Mike Roberts’ IMNC Race Report
My how things can change in a week.
Pre-Race
Tuesday afternoon before race day brought the bad news. Due to flooding from Hurricane Matthew, the 112-mile bike course was being cut to 50. Not 80 or 90. 50. I was beyond bummed. When my wife came home and saw me with a glass of wine during race week, she thought someone had died. After a few days, I think the source of my disappointment stemmed from the fact that I had worked hard on my run (really, for three years, but definitely since last December) and was anxious to see whether I could break 3:50 and maybe even 3:40. With a shortened bike course, there was no real way to test it. After talking to my spouse and several EN teammates, I slowly started to view the situation as an opportunity. The way I should treat all adverse situations, I guess. My swim mechanics were much improved and, even though I only got in one reasonably big five-week block of swimming (11, 12, 12, 14 and 12k yards per week respectively, in Weeks 15-19 of 20), I felt really good about my swim fitness too. My race rehearsal was well under an hour, and the practice swim two days before the race with a local swimmer who knows the channel and its currents like the back of his hand – priceless. My run fitness was by far the best it’s ever been. I had transitions thorougly scouted and planned. That only left the bike. I was in “good” Ironman bike shape, with several rides over four hours, but all of it on the trainer. The upside of not doing some epic outdoor rides is I was still fresh and still hitting my mid-week FTP and VO2 numbers, which I never do in an IM build. In short, my watts/kg were over 4.05, and I had more than enough fitness to do just about anything I wanted to do on the bike. At least for 50 miles. OK, it was indeed an opportunity.
I often get accused (probably accurately) of selling myself short because I don’t have a killer bike or run that can demoralize and destroy the competition (or bail me out if I screw up something else in a race). But through many years of racing, especially now in Year Three with EN, I definitely no longer have a weakness. Including transitions, I can now say that I have five strenghts. But I pretty much need to nail all five to compete with the big boys. The bike, of course, was the wild card. And that’s where this team really came through. Definitely needed to ride harder than typical IM intensity, perhaps up to full HIM intensity, most likely somewhere in the middle. Last year I raced IMFL at 175NP and thought I could go a bit higher this year, perhaps as high as 180 or 185NP. For the new 50-mile course, after incredible input from the coaches and team, I ultimately chose 195NP, which would be exactly .75 IF and 3.0 w/kg. Call it “Hot-IM” effort.
Race Day
The news of the shortened course, for better or worse, took all pressure off me. Race jitters disappeared instantly. I enjoyed all the pre-race activities, slept like a baby, socialized and treated it like a 70.3 race. I wasn’t overly concerned about the weather, but I also didn’t want to make a critical error before the cannon even went off. Low 50’s to start, moving into the 60s. Very strong winds from the NW blowing 15-25mph. I chose to go with standard kit and arm warmers. During bike check-in, I saw several disc wheels with 40 or 60mm front wheels. But, as far as I could tell, I was the only one going full 90/disc. I didn’t have other wheel options, so really never gave it another thought. On race morning, I got up early, ate, followed my check list and made my way to the start.
Swim
The swim start was just plain freezing. With many layers of sweats, I was till shivering. Went for a mile jog 40 minutes before the start. With 30 minutes to go, I put on my wetsuit and made my way down to the water. No one got in. Except me. Felt like bath water to my feet. Kayaks and paddleboards were policing the shoreline, preventing any meaningful warm up. But when a gap between them presented, I just sprinted into the water and went for it. Got maybe 100-150 yards out into the channel, heard the yell, stopped. I pretended not to hear him as I bobbed and checked the current. Low tide hit exactly 30 minutes after the start and, sure enough, I was slowly drifting away from the start line. And away from the finish line Nothing major, but it changed my strategy. I sprinted another 100-150 back to shore, called it good. My new plan was to line up maybe 30th or 40th in line, accept the early contact, and draft like a mad man the first half against the current. I knew when we turned left at about 2,500 or 3,000 yards, we should have the current assisting us (or be slack right at the time of low tide), but with a mild chop because we’d be totally exposed to the NW wind in our faces. So, that’s what I did. I casually walked into the water (see proof below), joined the fray, and constantly worked to get and stay behind at least two people, if not more. I did very little work. I could breathe bilaterally, I could look up for extended periods of time to check line, count buoys and begin to search for the landmarks and the big red buoy that signified Stage 2: the left turn. As if right on cue, when we fought (yes, there were blows, all unintentional, but blows nonetheless) around that red turn buoy, the swim dramatically changed. Wind and light chop right in our faces. My “group” quickly disbanded, I found myself all alone, with some distant splashes maybe 50 yards ahead. So, I started swimming after those splashes. I had tons of energy, stroke felt great, I was swimming straight and I knew I was moving quickly, even though there were times when the conditions prevented a lot of forward progress. I absolutely loved the last 1/3rd of this swim, almost to the point of being bummed when it ended. Climbed the ladder, there was no clock, but my brain told me it was faster than an hour and there weren’t that many people ahead of me.
