing power curve. It also allows me to absorb an online class where only about half the material is necessary or new. And when there’s nothing going on- or sometimes even when there is- I can pipe in an old Ironman Championship replay on YouTube for inspiration (huge shouts out to some stud named UCAerospace2012 who has posted years worth of uninterrupted Kona coverage in HD quality!) I think I’ve watched Kona 2010 about two dozen times- the cinematography that year was surreal.
I just happened to be watching one year (2009 I think) when Chrissie comes roaring out of T2 with a Ziploc bag of her stuff and I thought, “Hey, that’s a pretty smart idea.” So now I just throw everything I can into my own medium-size “sack” and set it on top of my shoes in T2. Then, I can spend the first few minutes of the run unpacking it, like it’s a summer camp care package, minus the oatmeal cookie. I try not to get too carried away with it- I usually have some gels, some sunscreen and chap stick, my salt pills, a Stinger or any other supplement I might need. You never know what you’re gonna want at that point in the race.
I carry the bag out on to the course and just start jamming stuff anywhere there’s a spare pocket or opening. It allows me to be reasonably quick in T2 without forgetting anything, it keeps my transition area nice and clean, and it avoids needing a huge race belt or similar. And if my rack neighbor beats me back to T2- which is almost always- and decides to blow through like a hurricane and knock my stuff around- we know that never happens, right?- everything stays together. All this also forces me to fall into a slower pace coming out onto the run, which is extremely important, as we know.
Just an idea. ‘Rack and sack,’ it’s gonna be huge this season.
In the ‘sack’ this time, it should be mentioned, was Louis Garneau’s new endurance sports gel- aptly titled LG Energy Gel. Clever. The stuff’s really not that bad. We got a ton of it at the Kerrville Triathlon Festival last season. At first, I poo-poo’d it because LG is French, and well, you understand. (Just kidding. Most of my gear is French, or German.)
In addition, I never see or hear anything about it, so by deduction I just assumed the stuff sucked. But my good friends, Allison and Tim, claimed it was good and that I should give it a try. So I did. And I liked it. It’s less thick than its competitors and actually pretty tasty. It’s not too potent, and doesn’t make you sick like certain other brands are known to do. As we know, my day completely fell apart in Haines City, but it wasn’t because of fueling!
The stuff is solid. The chemistry seems legit, too. Give it a try, and let me know what you think. The French were right about Iraq. Maybe they’re right about this.
RUN
The IMFL 70.3 run course is not much to write home about. It’s three loops, with a good portion running parallel to or in the vicinity of Lake Eva, but not really. As most long-course racers know, Ironman maps are always a little squirrely, and in Haines City it neglects to show the fact that most of that view of the water is actually obscured by homes.
So you’re basically left just running down somebody’s street who lives on or near the water. As a three-loop course, you do get to run through Lake Eva Park and the finish line area multiple times, which is great for spectating. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not bad a bad course. It’s just not… spectacular.
The main feature of the run is definitely the imposing hill that meets runners immediately upon exiting transition. It’s only about 80 feet of rise from bottom to top, and it’s the only hill on the entire run, but it’s steep, you have to negotiate with it on each of the three loops and it’s a ball-breaker. At least I think it is. Where I’m from, all we have is hills. We’re either running up, or we’re running down. So I didn’t concern myself too much with it pre-race. But that was before I spent three hours in Z4! So I don’t really know what the full impact would have been on a normal day.
I suspect it would have been similar. I admit that I walked it all three times. And I definitely wasn’t the only one. At that point in the race- MOP time, for sure- I’d say 80% of the folks were walking or shuffling up the thing. It was mentioned in most race reports that in years past that there was not an aid station in advance of the hill. Somebody took heed, though, because now there is an aid station in between that is very, very popular.
Once you traverse Mr. Hill, the rest of the loop is pretty much smooth sailing. That is, unless your heart rate is still through the roof and you still haven’t discovered the cause. (Believe me. I know this heart rate theme is becoming tiresome. It was to me, too. But you’re already this deep into my report, so just suck it up. If I can suffer for five hours, then you can bear a few more minutes of tri-whining and rationalizing.)
