Whistler

A beleaguered runner crossed the threshold of the red and black Ironman banner as hundreds of endurance fans and earlier finishers yelled cheers of collective achievement. The announcer let the world know who the worlds' most recent Ironman finisher was as his voice was projected throughout this small valley in the Fitzsimmons Range. Over a mile away, I was enjoying a few moments of soft evening sunlight while two pairs of smoked sausage finished cooking over the propane grill. I was nearly equally impressed with the longevity of the MC's voice as I was with all the athletes that stuck to their task for many hours after Kinsey and I had finished the same distances.

* * *

Peering over a large crowd at the shoreline, I watched the first professional female emerge from Alta Lake and glide into the changing tents after her 2.4 mile swim. A long line of athletes eventually followed before I finally set about starting my warm ups, but not before many minutes were burned standing in long port-a-potty lines. The 140.6 athletes started two hours before the rest of us would begin our journey of half the length. Due to logistics considerations, I'm assuming, we had to wait around the starting area for that full duration. Mentally, I had been ready to start this thing over 24 hours ago. 

I've been listening to more and more podcasts and audio books lately on the various topics of my sport. It's curious how, even in an hours' worth of playback that's full of all manner of helpful tips, often we only walk away remembering a single line of text. Sometimes, though, it's all you need. Last week, a line really stood out for me: "positivity is a performance enhancer." I've gained more and more appreciation for the role your head plays in races like this, and not just during the 4.5 hours of the racing itself. For at least 24 hours prior to the gun, I made it a point to simply smile (usually just to myself) and take a moment of gratitude that I get to race through the Olympic Village in Whistler, BC, that I get to take this whole summer to pursue one of my greatest passions, that I get to do it all with the one I love. 

The wind picked up some speed since the full Ironman swimmers vacated the lake. Though the waves looked small from the grassy shore, they seemed to gain a considerable amount of girth as soon as you tried to plow your head through them. In lieu of the traditional "wave" starts, where an entire age group starts in the water at the same time, we were allowed a rolling start where we would walk single-file across a timing mat that recorded your time as soon and you entered the water instead of lumping it with the group. I positioned myself about two dozen swimmers back so I'd have some feet to chase over the next 2000 yards. Into the headwind, it was often laborious to try and sight the next buoy. Half the time, all I'd see was another wave about to lap over my head. Fortunately, the shore wasn't too far away and we were swimming parallel to it, making sighting a little easier. I overtook about four swimmers in the first 10 minutes, lifting my energies a bit, instilling some confidence for the next four hours. 

After rounding the first of three turning buoys, sighting became even more difficult, now that the sun had popped over Blackcomb Peak, staring us directly in the goggles. I made an effort to simply follow the swimmer in front of me and hope they knew where they were going.

Turn buoy number two. I swung a bit wide before cutting in to start the return leg. Another swimmer holding a tighter line was over my right shoulder. Before I knew how close I was, I got a face full of heel and let out a water-muffled "uff." My right lens filled half way with water; my nose, notorious for it's frequent bleeding episodes, was suddenly throbbing. Sensations from the mild fatigue building in my shoulders was drowned out by the sudden pain in my face. There was no other choice than to keep moving. For a moment, I thought about rolling to my back to let the water out before moving on...no, that would only cost me unnecessary time. I kept my head down, my arms high, and my feet kicking.

The final turn buoy. We took a left and headed back to shore. By now, the wind was at its peak, it seemed, and any time you turned to breathe to the left, you could expect a mouth full of lake as the small swells were building. I could see the transition banner, but it seemed to take forever to get there. I got boxed in between two other swimmers and passing would have been a waste of energy. By now, I was practically punching my fists into the water in order to keep a straight line with all this cross wind. I spotted the tip of an algae plant extending from the lake bed; we were close. The bottom of the lake drew near faster and faster until I was able to stand up, jog to the wetsuit strippers, and execute my transition. 

* * * 

The bike course was strewn with fellow athletes doing the full distance on roughly the same course. I was passing riders at an ever increasing rate, paying as much attention to my power numbers as I was the other racers. I don't remember if it was a spectator shouting at me or just a general hunch I had, but I thought it may have been possible that I was the 70.3 race leader. 

My semi-textured tires absorbed pothole after pothole as I weaved around the Sea to Sky Highway en route to Pemberton. The descent toward the second turn around was more extreme than I anticipated. With my chin scratching my aero extensions in an attempt to avoid as much air resistance as possible, I ended up taking a few risks down these surprisingly fast and twisty corners. I topped out at over 53 miles an hour before finally making it to the bottom, only to pedal right back up. 

* * *

"The zone" is a mental state many athletes have experienced. While definitions online and in books abound, about all the neurotransmitters your brain releases during periods of intense focus and exertion that make hard efforts feel like nothing, that warp your sense of time and space, there are really few words you can use to truly describe the feeling.  

* * *

Any thoughts about that final, heroic, climb out of Pemberton were gone. Those extraordinarily fleeting moments of the glory of being race leader were now, inexplicably, in the past. (After the second turnaround, the roads were free of 140.6 athletes and at that point I had the road to myself and knew I was out front). The present was now a game of pacing and body temperature management. 
I've learned so much about how to race 70.3's this season; between the 2015 and 2016 seasons, I'd only raced that distance a total of three times. With still another race to go, I'd already matched that number since early June. My fine tuning had come down to preparation for the run, where my races have been made or broken. 

I allowed three or four runners to cruise on by me as I kept reminding myself to stick to the plan. Forcing gel after gel down my neck every twenty minutes, my pace ended up being relatively even considering the elevation. In the back of my mind, I kept remembering all those other breakdowns I've had in past races and was trying to run conservatively to avoid the crash. 

A white and blue floatplane fired up its engine, preparing to sail above Green Lake, probably so the pilot could get a better view of the race. Running back off the boardwalk for the second time today, the 10 mile out n' back portion of the run was rapidly getting closer to the finish line. About this time in the race, I expect to be running on fumes, hoping that nearby competitors were as eroded away as I was. With 5k left, this was not the case today. Lighting up the afterburners, my legs could still respond. My new nutrition strategy worked. I'd managed to take in nearly 1400 calories over four hours and couldn't stomach another gel or sip of warm UCAN. The effort was hurting but it wasn't impossible. Those runners that passed me on the loop to Lost Lake six or seven miles ago were now back in sight. Giant red bull's eyes lit up their backs, at least in my mind's eye. As soon as I brushed shoulders with them, I surged, attempting to make it look like I was running faster than I really was, discouraging any potential counter attacks. With 1k to go, I managed to catch one last runner, clawing my way back up to fourth position. 

Not long after my timing chip crossed the mat, I started wondering if I couldn't have taken a few more risks earlier on with my pace. While the run wasn't terribly slow, and I wasn't reduced to walking at all this time, I can't help but think that there's a lot more potential there. The thought was fleeting, though, as my attention turned to the fact that I just won my age group for the first time in an Ironman event and that I had smoked sausages waiting for me back at the condo.

Comments

Popular Posts