IRONMAN OCEANSIDE 2012 - Bart Stevens
RACE REPORT: IRONMAN OCEANSIDE 2012
Author: Bart Stevens
RACE: IRONMAN 70.3 Oceanside
Location: Oceanside, CA, USA
Date: March 31, 2012
REPORT CARD (From 1-5)
Weather: 4
The weather played the prominent role in my race, both in terms of the successes and more importantly, the failures. It drizzled virtually the entire race, from about 6 AM until about 1PM. And the sun only peeked out at around 2 PM, once most competitors had finished. This was definitely advantageous from the perspective that it never really got close to hot all day- and this is always a positive.
I had secret aspirations of a gorgeous Southern California day, but to be fair it could have been worse. The run in particular benefitted from mild temperatures that allowed me to maintain my heart rate cap at 150 bps, my defined threshold. Perhaps the only disadvantage of the weather on my run was that my strategy was compromised in that I simply took it too easy for too long in order to protect myself from a premature bonk.
Specifically, I had plans to complete the first half of the run at an Endurance (Z2) pace, and then kick it up to Tempo (Z3) for the second half, effectively performing my first negative split. Had I known how the day would ultimately play out, I would probably have chosen to do only the first three miles at Endurance, followed by six at Tempo and then crush the final four at a flat-out Z4 sprint. I felt that good and finished that strong.
The conservative approach that might have been appropriate in a higher temperature environment caused me to leave too much on the table. I probably could have taken it to another gear- and sooner- and improved on my run by a few minutes. But running a strong, measured half-marathon and achieving a negative split was one of my three primary goals for the day, so I finished pleased with the effort- if only slightly disappointed with the lost effort I left on the course. But that’s your typical crazy, inexperienced triathlete mentality for you though, and I recognize that.
Every race, I’ll learn more about myself and eventually hack into the perfect RPE (rate of perceived exertion) for the given distance. It’s a trial-and-error thing, and this is my first race training with power and pace as a member of Endurance Nation, so it’s reasonable to expect some miscalculation as I approach a better understanding of my own physiology. At the end of a hard season, this may end up being the correct strategy.
For all the advantages the weather provided on the run, it spelled at least as much trouble on the bike. The incessant rain that fell virtually all morning completely sabotaged my ride and cost me at least 15 minutes. Here’s why: I had two nasty bike falls during the previous two taper weeks (only I could break myself during a taper. Twice. Please don’t tell mom), and the second one in particular did serious damage to my left side, including a slight hip twinge and some impressive road rash up my thigh and forearm. I initially feared that I might actually have to scratch the race altogether.
This second fall the weekend prior was the result of a fast decline on a slick road under fairly similar conditions, where the constant drizzle had removed just enough friction to bring my back tire around, flip me over and frankly, scare the bejeezus out of me. As a result, I was already riding snake-bit going into the race, so to then experience an identical rain pattern on some gnarly hills through Camp Pendleton only exacerbated the situation, causing me to approach some of the major descents at 10-15 mph that I might have taken as high as 30+ mph only a couple weeks before.
Not only did this cost me dearly on my overall ride time (3:04 vs. a goal of 2:40), but it caused me to burn more matches than I had to spare in order to then ascend up the next hill without much momentum. I believe that this- along with the winds- contributed toward my entrance into T2 about 30 minutes behind schedule, upset and with legs far more fatigued than I had hoped for. But it is what it is, life is often unfair, sometimes you’re the windshield and sometimes you’re the bug. Today would not be a PR.
The weather conspiracy against me produced a ride far more cautious than I would have normally considered. In fact, many of the descents were reasonably tight turns and I still believe that had I raced as aggressively as I wanted to, I would have eventually found myself wrapped around a guard rail. So I have no regrets whatsoever. But I digress. So the weather was about as bad as it could be in Southern California. That is to say it was still better than a good day in a lot of other places.
Cost: 3
Oceanside is an Ironman-sanctioned event, and so it should come as no surprise that “the pay to play” is not insignificant: $300. That’s on the high-end of the 70.3 series, primarily attributable to the fact that well, frankly, they can. This race is always an early sell out and -oh, by the way- it’s also located in California so you’re going to pay, and pay dearly. Consider this initial “cover charge” an appropriate harbinger for the eventual financial molestation that you will no doubt experience once you arrive. If you’re looking for an affordable Ironman 70.3, try Boise.