Based on my training, I had conceived that I could potentially achieve a combined bike-run time of somewhere around 4:45. If I could keep the bike under 2:45, then I thought I could pull off a 2:00 run, or even slightly better. I aspired for more, but with all the experimentation I thought that was a reasonable floor. So when I failed to hit my bike time goal, the logical conclusion was that I would have the remaining matches to regain that five minutes on the run. Ya, well, that goal never had a snowball’s chance in hell.
The first loop just humbled me, and quickly informed me that a long day was about to get even longer. I was barely under 10-minutes miles on the first lap, and seriously ready to throw in the towel. We've all been there before- it felt like I was on my last lap coming out of transition. All of my clever negative-split strategy was thrown completely out the window, not too dissimilar to my bike experience. And like the bike, the heart rate data tells the tale
quickerbetter than I could, even more unequivocally than the bike.In a half-Mary of an Ironman, I can normally keep the first quarter of distance (5K) under 150 bpm at my natural run pace. From there, I’ve trained to allow myself to increase that to just slightly over- but anywhere in the 150’s is usually fine- for the next quarter. At halftime, I make an executive decision to either play defense for the third quarter (low-160's), or head for the pain cave early- tossing caution to the wind (high-160's)- all depending on my RPE and HR.
In the fourth quarter, it’s always time to get tough, get focused and drop the hammer. It’s an Ironman for chissakes- you never know when you’ve raced your last. So HTFU I figure. That means knocking on the door of 170- full out, Olympics-style sprint to the finish, taking out as many suckers as you can. (For me, that's usually a couple dudes and somebody running in the neighborhood for leisure.)
Because the run course was composed of three laps, I adjusted my intervals and re-established my strategy accordingly. But the same concept remained. Here’s my HR data for those three laps. Bonus points if you can see the problem:
LAP
1
2
3
AVG HR (bpm)
169
163
156
MAX HR
193
178
179
MIN HR
156
133 (walking, I’m sure!)
122 (an extra long aid station or four might have occurred here)
Can you tell what happened?
I’ll tell you what flippin' happened. As I completed Lap 1 and passed the finishers chute, there were plenty of runners heading in for the victory lap. And I got mad. “What.is.going.on?” I thought. This was supposed to be my coming out party (ha-ha!) The race I finally reached my potential and broke through 5:15. Where did this thing go wrong?
So I started doing some thinking. I started asking questions, because as most smart people know, it’s not the answers people learn that are the secrets to life, it’s the questions. Smart people don’t only have great answers, they usually ask great questions. Socrates. Newton. Einstein. Jobs. Yoda.
Asking great questions accomplishes several things [snooze alert…] First, you have to be aware and embrace the value of questions. Our culture is failing for many, many reason, but one is that nobody asks big and impossible questions anymore. Part of that is because things with screens on them are always there to give us the answer, but I digress.
Second, questions force us to be humble. Asking a question forces one to acknowledge that they don’t know. It’s rare that I ever hear anyone ever say I don’t know anymore. And I live past the edge of civilization, so that’s telling. Our politicians always have a sound bite. Our business leaders do, too. If they don’t, they get fired. Lots of talky, talky, but nobody knows sh*t. And don’t even get me started on the youth.
Third, questions give our brain a workout. When humans graduated from books and radio to television and then computers, a part of our brain stopped engaging- probably in the vicinity pretty close to our imaginations. We stopped imagining what Lord of The Rings looked like because Hollywood CGI showed us. We stopped scaring the crap out of ourselves a little when Stephen King and John Grisham’s characters stopped looking like we imagined and started looking like they imagined.
Did you ever read the book It? I couldn't sleep for days. Then the movie came out made-for-TV, and ruined the book for life. And I think a part of our brain died in the era when screens became ubiquitous. This is why a movie is rarely ever as good as the book. Except for the Twilight movies, which were great if only because I knew they would end sooner.)