Result: 49:55, 2nd AG, 21 OA
T1
Quickly got my wetsuit stripped, took off running. The RD said it was a 1/3rd mile run to TA, but I had walked it twice before the race and knew it was probably a little short of that. We did have to run across a chipsealed parking lot, which wasn’t fun, and then a four-lane road, but it was no big deal. As I entered the big grass transition, I yelled for my bag, which was efficiently handed off to me like a football. From my reconissance the day before, I knew I had about 80 yards before I hit the tent. More than enough time to get my helmet out and on. Entered tent full-stride, asked a vol to run with me. I handed my wetsuit and bag to him with a request and a thank-you, in a blur I saw four or five competitors sitting down and doing who-knows-what, then exited the tent with the same full-stride with which I entered, out and all the way around the women’s tent, all the way back to my bike, which a vol was holding mid-aisle for me due to another “148!” yell. Out to the mount line, done. It sounds cocky, but I knew at that very second that I had probably put a minute on the entire field. And as I would soon learn, minutes count.
I love leaving a T1 completely full of bikes.
Result: 3:37, 1st AG, 1st OA
Bike:
Ignorance is bliss, I guess. I knew it was a rolling start, I knew I was likely somewhere near the front, maybe realistically top 30 or 50 like I was at IMNZ, but I had absolutely no clue that I was one of the first 10 to hit the road. Had I known, I easily could have done something stupid.
Back to the race, my first order of business was settling in and putting on my arm warmers. This was quite difficult because my hands were cold, my arms were wet, and the wind made it such that riding with only one hand was a serious challenge. Once accomplished, I just cruised along at “chicken bucket” pace (an awesome phrase I stole from a teammate). My Garmin auto-laps every five miles, and my HR was down to a very good 127 by the end of the first lap. I drank, I ate, I tried to figure out what the hell the wind was doing. It was gonna be an interesting ride.
At Mile 8.5, we got on the interstate and faced west, with a very solid head/cross-wind coming from the NW. And it was very gusty, so it blew me around some. I started to question my 90/disc wheel choice, especially at 143lbs. To eat, I had no choice but to get into the drops, then take one hand off to access the bento. Even that got a bit sketchy at times, and I made it a point to minimize the number of times I had to take a hand off the bars. But I’ve always been a pretty good bike handler, despite my weight, so I got used to the wind within that first 10 miles. I just plugged along, eating, drinking and making Garmin read “195.” Actually, it was quite boring. Other than being passed early by two riders and passing a few swimmers myself, I was all alone. Couldn’t see anyone in front or behind. But things got intersting at Mile 20, as we crossed a long, tall, totally exposed bridge. Aero quickly became a non-option. I was being blown five feet left, five right, all over the place. Death grip on the bars, just trying to stay upright. I couldn’t shift (they’re only on the aerobar extensions) and never even dreamed of trying to look at the Garmin. It certainly woke me up and briefly took away the boredom. But, just as the bridge had begun, it ended. Ignorant once again, I had no clue that the RD changed the bike course overnight. With high tide flooding roads with virtually no notice, she had to make some last-second modifications, but she got us (and the 70.3 racers) a full 56 miles instead of 50. So, that was a positive. At Mile 21 we turned left and got mostly a tail wind. Finally! At 23, however, we turned right around and headed back directly NW into the wind. Fun two miles while it lasted. Post-race, it seems everyone was describing this next section from Mile 23 to 39 as pure misery. I didn’t mind it. It was sunny, my hands and feet had long since warmed up, I was riding my bike instead of working or mowing the lawn, and so I just cruised along – all alone – as low as possible, eating, drinking