Race day

Woke up at 4:30.  I didn't have much to do.  The race was so organized leading up to the start that it is almost impossible to forget something.  I ate a granola bar, a yogurt and had a half cup of coffee almost immediately upon waking up. I got body marked and hung out with the the Joop Troop.  I also put on an initial layer of sunscreen.  Not much to do except marvel at the fans. Just to watch the swim start people were PACKED in against the sea wall.  You cant even see individual swimmers in the water.  Only the ridiculous churn they create when the canon starts the most ridiculous race ever.

The Pros started at 6:30. At about 6:35 I moved towards the water.  That took about 10 minutes as there was a mass of people all waiting to get in.  I warmed up quickly and moved to the front of the starting group.  Unlike in Arizona, or any other race I have done, this was NOT an easy task.  After Arizona, my brother said that he assumed I was in the front row for the start (which I was) but upon thinking that, he also realized that everyone doing the race was most assuredly also Type-A and therefore maybe everyone had the same objective.  In Kona, while not everyone has the same objective, the swim start was completely different from Arizona.  Here, everyone actually is a good swimmer.  Everyone does want to be in the front.  It was the equivalent of being in a contested water polo game.  Legs kicking each other, holding yourself above the water, treading with no room to do so, a girl next to me gets pulled under and freaks out, jockeying for position with about 50 paddle boarders lined up in front of you so you can’t move past the start line.  Kick, scrape, pull, push, tread water vigorously for ten minutes.  Kick scrape, keep your head up.  I am in the very front.  Until the cannon BOOMs at exactly 7am with absolutely no warning to athletes or paddle boarders.  There isn’t a second to think about the most amazing noise you have ever heard.  There is no time to think about the beautiful fish swimming below or the cameramen under water.  Or the helicopter camera you think you hear above.  Or the camera on a moving boom on the side of the pier.  No.  You just lunge forward and start sprinting as hard as you can.  But you cant.  Because there are paddle boarders blocking your way.  They are trying to turn their boards adjacent to the start line to get out of the way but cant because all the Type-A personalities/swimmers want over them before they have a chance.  It is an all out fight.  Elbow to the head, goggle crooked.  Keep sprinting.  Soon I will be in the clear.  Keep pumping.  Heart rate at 160 immediately.  Just clear out.  Sprint.  Harder.  Clear out.  You are faster then these people.  I have swam about 1 yard.  140.6 miles to go.  Kona just started.

Swim 59:17, 173rd overall, 24th in AG

Finally I have to stop and adjust my goggles.  I suddenly realize that they don’t just call this the world championships for the fun of it.  They do it because everyone here is the best.  I am no longer in the kiddie pool.  Most of these people are faster then me.  Realize it. Move on. Swim. The entire swim, I was surrounded by people.  Jockeying for position, trying to draft but never able to maintain on position for very long.  There was never a moment when I was swimming free.  58 minutes later I was nearing the shore and while the crowd had finally thinned a little bit, I was STILL side by side with at least 10 other swimmers.  The swim largely takes place in an inlet created by a pier.  It is an out-and-back long, skinny rectangle.  Overall the water was calm for ocean water. There were certainly some swells and I swallowed a lot of ocean water (the absolute best part of the bike was when all the sea water cleared from my sinuses in several huge gushes out my nose).  This isn’t like swimming in a lake.  But there is also not 4 foot white caps to contend with.  I took my time getting out of the water and jogging up the steps to avoid any lightheadedness or cramping.  Into transition I tried to grab a hose to rinse off some of the salt water but missed.

T1 2:13

T1 was quick.  Nothing to do here.  Just put on my race number in the changing tent, and ran out to my bike.  Made it quickly through and onto the 112mi bike course.  Shoes already in bike pedals as the run through transition is long.

Bike

5:06:49, 21.9 mph, 203rd overall, 46th AG (Not for the bike itself, but place after completion of the swim, T1, bike)