In Al Gore’s excellent book, The Assault on Reason, he spends half the book trashing George Bush, which is great. But he spends the other half exploring this topic in detail: where individuals receive data “but they cannot send content,” thereby causing us to bypass reason and eliminate original thought. Our brains no longer have to chew because we’re all eating liquids mentally. I recommend picking up the book half-price somewhere- the man has enough private jets and mansions by now- but the point is that questions are good.
Wow, I’ve really gone off topic. Thank God for the Internet, where you can pull that kind of junk and get away with it.
I believe questions also force people to concentrate, something we don’t do very well anymore in this culture of distraction. The whole country’s gone ADD. Questions can produce singular focus on wherever we choose to direct our minds. Whether that be Angry Birds or 150 lonely blog posts (and counting, biaaaatchs!)
And lastly, questions empower us all to solve our own problems. We live in a society where multiple generations have become dependent on other people and things to solve their problems: the government, the courts, illegal or prescribed substances, television and other trivial distractions- a self-medicating culture. In some ways, we’ve lost our spirit of self-sufficiency. For a large portion of the population, it’s a skill that never developed and will never exist.
Well, until the Great Reset, anyways. But that’s another blog, and another post.
So, where were we? Questions. Right.
So, as I’m crossing over the mat at Lap 1- seeing folks finish, getting mad, I’m asking myself why is my heart rate so freakin’ high? It’s never been this high? And it’s been this high all day? Am I developing some sort of sickness or disease? Am I having a Greg Welch moment?
I feel fine. My muscles- which usually exhibit the first signs of breakdown- are also fine. My mind is (cough, cough) sharp- but sliding rapidly (where’s the fake Coke, yo?!) I’m clearly not exerting myself based on my runspeed. So what could it be?
Well, I focused on my heart rate. I asked, “What accelerates my heart rate?” Excess speed, excess adrenaline and time on the course are traditionally the only catalysts I could think of. But that’s obviously not an issue fifty minutes into the run. So what else? And then it hit me:
The sleeves. They’re squeezing my massive arms (Joking… It’s triathlon. Nobody has massive arms!) And my legs, too! Could they be cutting off circulation and forcing the blood back to my heart way too fast? Stroke count and blood volume are probably through the roof, too! No wonder, moron!
So I removed the arm sleeves immediately. And I stuffed them in the back pockets of my sexy spandex tri shorts. I would have done the same with my calf sleeves as well, but I was afraid if I bent down to do so, I might never get back up. Many folks know what I’m talking about here: sometimes it’s so difficult to remove them that my arms start to shake and cramp. So I resigned myself to run without the arm sleeves and just see what happened. Well, of course the hill came, and frankly that sucked. Just like the time before. I don’t even remember much of it, just the same trail of tears everyone else was suffering through.
But what do you know? As soon as I started down the hill and towards the back half of the loop, guess what started to happen? My heart rate came down. Not all at once and not significantly. But by the time I rounded Lap 2, it was obvious that something was changing inside. No, this was not a late onset of puberty (I wish!) My heart rate was starting to fall dramatically.
Here’s my heart rate chart again:
LAP
1
2
3
AVG HR (bpm)
169
163
156
MAX HR
193
178
179
MIN HR
156
133 (walking, I’m sure!)
122 (still walking!)
As a disclaimer, this story doesn’t end with me recovering and then sprinting the rest of the race. When you burn matches to the end, they don’t re-light. They’re toast. And so are you, my friend. But it’s obvious that when the sleeves came down, so did the bpm. And while the damage had been done in terms of lactate production (the clock had struck midnight a long time ago for this spandex-clad Cinderella), there was no doubt whatsoever that the seeds of my demise resided in those sexy white arm coolers.
