Quassy Group Therapy –OR- Evan’s Race Report
Quassy Group Therapy –OR- Evan’s Race Report
I don’t know why, but I’ve always felt that writing a race report in the hangover after all the excitement from race day feels a bit like those group therapy sessions you see on TV or in the movies.
So, please grab a stale PowerBar and bad tasting sports drink from the back table, scrape your folding chair across the floor and join the circle because:
My name is Evan and this is my Quassy Half story
Quassy was the planned dress rehearsal for my big ‘A’ race this season at IMLP. It was my opportunity to put into practice everything I would be doing for IMLP in a real race so I could work out all the wrinkles in advance, so I approached this weekend with data scoops fully open, looking for all those ‘little lessons’ and whatever else I could learn.
Oh, did I mention that last year this course squished me like a bug? So, yeah, felt like I had some unfinished business there, too.
Pre-Race:
Checklist, checklist, checklist. Did I mention that checklists are now my best friend? It may sound geeky, but relying on checklists for everything from what to pack, to when, where and what to eat to what time to get to bed was a huge mental energy/stress saver. Basically, it just forced me to work out in advance everything I would need. And it frees up that part of my brain that usually worries that I may have forgotten something. I love-love-loved how much being prepared streamlined and relaxed the pack and leave portion of the trip. So that was huge.
We got to the expo by mid-afternoon, didn’t wait any more than five minutes in line to get the admin done, then off to recon the bike/run course.
Now, for every race, I expect something to go wrong. I mean, I don’t know what exactly will go wrong, but something will go wrong. I don’t know why, it just is. So, I accept this, and try not to let it stress me out. Too much.
After unpacking at the hotel Friday, I checked the charge on all my doo-dads. I fired up the bike computer, and noticed that my power meter was not transmitting.
Hunh.
Tried everything, new battery, hard reset… defribrilator. Nuttin. Just the “booooooooooooooooh” sound in my head from the realization that my power meter had just flatlined.
After a brief moment of silence, I put away the defibrillator paddles, forcibly pushed aside all the mental images of my race execution going up in flames, and calmly pulled out… another checklist. Well, ok… maybe my hands were shaking just a little bit.
You see, because I’m a big nerd, I had already searched / jotted down the numbers and locations of all the reputable bike shops in the area. Yeah. I know. BIG nerd.
A few phone calls after breakfast on Saturday morning, I was on my way to Benidorm Bikes in Canton CT (I can’t say enough good things about these guys – they were awesome!). With the help of the tech support line from the manufacturer, the bike shop diagnosed the issue and concluded it could not be fixed.
Now, this is the part where it gets a little fuzzy. You see, suddenly the bike shop disappears and I’m in a red velvet room, sitting across from a dapper gentleman with remarkably red skin, goatee, and y’know, horns and a wispy pointed tail – and I hear myself say something that ended with “… so, in return, whatever I ask the guy at the bike store for next, his answer is going to be ‘yes’, right? Right?”
Suddenly, I’m back at the shop asking dude, my voice perhaps cracking a little… “umm… so… do you have one of these power meters in stock?”
Fifteen minutes later, I’m walking out of there with a brand new power meter installed on the bike, and a reference number from the tech support line for a refund.
Out in the parking lot, while searching my pockets for the car keys, I may or may not have found a receipt for my soul. Shrug. I guess time will tell.
After bike check in and dinner, back at the hotel, I laid out all my gear in the order I would put it on, re-packed my transition kit in the order I would don/ditch my gear. I know. BIG nerd.
Pre-Race Lessons Learned: It really really really really really helps to take a bit of effort and prepare in advance. It. Pays. Off. HUGE! It also helps to be a little bit lucky, too.