The myth of the Kona bike course.  You are scared before you even get going.  You know you are up for a huge challenge here.  But wait.  I looked at the elevation charts. It looks like its mostly rolling hills or flat.  This should work to my advantage.  First 40 miles:  Don’t push it too hard.  You have huge winds ahead once you clear the volcanoes.  There are certainly heavy crosswinds but at least its not a headwind I kept telling myself.  I am keeping right at my goal pace, around 23miles and hour.  Mile 50.  Absolutely everything changes.  Now you have a headwind of (guessing here) 20mph.  Oh. And then there are crosswind gusts of up to 60 mph.  I kept telling myself before the race that everything you hear, all the hype, is just that - people talking up the course. Hurumpf.  Not the case.  I would watch amazing athletes in front of me get blown across a full lane of highway before tilting their bike back into the crosswind to navigate back to the right hand side of the road.  Repeat.  Repeat.  Oh look, I am going 12mph.  I am in my small chain ring at certain points just to keep my cadence high enough.  From mile 50 it is a 10 mile ride uphill to the bike turnaround point in Hawi.  It is all into the wind, uphill with huge crosswind gusts.  Then, you turnaround and head back on the same road and you are absolutely FLYING.  For 10 miles, to mile 70, there are moments when, even in the hardest gear, you cannot keep pedaling fast enough to keep up with the wind.  But good news:  The cross winds don’t stop.  So now you get blown around at 37 mph instead of 12.  Finally back at mile 70, you are bilking like a human again.  But you are tired.  And the crosswind is still there, albeit no longer gusting or with the same strength.  Throughout the bike, I would take a water (full water bottle) at every aid station and drink as much of it as I could.  I would also pour a water bottle over my head, kidneys and chest.  On my bike, I carried 2 water bottles.  One had Accelerade (4 scops) and the other had Perpetuem (4 scoops).  I drank these consistently throughout the entire course.  I also had a gel flask which I did not use and Endurolytes (electrolyte pills) of which I took 2 at about mile 90.  (I should have started taking these earlier.)  By about mile 75, my feet were killing me and my undercarriage was screaming at me to get off the bike. The run couldn’t start soon enough.  I could see my arms starting to get very red.  Not a concern though.  Sunburn I was willing to accept.  Long story short:  The myth of the Kona bike course is real.  That is not a fun ride.  Time Check:  Behind plan on both the swim and the bike but not by so much that I cant make up for it on the run.  Disappointed but manageable. 

T2: 2:58

The transitions were the best part of my day.  No real issues; both went smoothly.  The best part was my "guide" who helped me put on more sunscreen but also put a cold towel on my head.  As I was leaving, he squeezed it and cool water dripped through my hair.  I realized how hot my body felt.

Run

3:34:58, 8:12 pace, 289 Overall, 64 in AG (Not for the run itself, but place after completion of the swim, bike and run)