and making the screen say “195.” When I hit the turnaround at Mile 39, I had averaged 20.7 mph thus far. Better than I had anticipated, but I had no idea where the course would take us from there. Turns out, we got 17 glorious miles with a good tail wind all the way to the finish. I now got to see a few sporadic riders in the miles behind coming the other way, with the bulk of the field starting to appear thereafter, with some packs going 50-60 deep, maybe one bike length between each. Widespread, blatant cheating like that usually pisses me off, especially into a strong headwind, but I really didn’t let it bother me on Saturday. I was really enjoying the ride, preoccupied with the “195” thing. But the bottom instantly dropped out at Mile 52, only four miles from the finish. I suddenly merged with the 70.3 race and was instantly weaving in and out of the slower end of that field. I knew this bike course, and there was no way we’d be going the same direction, merged with the 70.3. I hadn’t seen an IM biker for what seemed like an hour, so I had to have gone off course. Yes, there was panic. But I just rode along until I could find an aid station or race official. But at Mile 54, I saw signs directing 70.3 racers left and IM racers right. The relief was overwhelming; too bad FinisherPix wasn’t there to see what had to have been a huge grin painted on my face. I cruised over the last big bridge, got passed for the first time in maybe an hour and was surprised to find transition only a few hundred yards later. Other than a death-grip bridge crossing and apparent course departure, the ride felt like a moderate training ride, and I very much enjoyed it. Because my average speed was only up to 22mph at the finish, a pace that simply is not competitive over 56 miles, I was 100% convinced that I had undercooked the bike and was likely out of the top-10 in my age group. But I was legitimately happy and excited to go see what I could do on the marathon.
I drank four full bottles of Gatorade Endurance on the bike, which with food, gave me 1060 calories total, 425 per hour. I purposefully over-ate just a bit to fuel up for the marathon. I took a couple of mobile restroom breaks, at around Mile 30 and again at 50.
Here’s the link to the bike data for the geeks out there with nothing else to do: http://tpks.ws/MA9S7
The short summary below kinda sums up the ride, in five-mile laps:
1: 178NP, 19.1mph (CB)
2: 194NP, 22.5mph
3: 196NP, 20.7mph
4: 200NP, 20.7mph (Death-Grip Crossing)
5: 196NP, 24.1mph (Tail-Wind Teaser)
6: 199NP, 19.4mph
7: 201NP, 19.7mph
8: 189NP, 20.6mph
9: 192NP, 25.2mph (Real Fun Begins)
10: 193NP, 27.0mph
11: 193NP, 25.8mph
12: 140NP, 22.3mph
Again, had I known where I actually stood overall and in my age group after the bike, I could have done something stupid. Ignorance was still my ally.
Result: 2:33, 6th fastest bike in AG, still 2nd in AG, up to 19th OA
T2:
Once we dismounted, we had to run 200 yards over a thin mat covering rocks and gravel in an active construction site. Lots of people were complaining about this after the race, but it’s 200 yards. And construction will likely be completed before next year. Once I handed off the bike, I ran to my bag, which was once again handed off to me. Removed my go-bag as I entered, sat, quickly put my socks and shoes on, asked a vol to stow my helmet, grabbed my bag and bolted. They made us do a long, probably ¼-mile circle around the exterior of the transition before exiting. I jogged this section, carefully stowing gels and salt, putting on my hat and glasses and clipping on my race belt, then strapping on and turning on my Garmin 920xt. I then ate a gel as I trotted out of transition. I definitely could have gone faster with an all-out sprint, but the beginning of the run is not the place for that kind of nonsense.
Result: 3:24, 2nd in AG (by 4 damn seconds)
Run:
Finally. The fun part. As I exited T2, I caught Mariah by total surprise. “Oh, my God! That was EN. Was that Roberts?” I didn’t read anything into her reaction. And I had absolutely no clue that I was the 11th person out onto the run course. Ignorance and bliss.