It’s worth acknowledging for all those living in caves and tent cities that all products and services in the state of California are way out of control. For one, Gas is well over $4, and you’re going to be doing a lot of driving. And there’s tollways galore, so have change. I may have even run one on the way to T2. I spent my first day back submitting payment for all the ones I ran after making a turn and finding myself face-to-face with an empty toll booth demanding $2.50 in quarters. Right, like I carry that kind of change around in public.
Lodging is also an enjoyable beat down, as the Ironman tends to drive up beds over this entire beach city and its neighboring communities. And triathletes are only too willing to overpay for just about everything, so there are few deals to be found. Unless you want to commute from Tijuana. Throw in the fact that the majority of racers are Californians with inflated incomes and you have the perfect storm for full-on gouging.
I was fortunate enough to secure lodging with friends, but it would have been wonderful to be able to roll out of bed and peddle down to the start. Instead, I had to wake about an hour earlier, run some tolls, and haul butt to get down to race start with enough time. Someday I’ll stay close enough to actually podium I’m sure.
I don’t think I could give an Ironman a cost-score above three and look myself in the mirror. But yet, I keep coming back. Addictions are funny that way. It’s God’s way of confirming you really are certifiably insane. Or insecure. Or both.
Organization: 5
This section seems the appropriate place to mention one of the key neg's (negatives) that I fought with all day. My age-group, Men 30-34 was the last of 23 waves. This is the second consecutive Ironman race where I have been in the last group. It sucks. It pretty much means your day is gonna be just a little bit crappier than it should have been.
My biggest weakness in the sport is psychological. I'm just mentally weak, I'm already going on no sleep because I have a real job and a (pseudo) normal life, and I'm just an agitated person in general because the country is going to hell. So to then find out that I'm going to be starting a week after the other age groups pisses me off. I know it's just (bad) luck of the draw, and even acknowledging it is whining. But that doesn't change the fact that it blows. Being in the last wave is the kiss of death.
The pro swim started at 6:40. Ours started at 7:50. That's a ridiculous amount of time to be sitting around. You've been up since 4 AM, you're starting to tire, the adrenaline is wearing off and the fatigue is starting the set in. And you haven't even started. You develop nerves and you can't help thinking about all the swimmers who have already peed in the water. By the time you get out of the ocean, most of the professionals are already on their run, so you don't get to see any of that.
And that hour has huge ramifactions later in the race. The coastal winds pick up every hour of the race- a la Kona- and by the time you turn back into town around mile 40, what was a tailwind for the pros is a headwind for us, and it's demoralizing to be battling the wind going 12 mph when an hour earlier you could have been doing 18. So in my estimation, starting an hour late costs you at least 20-30 min, which is exactly how far off my goal I was. If I start at 7, I finish at 12:15, if I start at 8, I finish at 2 pm, so it's just a longer day, and you only have so much stamina.
Plus, the aid stations start to run out of stuff (coke, etc), the ice water is now warm, the sponges turn brown and gross, and most of the spectators have left. It's a lonely place, so you're stuck with your age group and a bunch of the "less competitive" folks from the earlier waves.
For someone as weak as me, it's tough to focus on your strategy, and avoid the temptation to play catch-up. I cannot afford a therapist, and I'm not fast enough to race through it, so I needed to put this down in print. If you're the last wave group, you might consider going home. Twice in a row, you should probably retire young. Just kidding. But if it happens again, I'm writing a letter. But I digress...
Like all Ironman races, the registration process is online through Active.com, which has the most efficient process I’ve seen. I checked in to packet pickup early the Thursday before the Saturday race to avoid the crowds. The process was extremely quick, taking all of five minutes to navigate the succession of liability waivers, race packets, timing chips and shirts. I sold some blood and an unborn-child to the city of San Clemente.
My primary annoyance is one many Ironman racers are familiar with, and that’s the requirement that you sit through a 20-minute safety video before being released to get your event shirt on the other side of the expo.