Don’t get me wrong. I can make light of it now, but when it became fully apparent what I had done, I was pissed off. This was probably more related to passing the finish line the second time and seeing lots of less-fit people finishing before me. There was definitely some bitterness toward what might have been. So I took out the arm cooler sleeves from my sexy spandex tri shorts, right there and then, and I threw them in the trash right by the beach.
I said (to myself), “I’m done with you Zoot arm cooler sleeves. You will haunt me NO MORE!”
While that felt good, I realized I still had one more lap, and it was brutal. Even at the time, part of me felt like it was a necessary step to teach me the lesson that I was meant to learn on that day. Sometimes you have to physically hurt to truly absorb a life lesson.
But another part of me said, "Dude, seriously. Let's get this !@#$ over and get a pizza!"
I had a job to do, and that job was to shuffle run one more time around that cheesy course. Up the hill. Through the neighborhoods bordering the shrinking lake. Past the gangsters drinking OE on the patio listening to Keith Sweat and wondering what all these pasty crackers where doing on their street.
And I finished.
I wasn’t happy. I was sorely disappointed. I had come a long way and failed in most of my process and performance goals. But it was just one in hopefully many long-course races in my career. There would be other (better) days, no doubt. I decided that while it was certain I would take with me a deep and permanent conviction never to ever wear sleeves a triathlon ever again, I would hopefully also remember to ask questions when things aren’t going the way they should.
Hopefully, I could begin to ask these questions earlier in the process next time- not at the end- thereby avoiding a lot of unnecessary and painful suffering.
Damn you arm sleeves!
So where does that leave me? Well, as I alluded to earlier, I was upset about the poor race performance- both immediately following the race and for several weeks after. I went through all the typical stages of grief as usual. I asked why did this have to happen to me? and other what-might-have-been-type questions for far longer than necessary. And then finally, I reflected on the experience and asked what could be positively derived from the entire episode.
When I asked those good proactive questions, I came up with some decent responses. I learned something, so that was something. I suffered mercilessly, and if you know me you know I get off on the pain. I explored and conquered some dark places emotionally during and after the race, and ideally added a new layer of toughness to my toolbox.
In all the insanity, I totally forgot to mention that I brought back the infamous women's sunglasses from IM CDA 2012, and am pretty sure they're here to stay as long as they'll let me. That was huge, they're becoming like a security blanket.
So chick sunglasses? In. Sleeves? Out.
And let me tell you, performing a 3-4 hour Z4 workout is going to produce a ridiculous effect on your performance and physiology. Once my body (and heart) recovered from the beat-down, the super-compensation cycle went into overdrive. The race was probably the greatest thing that has ever happened to my training.
We all know how I feel about elevated heart rate. After power on the bike and pacing on the run, sprint interval training for anything (in multisport, regular sport or life) is THE secret to success: doing something really, really hard for short periods of time, with reasonable and appropriate recovery breaks. You can apply that principle to anything- your job, your family, your fitness and your social connections, and success will be the result, I firmly believe that.
So the effect of my IMFL 70.3 "workout" has launched me into a completely new tier of fitness that I could never have achieved otherwise, making old workouts much easier from that point on, and allowing me to push my physical, mental and psychological limits even higher. When you look at triathlon as a journey, with races just brief benchmarks toward a much larger goal, you can ignore the costs and stresses involved in performing poorly at a destination race and keep it all in perspective.
At least that's what I (keep) telling myself. Every year. Sometimes twice a year.
So perhaps that's the conclusion of this story. A nice happy ending, all wrapped up like a 30-min sitcom.
EPILOGUE
As mentioned before, I’m also done with that stupid bike box. I&rsqu
Awesome report! I thought I was going to get some work done first thing this morning and then I stumbled on this thread. Oh well, I/'m sure whatever I had to do can wait. I wish I could write like you; in my 8(?) months with EN my 'wish I could (insert some awesome attribute here) like' list seems to be expanding rather alarmingly.
I did that race, pre-EN, back in 2006 (slightly different course back then), and I'll never do it again. Hope you learned the same lesson!