I felt really good at the start, not at all like a typical Ironman. Garmin acquired satellites a few hundred yards after the start, so I started it. At the short, very steep climb up to Front Street, I saw my family, which gave me a boost. As I was nearing the end of Mile 1, I finally glanced at the Garmin. Oh shit! I was averaging 7:30 pace and HR was at 153. That was stupid. Slow down! My original 140.6 goal was to jog the first six at 140HR, then allow HR to go up to the top of my Zone 2, or 145. On this day, I modified that to 145 for the first six, then let it go to 147 or 148 and see what happens. In eight previous attempts, my Ironman run PR was 3:50. On this day, I had decided to chase a 3:30 time. Why? Frankly, I know exactly what 8-minute pace feels like and my data suggested that I should be able to hold 8’s at just above my 145 Zone-2 HR. And, honestly, there just aren’t that many guys my age who can swim fast, ride at 3.0w/kg and then run a 3:30. So, why not?
The course rolls gradually up and down along Front Street, then turns out into the park near Mile 3, where it flattens out and circles a lake. The first 6.5 miles were easy. During Mile 8, I stopped in a porto because my bladder was way beyond capacity, and I didn’t want to completely soak a shoe or two. During Mile 9 or 10, running was still fluid and easy. Then I heard a female behind me: “Geez, Mike, it took me forever to catch up to you.” I thought it was an official and I had littered or something. Nope. It was the women’s leader who had apparently been stalking me for a while. We chatted and ran together for a short bit, but I quickly realized her pace was a too hot for me (she’s got a couple of sub-10 Kona finishes and went on to run a 3:15 in Wilmington). The rest of the first loop was totally uneventful. I had passed maybe two or three, was passed by maybe five (including the eventual winner in my AG), but most of them had ages starting with a 2 or 3. But for the most part, just like the bike, it was pretty lonely out there. I finished the first loop in 1:45 and change, right on pace for a 3:30. 8:02 average pace, 146 average HR. I ate four gels the first loop and felt good. OK, let’s do it again.
As I started the second loop, my left hamstring cramped up out of nowhere. Very painful. Immediately forced to a walk. Once gone, my focus returned to nutrition, salt and pace management. I took Base Salt at every aid station from thereon out. Trip out to the final turnaround can be best described as challenging. I became an introvert, no more chatting, no more waving. Just internally focused. It wasn’t necessarily painful, but it took a lot of determination to keep pace up. Instead of 8:00 miles, I was now running 8:10s and 8:15s. Which was fine. Heart rate was still in check. But at Mile 18, both hamstrings locked up. Had to walk for a bit. Became concerned for the first time. This was too early to fall apart. Had I gone out too fast? Of course I had. But there are no do-overs at this point. This was the race I had baked, so I had no choice but to eat it. I slowly got it back together, running a miserable 8:37 mile. Miles 19 and 20 were slogs, system starting to shut down. I didn’t feel good at all, I was cramping, and the enjoyment of the day had been replaced with thoughts of walking and even worse. I finished those miles at 8:26 and 8:34. The wheels had come off so quickly, the only solution I could think of was Coke. No benefit at first, but I got a little second wind during Mile 21 and ran with it. When I focused on form and running street light to street light, I could run 8:10s. Plenty good enough. I ran Mile 21 in 8:16. I was back! But then the cramping returned. I found myself consciously calculating, “if I walk three miles, that adds two minutes per mile, which is only six extra minutes, and six minutes is nothing in an Ironman.” When I realized what I was doing, I got pissed. Like, really angry. Lots of self-talking, more than a few bursts of profanity. This was not how this thing was going to go down. I had told way too many people that I was going to race this f’er, so that’s what was going to happen. I just ran with the pain, doing everything to block it out. A couple things happened near Mile 23 as I left the park area and turned back onto Front Street. First, I chugged a bit too much Coke at the aid station and started gagging and dry-heaving, thereby permanently ending the hydration/nutrion portion of the day’s race. Second, with so many spectators lining the streets, my desire to walk was replaced with absolute refusal to walk one step and let people watch me quit. Miles 24 (8:32) and 25 (8:27) just plain sucked. I so wanted this thing to be done. My hamstrings, cavles and forearms (WTF?) were constantly cramping, I was running into the wind, it seemed to be entirely uphill and I had to weave around a lot of 70.3 racers, for whom I had no empathy. But I wasn’t going to stop. Or walk. I got a burst of mental energy when I saw the descent going down to Water Street up ahead. I was a bit scared of its steepness, but I knew I had a half mile to go if I could just get down it in one piece. People who saw me in this stretch said I looked so focused and in control, but that was just acting. I was barely hanging on. Once I got down and onto the wooden riverwalk section, it finally dawned on me that I was going to finish this thing upright. During a couple of short admin out-and backs, I could tell there were no IM racers ahead of or behind me, which was a relief. That relief was instantly replaced by an overflow of emotion when I caught my first glimpse of the line. And I’m not an emotional guy. Nothing can compare to the first Ironman finish, but this one was as satisfying as anything I can recall doing in a long, long time. I was completely and totally drained, both physically and emotionally, but I was abslutely thrilled. I had done exactly what I said I was going to do. I hadn’t thought about my race placement in hours and, at that moment, seriously couldn’t have cared less. My 7:03 finish time was utterly meaningless. And I may have raced this 84.6 like a complete idiot, but I didn’t care. I had raced it.