Race Morning:
Got up at 3:45, and like a giant Pac-Man on an assembly line, nom-nom-nom’d through the fuel I had laid out the night before, lathered on the requisite lotions and creams, suited up while still on auto-pilot, then, on my way out, scooped up the bag with more morning fuel and the transition kit I had placed in front of the hotel room door. Truth is, I don’t think my brain even switched on until I fired up the car, and the playlist (which – you guessed it- I had set the night before) kicked in. And then a smile starts to spread across my face…
I love race morning. I love everything about it. I’m like a kid at Christmas. Rolled in to the parking lot a few minutes before transition opened, and parked just as they started pumping music over the transition area speakers. Looked around, inhaled the beat from the music and shuka-shuka’d over to find teammates and set up the bike.
I also love that EN had our own rack area. I really appreciated being around friends from the team to share that morning groove with, help each other out with the last minute mechanicals, does anybody have an extra bottle/pump/tube/lever/ whatever, and of course the team pic. I love that atmosphere of helping each other out before the race, and I was reminded once again of how great it is to race as part of a bigger team.
Race Morning Lessons Learned: Being prepared and early increases enjoyment of race morning exponentially. Totally worth sacrificing a few minutes of sleep for getting there early.
The Swim:
After the anthem and pro start, I had a half hour before my wave to follow Coach P’s advice to get in a warm-up swim.
Totally worth it.
Left the practice swim area feeling dialed in and very Zen among all the start line chaos. Since I wanted to be prepared for the worst the rolling start at IMLP might throw at me, I purposely positioned myself smack dab at the front and middle of my wave.
I was standing right at the water’s edge, closed my eyes and started taking slow, deep breaths, keenly aware of the rest of the lads pressing in closer around me, jockeying a bit for position as they pushed up to the waterline.
For a split second, I swear I heard the soft tones of a pan flute, and I realize I’m having a flashback moment. Of course, in this flashback, my head is shaved and I’m wearing the robe of a Shaolin Disciple. Of course.
Disciple Evan: “Master, how must I swim?”
Master Cronk: “See the Way of life as a stream. A man floats, and his way is smooth. The same man, turning to fight upstream, exhausts himself. To be One with the Universe, each must find his true path and follow it.”
Disciple Evan: “Umm… I don’t really know what that means…”
Master Cronk: “A battle avoided cannot be lost. The greatest victor wins without a battle. Yield, and you will not break...”
He was saying something else in the flashback, but I couldn’t make it out over the blaring of the start horn.
Oh well. Bring it.
As you might expect, the swim start was a melee of bodies and flailing arms and kicking feet and white bubbles and splashing, and yet...
It seems as though I have been imparted with the knowledge of Swim-Fu. (“I know Swim-Fu?!?&rdquo
.
Among the chaos and the occasional love tap, somehow, I managed to stick to my planed pace, keep my form, and navigate through the fray. I wasn’t at all concerned about any broadside traffic, but really concentrated on keeping a ‘safe zone’ around my head. I made sure not to overtake close enough for someone to inadvertently boot me in the melon, and from time to time, I would take a wider stroke and palm-on-other-swimmers’-hip gently push away swimmers if they started to get too cozy.
By the time I rounded the first corner buoy, I found myself in relatively open water with a small pack of swimmers in that sweet spot behind the really fast swimmers / comfortably ahead of the slower swimmers from the wave. Which was great, because swimming toward the still-low-in-the-sky sun, I couldn’t see a darn thing. On the upside, I knew that as long as I was still blindly swimming directly toward the sun, I was still (more or less) going in the right direction.
I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I nearly swam right over a swimmer from the wave ahead of me (he came from out of the blue, literally crossing left-to-right directly in front of me). After gently rolling to avoid, I caught a glimpse of him from underwater, his kick churning hard as he swam away to my right. I think I looked at him with the same notion of curiosity and wonder you might experience from, say, seeing a sequined Elvis impersonator cross the street directly in front of you. “Well, would you look at that…”
Comparably speaking, the last leg of the swim was uneventful. I glided in to the beach until my hands could touch the bottom, then did my best impression of Godzilla emerging from the sea.