Upon discovering that, I thought, “Screw this. Safety is for squares. I’m out of here…” and basically just escaped back through the front door and just walked over to the shirt tent by myself. Surprisingly, the video requirement is not strictly enforced, so there’s no code word or ticket you have to redeem to get the shirt. You just have to be wicked smart. Or as smart as someone who’d skip a mandatory safety video can be.
What I found so humorous and also so typical-Ironman is that they require you to walk through two expo areas to get your shirt. It’s basically the same model as Whole Foods where they force you through the produce section maze before you can get to the rest of the store.
Whatever. We’re OCD triathletes. We practically race for the gear, so you really don’t need to trick us to walk through the expo. We’ll do it anyhow. We already know that we want- correction, need- the adjustable aerobar hydration bottle straw holder with the replaceable screw top and customizable color scheme to match our race kit. But all kidding aside, the expo was pretty good. It didn’t have a lot of unrelated and random vendors selling hot tubs and time shares like some other race events I’ve attended this year. Virtually everybody there is legit. It’s southern California, so you’ve got all the big players already there.
I attended an interesting pre-race interview forum, which featured swim-phenom (and eventual winner, Andy Potts), Matty Reed, triathlon bad-girl Heather Jackson, and Linsey Corbin. I enjoyed the interviews immensely- game on.
Ironman is also pretty smart with the transition set up process as well. First, they let you set up your T2 (bike-run) gear the day before, saving you the hassle of having to do it the morning of the race. This is especially valuable in a two transition race like this one, where T1 and T2 are about a mile apart.
In addition, they also utilize their own three-bag system to minimize transition clutter. You have to have all of your T1 and T2 gear inside your bag and sealed. Plus you get the dry clothing bag. The advantage is that there isn’t stuff strewn all over the place and people hogging their space and yours. If it doesn’t fit inside the bag, it disappears. And I think that’s a superior model for transitions.
Post-race organization is standard Ironman and uneventful. You cross the finish line under the fancy awning, you get your medal, they remove your chip and strap, toss a water bottle in your hand, and shoot you into the food area. And let me tell you, the food area was the real deal. Everybody knows I like a good buffet, and there was plethora of options to satisfy.
I ate about six slices of pizza and drank three chocolate milks. I would have drank more but the milk lady started looking at me like I stole something, and I was probably spilling it down my shirt at that point, so I just backed away slowly, vowing to return later if there was time. I also ate some cookies and a banana, but they had a whole spread to choose from, including chips, fruit and salty snacks.
Support: 5
Ironman usually has great course support, and this race was no different- with only one caveat. The run course was of the out-and-back variety along a beach path. So you basically ran to the end of the street and back twice, with cones separating the two sides. This model diminishes the need for a lot of aid stations because race organizers can effectively “double up” on people and resources. They can have aid stations directly across the street from each other with different hydration and food options.
In addition, they can support those stations much easier than one long string of stations strung out over a single corresponding distance. (This also has the added benefit of allowing racers to “check out” other racers going in the opposite direction, which is a pleasant and useful diversion from the pain. You can high-five your buddies and throw gang signs at your enemies. I spent several miles constructing an H, C, M and S with just ten fingers.)
That was the good part. The even better part, and the most unusual support feature of this race, involved the primary draw for me, that being the bike course traversing through Camp Pendleton, which serves as the prime amphibious training base for the United States Marine Corps. Camp Pendleton is off-limits to civilians and remains the last major undeveloped portion of the Southern California coastline, save for a few small state parks. The roads, terrain and scenery are incredible.
When you cut through the main population areas of the base, you see Marines at every intersection and in front of every building. There are teenagers hoisting assault rifles everywhere. It reminded me of Guantanamo Bay from the movie A Few Good Men. And just a few weeks prior, the base had served as the location for the horrendous music video of Katy Perry's equally horrendous single, Part of Me:
http://www.vevo.com/watch/katy-perr...CA31200008
Don’t ask me how I know that, I just do. And I want those four minutes of my life back, too. Deal with it.