I didn’t meet my arbitrary 3:30 marathon goal, but who cares. I completed the second half in 1:49, with the same average heart rate of 146, just with a lower average pace of 8:22. Here’s the file: http://tpks.ws/maEJy
Result: 3:33:47, 6th fastest run in AG. Overall time of 7:03, down to 3rd in AG, down to 27th OA
Lots of hugs at the finish, then some food while walking around. My awesome sherpa went and gathered my bike and bags for me while I got my massage. I went back to the hotel to shower and then return to the course. When I arrived, my phone was lit up like a Christmas Tree, with over 50 emails and texts, most of which included the words “3rd place,” “KQ,” and various exclamatory remarks around them, many of them profane. One of the first was from Tim, and he knows what he’s talking about, so I replied to him:
Podium? Holy. Shit. Turns out it was legit. The two guys who finished in front of me are proven sub-9:30 guys (one of whom was a former pro), so I was in very good company. And I was only 13 minutes out of first, one minute out of second. And to prove Tim’s point that every single second counts at the FOP, had the 4th and 5th place guys merely matched my transition times, I would have been 5th. Or, had I given in and walked when I wanted to more than just about anything in the world, I wouldn’t have been close to third. And, on this day, third turned out to be a very good number.
As a result of all of ^^, I got to do something pretty awesome for the first time at an Ironman awards ceremony in what used to be skinny jeans:
Unfortunately, there were only two Kona slots for my AG. I could have agonized over that one minute, but I was beyond content and completely satisfied that I had given 100%. I lived and raced in the same town with the second-place finisher for a long time. After the podium ceremony, he asked whether I’d ever been to Kona to race and, if not, whether I really wanted to go. I gave him a pretty enthusiastic “yes,” but said I wanted to earn it. He gave me that “you came within a minute of me, you did earn it” look and then said he’d been a bunch of times, really didn’t want to go race in the heat again, and would let it slide if I’d take it and go really enjoy it. So . . . that happened. I get to spend my birthday next year on an island, suffering in the best way I can imagine.
I’m so indedbted to my patient family who puts up with this insanity and to the incredible smarts and comraderie of Endurance Nation. When I joined the team three years ago, I kinda hoped this would some day happen. But I wasn’t betting real money on it. I was in total awe of the Kona folks on the team – their speed, smarts and work ethic were simply off the charts. But instead of shunning me because I was operating at a totally different level, they instead welcomed me, mentored me and put me in a position to do what I did last weekend. The coaches tried to sell me on this three-year plan thing, but I kind of assumed it was more of a marketing ploy than a legitimate plan. Wrongo. Besides jacking up my FTP 70 points that first year, I also learned how to race long course. In addition to consistent training and racing, in Year Two I started building serious run durability through frequency, and I also set off on a little side journey to bring my swim to the FOP. By the time I got to this year, I found myself tweaking and fine-tuning at the edges, losing five extra pounds to get into real race shape, and seeking a few extra watts here and there through hydro and aero advantages. All I needed was to find a day where I could put it all together. That day was last Saturday.
My how things can change in a week.