Ya, I know.. Graceful.
For whatever reason (maybe the body roll during the swim), I usually exit the water feeling like a toddler on a tequila bender, so I walk the first few meters as I peel my suit, then jog it in to transition.
Swim time: 38 mins and change
T1: 5:21 – GAH!! I came out of the water 2nd in my division, left T1 in 5th Needs improvement!
Lessons Learned:
1. The warmup is totally worth it.
2. And no matter how crazy the swim gets, if you can keep your head about you in the chaos, you’ll be ok.
Sidenote:
I’ve never actually heard Tim Cronk quote Sun Tzu, and he’s always been way easier to understand than the way I make it seem.
No slander intended.
Master.
T1 was not great, but not crazy bad. Followed the routine I practiced but I did lose about a couple minutes struggling to get my arm coolers on over sticky skin. There’s got to be a better way. Pretty sure I could easilty shave off at least 2-3 minutes with a bit of practice.
The Bike:
Oooh yeah – I’ve been looking forward to this the entire swim. One minor hiccup – the page display on my bike computer was missing the field for watts (I must have toggled it somehow when I was troubleshooting the power meter). Luckily I was just getting dialed in over the first couple miles, and between sips from the torpedo, I was able to get into settings and get the power back on display page without crashing into anything.
After getting that squared away, I also noticed that my heart rate seemed to be about 10 bpm higher than normal, which seemed out of line with my perceived exertion. Sometimes my heart rate monitor (worn on the wrist) registers high if it sits too low on the arm, so I decided to chalk the discrepancy up to that. Since the HRM was tucked up under my arm coolers, I also decided not to bother with trying to adjust it and just focus on the race.
Lesson learned: Know your gear. Better yet, check your gear so you don’t have to deal with that on the fly. You know this is getting added to a checklist somewhere.
I really enjoy the bike, despite how much I have to fuel while I’m on it. If any of you have followed my fuelling saga, you’ll already know that the bike (for me) is really more of a drinking game. As in, I’m always drinking. It’s the only way I can get all the fuel in me that I need (between 3-3.5 bottles per hour). Basically, it’s waterboarding with Gatorade. The only good news is that by practicing in training, you eventually get used to it. Sort of.
The bike felt dialed in, humming right along, sipping from the tanks, feeling like a big ol’ V8. Even had some good tunes going on in my head. I was very pleased to keep my power hovering between 250-270W, right in the zone where I wanted it to be, Happy to say, I never got out of the saddle on any of those hills, either. Speaking of hills…
As some of you probably already know, when it comes to hills, being a larger athlete is a curse and blessing – both called ‘gravity’. If I’m going to maintain my zones climbing those hills, I really have to check my pride as other, usually smaller riders roll on by me. But that’s ok.
You see, on those big downhill stretches, right about the point where the wind noise changes in volume to a loud roaring in your ears, right around the 40-45 mph mark, right as I’m blowing by other riders in the passing lane – right about there, I can honestly report that almost all of my higher-level executive brain functions are displaced by the voice of the Crush the sea turtle from Finding Nemo, surfing the sea currents, while hooting:
“RIIIIIGHTEOUUUUS!!! RIIIIIGHTEOUUUUS!!!”
Ya. That about sums it up.
Despite getting passed in the uphills, I maintained a more-or-less even exertion with lots left in the tank by T2 – AND I still finished 34 places ahead from when I started the bike.
Pretty darn Righteous, indeed. #workworks, baby, #workworks.
Bike Time: 3:18 and change; one porto-potty stop.
T2: 2:41 – now that’s more like it!
The Run:
As I ran out of T2, I couldn’t help but compare back to last year – I left T2 last year feeling like there was a big party in gut and my legs were already calling the cops – whereas this year I left T2 feeling dialed in. My race plan had basically two key elements – to run at constant exertion somewhere between 139-152bpm, and manage heat accumulation, so I purposely reigned it in. Basically it felt like my weekly long run, which gave me time to look around, chat up the volunteers and spectators, and really enjoy the scenery. Quassy really is a gorgeous course, and it was a great day to be out there.