The point is that there was minimal aid/fan support to my recollection on the bike course because of this restriction, except for a couple aid stations outside the park and a couple folks located at the base of some of the major hills, warning you to slow down. Which was useful, because some of the turns were tight and anything over 30 mph would certainly separate you from your bike in short order.
All in all, I found the support to be suitable for the half-Iron distance. A good triathlete is like a good Boy Scout, and brings everything he needs for his journey on his person. Extra water picked up on the bike course should be considered a luxury, and run nutrition beyond water and coke should usually be carried, or avoided at all costs. (No offense to Powerbar, but PERFORM has to be the nastiest substance in the sport.) I never felt unsafe or neglected while racing, which is the sign of a good race plan.
Swag: 4
You may be surprised to learn that I thought the shirt was not terrible. It’s your basic tech-T. It’s not excessively creative or cheesy- I’ve finally decided that less is more when it comes to apparel. And the design is small and unobtrusive. The shirt is white, which is always a safe call. And there are no sponsor logos, which is classy.
It’s a shirt that says “I was here” and that’s enough for me. And it tells me that someone actually put some thought into the shirts- kudos to the designers. Even the requisite backpack was attractive. This year’s bag design is more rugged, has some extra zippers and pouches, and sports a cool color scheme. You know how I love zippers and pouches.
Beyond that, swag was very, very light. I believe the bag included a small thermal coffee mug, a sample of Powerbar’s energy gel and a few other random items. I don’t believe I kept any of it- I’ve become quite a swag snob, as you know. You get the commemorative race cap at the finish, and it’s not terrible either. Although I won’t wear it out socially, I might on a run. The race color scheme is baby blue and yellow on a white background, so there’s only so much you can do with that.
Competition: 5
I feel quite confident in acknowledging that the level of competition at Ironman California 2012 was extremely high. I’ve ridden in just enough rodeos by now to instinctively feel whether a given field is weak or strong. And this was certainly the latter. Can I prove it?
Well, for one it’s a World Triathlon Corporation event, still the most powerful and influential “series” in the country and the one that will continue to attract the best talent in the world. If you can give me another organizer that even comes close, I’m all ears.
In addition, competing in and completing the 70.3 (“half-iron”) distance is still considered a major life accomplishment for many athletes, yielding only to the full Ironman (140.6 miles) and Ultras in terms of difficulty and prestige. So it should come as no surprise that this race was destined to be competitive.
Lest I also fail to reiterate that this race was, indeed, in California- birthplace of triathlon and arguably the epicenter of fitness in the United States. While it may be true that Boulder, CO remains the home base for many elite triathletes, few would debate California’s claim as one of the endurance racing capitals of the country, behind only Texas and Florida.
And unlike our fair state- which has four- count ‘em, four- Ironman races, Ironman California is one of only two sanctioned races (the other being Vineman in July) in the state and therefore one of the few opportunities for locals to earn their M-dot. To me, these three factors virtually guarantee that the race will provide a suitable challenge to any triathlete looking to measure themselves against their peers.
And lastly is the anecdotal, less-quantifiable evidence I observed on that day from a field of 2900 participants that knew what they were doing and how to do it. Very little violence in the water demonstrated a swim contingent that was in general swimming in one direction, a rarity in smaller races.
Transitions were fast and efficient, with very few freak-outs to be seen. The collective value of the machines spinning out of T1 also confirmed to me that these were not your casual riders- carbon, carbon, carbon was the word of the day, with custom race kits and enough Zipp to open a factory outlet.
Bikers rode in coordinated packs that were impressively tight without drafting. They knew and followed proper passing etiquette and race technique. And almost to a racer, all were working hard- very hard- and I saw virtually no one who appeared to be simply in it for the fun of it. These people raced for a purpose.
The run course lacked the fuel belts and camelbaks more commonly seen in the less competitive races, and I saw no child seats strapped to the back of any bikes. These are the little things that demonstrate to me a field of folks who know themselves inside and out: their heart rate, their pace, their nutrition intake and replacement needs, and most importantly, their internal conversation. You can tell a lot about the competition by how few people are socializing on the course.
All this to say that Ironman California has some smart, fast racers. Short of the World and National Championships at the full and half distance, I can think of very few events with a field of age-groupers as stacked as this.
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