Comments
Only issue I have is with your comment about your operating level. Top notch, super smart, hard working as hell, would be your operating level! As you have learned from the haus, you have educated just as much, if not more. So, thank you from those of us who learn from YOU as well!
Gonna have to buy your bony ass a beer in Boone! Why does everyone weigh less than me????
You had me screaming and yelling at the end of the marathon on my iron tracker app. Funny, I was a Buffalo Wild Wings at the time, so I fit right in.
Congrats man. Well earned.
Something that was going to be a disastered was turned around by you as an opportunity and you grabbed it ! well deserved
So happy for you and gotta agree with Trish, I've following your swimming book since 5 weeks and now my "normal pace" is 1:30/100m VS 1:48/100m before.. now I need to master T1 and T2 like a boss (you)
Enjoy the Big Island and the "aloha spirit"
very happy for you.
all around great work.
thanks for all the personalized great words over the years. really helped towards getting me there.
ok, we will stop shunning you now.
Mike,
Can't express how happy I am to see this happen! Repeating what many have expressed below, we were all waiting and hoping.......and it was just a nail biter for many of us to watch what was evolving on that Saturday as you clocked in on the swim, the bike and the transitions, holding 2nd place AG, then exiting out of the run chute like a man on a mission!
Once you crossed mile 20 and the tracker reported your times, I ran out of popcorn and started getting both nervous and excited so much so that I was painfully waiting for the next update keeping my fingers crossed, channeling the EN mojo and focusing on the painful challenge you must have been managing in those last miles on the run. What a great performance and fantastic achievement that has been long over due IMO!
I very much appreciate the friendship, advice and example you have always taken the time to share with me and the others.
SS
Congratulations on a great day and finding out what laying it all out there means for you. The result and trip are a pretty nice result, but as you said, pouring all of that into the race is a reward in itself. Glad to see it happen for such a hard worker.
Thanks for all the kind words, folks. Means a lot. Much of this week was spent catching up on work, still being a bit overwhelmed by the race and trying to dissect the race (and, thus, learn by it). Perhaps most interesting, a couple of really fast guys I know who raced it were surprised by my bike time and think that's where I "won" my race. One of them indicated that, with a slower swim, they had a difficult time making passes on the interstate in the gusty winds with a rumble strip on the left and cones on the right. Maybe the sling-shooting slowed them instead of helped them. The other thought was, we faced a ton of head/cross winds, which is where deeper wheels generally provide huge benefits. Perhaps being one of the few to go 90/disc was a plus? Finally, as they both pointed out, a 2:33 on a course where 70% of it is into a very strong wind would be well under 2:30 under more normal circumstances. Regardless, I'm so glad that no one told me as I left T2 that I had a 13-minute gap on the eventual 4th place guy and the only one who would seriously challenge me for my spot, because I know I wouldn't have run as hard.
Speaking of, also trying to come to grips with the last 6 miles of the run. I know many of the greats in the sport say that much of the separation at the top depends on one's ability to truly suffer. I thought I had suffered before, but this was new territory. And I really didn't like it, still don't like the thought of it today and am not sure whether/how I'm going to convince myself to do that again. I had agreed going in that I would dig deep, but really wasn't prepared to go out and intentionally hurt myself. I would like to think that had I gone out 3-4 minutes slower over the first 6 miles, I would have negative split the run and finished in the same or faster time. But my history suggests that I don't claw back that time at the end and that this faster up-front approach, followed by a painful hang-on approach at the end, was probably the fastest overall tactic. Who knows. Guess I'll cross that bridge before the next big race.
In the meantime, I'm off to wine country to earn back a few SAUs and to pack on 10 pounds (or, as Behler likes to say, Patrick on 10 pounds).
Thanks again, team.
Great race Mike! I really enjoy reading your comments on everyone's race plans and reports, so it was great to see your personal plan and report. I am so happy for you! Enjoy the wine!
One question for you regarding the run... what did your run training look like in build up? Those miles 18-26 are always tough, but those last 6 sound particularly brutal. Way to gut it out. Depending on what your long runs looked like, I might have some thoughts on how to get ready for running strong 18-26 on the Queen K.
Congrats again on what, as Derrek says above, is surely the first of many KQs!