This was my first race where I opted to run without the Camelbak, so I was a little concerned about having enough fuel. My fears turned out to unfounded. Despite the odd spacing of the aid stations, I didn’t have any problems at all. I also gleaned from Coach P’s IMTX race report that sometimes it helps to yell out what you need at aid stations, and it worked beautifully – absolutely no issues at the aid stations despite being a heavy consumer (2 X water for the arm coolers, 2 X water dumped on head, 2 X Gatorade, 1 X ice; gel every 30 mins, give or take).
I can’t overstate what a difference the new fuelling protocol made. The part of my brain that checks in with my body was waiting in fearful anticipation for the moment when all the warning buzzers and lights on the dashboard come on indicating the engines are about to flame out… but that never happened. I felt like a tank. Not particularly fast, but good luck trying to stop me today. There’s a picture of me on one of the climbs. I’m chugging away up the hill, smiling and laughing – it’s an ok picture - but what makes me smile about it is that in the background, there’s another athlete walking, head down and just beat up by the course. I think it’s about as close as I’ll get to a before-and-after pic comparing this year to last.
With about 2.5 miles to go, I heard some hollering behind me – teammates Nat and Simon were overtaking me on their push to the finish. They were moving effortlessly and well, like a couple of Massai out for a jaunt across the plains to, oh, pick up something at the convenience store or something.
I had a real moment here. I still had lots left in the tanks and it would be fun to give a good kick on the last couple miles, but my race plan called for a constant effort through to the end.
So I watched them go on ahead.
Huge energy and elation at the finish line, and for probably the first time, I felt like I still had a lot left in me. I didn’t know it at the time, but I had managed a 16 min PR – I would have sworn that it felt much, much slower. Perhaps there ought to be a saying about that? Hmm…
Run: 2:21 and change
Final: 6:25 and change
Things to contemplate: I’m still getting a feel for good execution and I’m sure there will be some trial and error, but I’m certain there are areas where I can trim some time and push harder. In retrospect, as preparation for IMLP, this race was somewhere in between IM and HIM effort. I’m open to any suggestions for how I can improve, maybe find some way to eliminate those 3-5 min porto potty stops?.
So, that’s the first HIM distance race in the books for this year. I’m sure I’ll see you all back here in group therapy later this season.
Thanks for listening J
Comments
BTW, I usually yell "yeeee-hawww" on the downhills, sometimes out loud, sometimes just in my head. But Righteous works too.....
Look forward to racing with you at IMLP.... You gotta write more :-)
Thanks all of you for the kind words - nice to know I have a potential fall-back plan in case I can't make a living off of my triathlon winnings...
Tim - agree on all those points. Thinking out loud, take-aways for me are:
1. Refine T1 routine (eg. will try wearing the arm coolers under the wetsuit, shoes on bike, no socks); practice practice practice until smooth, and do a 'live' trial during the next race two race rehearsals
2. Bathroom breaks - peeing off the bike used to work for me when it was just one break during the race (note that I also used to be 30-40% under-fueled/hydrated). Not possible under the new fuel plan and I now have to pee at least once during a 3hr bike (at Quassy I held it (uncomfortably) until transition); on longer rides, find I have to pee approximately once per hour after. I rarely have to pee on the run, and I think I'd rather not trade fuel for fewer pee breaks. So, I've come to accept that peeing on the bike is the next big frontier. Coach P offered some tips on technique during Camp this weekend, and I'll start practicing that on the long rides. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?
I chalk up the BM during transition at Quassy to my daily cycles - I know that being regular isn't something to brag about, but sometimes Germany calls me if they need to confirm their trains are running on time - and (so far) I haven't found an effective way to mitigate that. Perhaps modifying my diet a few days earlier pre-race? Open to any suggestions.