Thanks for the comments. And I'll gladly take tips from a runner like you. Run training was very consistent and frequent (4-7 days per week) since last December, mostly 20-30/wk thru summer, then building to 46/wk in the peak. This was about 10-12 miles/wk more than usual, so I reduced intensity. No Z4 or 5 stuff, as that tends to lead to injuries for me when coupled with volume. My "speed" work was weekly strides and some tempo efforts. As I got to the race specific stuff in the last four big weeks, I did a lot of running at my targeted 145 HR, top of Zone 2. Long runs were lower HR, usually right near 8:00 pace. As far as LR distance, I went 12, 12, 12, 14, 15, 15, 16, 17 and 20 (18/2 split), with the last one 20 days out. I ran 10 miles 15 days out and 9 miles 9 days out.
I think the misery was the result of aggressive tactics. With the modified bike, I thought I needed a 3:30 just to stay in touch. If I cruised the first 6 like an IM, I thought I would miss out. So I pretty must decided to race it like a slower, standalone marathon and target Z2 HR from the start, then race it from there like a standalone running race. My avg bike HR was only 133, and it only got into the upper 130's toward the end, so 145 was a big disconnect. I also chose not to walk any aid stations, simply because I wouldn't in a standalone mary. But, looking back, had I gone out slower, with AS walks through the first 18-20 miles, I would have surrendered 5+ minutes and I seriously doubt I would have clawed all that time back and gone 3:33. If I pulled this in a 140.6, I would have imploded. Still think my IMNC approach was a little dumb, and I would go out in the 140 range the first 6 in a do-over, but in terms of extracting the very best time I could achieve on that modified day, I think it was pretty close to the best I could do - despite the misery factor it brought. My biggest challenge, now, is how to take any lessons from this one and try to achieve a 3:35~ in a true full.
Mike
One question- did you ever find out why/how you rolled up on the 70.3 athletes on the bike? I thought we were all doing the same course? All those last minute changes certainly didn't get communicated out to us all very well. Totally confusing! Glad that didn't throw you too far off!
"After the podium ceremony, he asked whether I’d ever been to Kona to race and, if not, whether I really wanted to go. I gave him a pretty enthusiastic “yes,” but said I wanted to earn it. He gave me that “you came within a minute of me, you did earn it” look and then said he’d been a bunch of times, really didn’t want to go race in the heat again, and would let it slide if I’d take it and go really enjoy it."
I love it! Luck is the intersection of preparation and opportunity, and it sure came through for you. That's why I wish folks "Good Luck" before a race...cause you just never know. And passing down a Kona slot to some one deserving like you, is a great feeling in itself.
Thanks for the extensive, incisive, and insightful report. It's great to see it all come together, not just on one day, in one race, but in the multi-year, career scheme of things. "You've only just begun."
Hey Mike - Wanted to get back to you after having gone through your run power file. Honestly, the data looks great. You were able to keep a high cadence throughout, HR was super consistent and the pace drop wasn't huge. I'm of the mindset that my pace is always going to drop a bit from mile 16-25 (usually the finish line can get you back on track for that last mile). At that point in the race, it's less about aerobic ability and more about leg strength. (Hence, your cramps, which I think had to do with serious muscle fatigue.)
Given the muscle fatigue at the end of an IM, I'll actually push the first 10 miles a bit more than I would in an open marathon. I know that late in the race I'll have trouble getting my HR up since I just won't have the leg strength to do so, so I push a bit when I can. Not necessarily recommending that, but it's worked for me. (Since I usually come off the bike down a bit in my AG, pushing it early also helps catch me up to the leaders. Being able to see them does a lot for me mentally.)
So, IMO to avoid a cramp/sufferfest during that back half of the mary, you want to build leg strength in training. Something that’s helped me develop that strength is incorporating hills towards the back half of my long training runs 5-7 weeks out from the race. This does a lot for me — it simulates that fatigue in the legs that sets in around mile 16, it helps me work on keeping a high cadence, and it pushes me mentally (since it’s f’ing brutal to climb a hill at mile 16 of a training run).
Two of my favorite workouts for this:
- 6 Weeks Out.. I think the Advance Plan has a 2hr run in there. I’d honestly bump that to 2.5hrs if you’re comfortable doing so. I do a big chunk of this at 10” faster than race pace. I like to do a two loop run where the loop finishes with either a long gradual climb or a couple rollers. (You can do this on a treadmill if needed.) Ideally you’re doing a climb or climbs around mile 8 and then again around mile 16. In doing so, you only let your pace go down slightly as you climb and then get back the leg speed as you go faster than race pace on the gradual decline.
5 Weeks Out… I do a metric Ironman. 2.4k swim, 112k ride, 26k run. This is also great a simulating the fatigue in the legs on the run. It typically ends up being my hardest wko of the year, so not for the faint of heart! (I don’t think the swim part isn’t as important. I’ve also done a 4k swim the day prior and then the 112k ride and 26k run as a brick.) I’ll do the ride at the top end of IM watts range and then will run targeting IM pace while also looking at HR. Incorporating hills on this run is big. My go-to is 3 loops with a hill somewhere in each loop (helps with grabbing fluid/fuel each loop too). I’ll do the first loop at lower end of IM HR range, and then the last two at higher end.Blog: http://www.lackofhustle.com
Strava: https://www.strava.com/athletes/2393839
2017 Races: Puerto Rico 70.3, Oceanside 70.3, Chattanooga 70.3, Eagleman 70.3, Worlds 70.3 (hopefully
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F'n gold! Thanks so much. Always looking for those things that can enhance training 5%, and this is exactly the kind of stuff I love. I think the cramping was mostly due to just going out too hard. Which I did intentionally. But the results make me think that the approach, while painfull, is fast. Assuming you've got the fitness. I felt a little better when I read the race report of the guy who won the race - his last 6 miles sounded eerily similar, just a lot faster. http://www.trianglemultisport-insideoutsportsteam.org/ironman-north-carolina/
Thanks again.
Mike
@Mike - For sure! Mile 18 on always sucks when you're pushing hard. No surprise that the winner started to really suffer from then onward. The beauty of the hard training with the hills is that you start to look forward to that part of the race. (Yes, it's still terrifying, but that's why we do this right?) You know you've prepared for it and it's where get to see how you'll stack up when shit gets real.
My close friend, pro Justin Daerr, says that when he hits that really brutal part of the run, he makes a promise to himself. If he sticks to his pace and fights through the pain, he can retire if he wants to after crossing the finish line. When we both raced IMMT last year, I saw him out on the run and actually got a firsthand glimpse of how deep pros like him go into themselves and suffer across those last miles of an Ironman. He was holding off Lionel Sanders at the time and ended up taking 2nd Place overall to Rapp. After seeing that, I've since realized how much more I have to give in comparison. JD doesn't have the open marathon speed that many of the pros have, yet is often able to run faster IM marathons. He attributes that to being able to mentally dig a little deeper in those instances. I try to keep that in mind when I hit those rough patches.
And, your post-IMNC concern with being able to suffer to that degree again is totally normal. You only have so many times you can do this across a year. Tim Reed recently put up a blog post saying that he can only 'go to the well' twice a year at most. Justin says the same. By the time Kona rolls around next year, you'll be itching to put your training on display and go to the well once more.
@Clark - Thanks! Glad you found it helpful. Best of luck with your training.
Blog: www.lackofhustle.com Strava: www.strava.com/athletes/2393839
2017 Races: Puerto Rico 70.3, Oceanside 70.3, Chattanooga 70.3, Eagleman 70.3, Worlds 70.3 (hopefully
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I rejoined EN about a month ago and wanted to follow up on your swimming expertise. 49' is crazy. If I remember correctly, you had an epic post about your swim workouts/tips about 1-2yrs ago. It was tremendously helpful at the time and I need to look up again. But someone mentioned "your book" in this thread and I'm wondering if you took it to the next level or if that was just figuratively speaking...
Thanks for the kind words. No real book from this quasi-swimmer. That was just a reference to the ebook Coach P and I put together (in the wiki) for those who want to improve their swim, for one reason or another. In the end, though, it's still about form and technique before fitness. And my 49-minute swim had some current assist the second half, probably 5-10 minutes of net benefit to most, so definitely no better than :55 on a "regular" swim course.
MR