First mile felt good.  Anything was better then the pain from the bike.  Getting out of the bike shoes and into sneakers may have been the best part.  First mile was about 6:20.  Not really sure about any of my splits after that - except that they got a lot slower.  By Mile 3 I was hurting.  I was mentally convinced at that point that I was not going to be able to finish the run and I was going to have to walk at least 20 miles.  I could feel the burn in my quads with every step I took.  And I am only at mile 3.  What the hell is going on.  It isnt suppose to hurt this bad yet.  This wasn’t the normal pain that you know will fade once your body loosens up from the bike ride.  This was bad soreness.  By mile 8 I was praying for a leg cramp just so I could walk for a bit.  Mentally, I was already giving up on my original goals.  My goals shifted about 6 times during the run.  I was thinking I could walk the rest of the course and try and break 12 hours.  There was no way i wasnt crossing that finish like.  I was getting that finisher t shirt. But at this point I really didnt care how I finished.  Somehow, as mentally defeated as I felt, I kept running.  I kept thinking about all the people back at home following the race online.  I couldn’t let them down, couldn’t let them see how slow I actually felt I was going.  One foot in front of the other.  Keep moving forward.  Avg pace for the first 5 miles was 7:10.  Wow.  Felt like I was running 9 min miles. Not too bad.  Try and slow down.  Maybe that will help you feel better.  Even that doesn’t work.  I see my group of fans at mile 9.  Thank god.  A brief mental respite.  I tell them, “I am not feeling good. Today isn’t my day.”  After passing them comes the biggest hill of the day up to the Queen K.  I make it halfway but then decide to walk the second half to give myself a rest.  That felt real nice. But time to start running again.  The trip on the Queen K to the Natural Energy Lab felt like it would never end (I think it was 6.5 miles in all). Gentle rolling hills sloped generally up meant I would have a moderate decline on the way home. After mile 10 I walked every aid station.  At that point I was cramping horribly.  At least once every mile I would have to stop to stretch out my left hamstring.  Other parts cramped throughout the run, but the left hamstring was the only thing that gave me consistent trouble.  I would take a step forward and it would go completely stiff so I would have to waddle a bit before even being able to stop to stretch it out. Finally, the Natural Energy Lab.  Good news: its the hottest part of the day.  Temperatures must have been over 100 degrees there. I picked up my special needs bag, but didn’t really need anything.  I took out the Oreos for emergency use, eventually ate one but it tasted horrible, so never finished them. I did consume 1.5 flasks of hammer gel and about 10 endurolytes over the course of the entire run.  Finally, I make it out of the Natural Energy Lab – onto the return trip home, about 6 miles to go.  I am still running.  Somehow.  Slowly.  And with walking in between cramps and through the aid stations.  I guess that I ended up walking a total of 3 miles of the run course.  From the beginning of the run I would take water at every aid station and cold sponges over my head.  Every other station I would put ice down the back of my jersey and occasionally drink a half cup of electrolyte drink.  2 miles left.  I can still do this in under 10 hours.  I am still running. Another cramp. I stop to walk.  A man passes me wearing a Navy (as in Annapolis) tri suit.  "Do not stop running now.  You are almost there.  Less then 20 minutes to go.  You will feel like shit if you walk these last 2 miles. DO NOT STOP RUNNING.  Keep it going.  I have kids older then you and I am running.  Keep churning.  Do not make yourself feel bad. You do not want to feel guilty when you cross that finish.  Do not walk another walking step to that finish line.  You have this made.  We are gonna do this."  He just kept talking to me.  And somehow I kept running.  "Thank you, SIR!" I replied.  He says, "I am buying you a beer tonight.  Just do not walk."  It is amazing that people on a race course will spend the time to help you motivate to the same finish line they are trying to beat you too. It is an amazing sport.  One mile to go.  Holy shit.  I am about the hit the greatest finish in all of sports.  Alli'i Drive.  Half a mile to get there.  The longest half mile ever.  First I have to run, err slowly jog, err quickly walk down that same big hill I walked up 14 miles ago.  I will let you guess how much that hurts your quads at this point in the day.  But it was the best pain I had all day.  But where the hell is the turn to Alli'i? Just get here already.  Are you ever coming?  No, it isn’t coming.  That half mile feels like a marathon in itself.  Then…you make the turn.  When you finally get there, you choke up.  Is that another tear forming in my eye?  I cant believe I just got my way through this race.  I can’t believe I am about to finish.  I cant believe I am running.  I cant believe there are this many people here.  I am never doing this race again.  Wow.  More people.  Shouting.  Little kids high-fiving you every step of the way.  Then the announcer calls your name.  You think. But maybe it is an audio mirage. About a tenth of a mile to go.  Now you are running, no jogging, through stands of people, throngs of spectators all shouting at you.  This doesn’t happen in Triathlon.  This is amazing.  Don’t run too fast – slow down – enjoy this. You cant feel your body anymore.  You could go faster.  Don’t.  Soak it all in.  Enjoy the best 200 meters in all of sports at the end of the hardest day in racing.  Don’t cry.  Or cry.  Its ok.    You competed against the absolute best in your sport, in the absolute most ridiculous conditions.  Do a high leg kick when you cross the finish line.  You are there.  Do it.  Just kick your leg up.  Uggghhh.  No.  It wont work.  The leg no longer moves in that direction.  At least not for the next few days.  Single tear.  They are still all screaming.  Oh hell ya.  It’s over.  In this moment, I think I am just happy its over more then happy for what I have accomplished. 

Final Time 9:46:15.  289 overall, 64th in AG.

A man pours ice water over your head as he massages your neck and head.  Oh my that feels niiiiiiice.  Get a 10 minute massage.  Eat 4 pieces of pizza.  Drink beers.  Eat Fruit and Champagne that Pearce and Liz sent to your room.  Glorious.  Examine sunburns. (Oh my you should see my sunburns.  I hope to have some pictures out to you all within the next week.  You will then have proof of the worst sunburn I have ever had.  Including my race number, marked with permanent ink on each of my arms, sunburned into permanence, like a negative tattoo.) Eat dinner.  Eat dinner again.  Eat whatever you want.  More candy please and thank you.  Drink a beer.  Go to the finish line.  Watch people finish at 10:30pm.  It is amazing.  The crowds are even bigger.  The party is even grander.  What kind of sport is this?  People clap and cheer even harder for the person who finishes last then the first man across the line.  What is more impressive?  A young fit guy from NY finishing in under 10 hours or a triple amputee finishing – hell, even starting!  or an 80 year old finishing.  What I did pails in comparison. 

This was the first time, at the end of a race, that I have been disappointed with myself.  Yes, my accomplishment was great and I am not trying to take anything away from that.  But my time was about 30 minutes slower then I wanted.  Disappointment also comes when I recognized that I didn’t do everything I could have to prepare for this race.  Looking back, there are several elements to my training program that I would change.  Longer bricks, longer back to back bikes and runs.  Recovery phases throughout the season so I do not wear down – mentally more so then physically.  Nutrition Notes: I would take more electrolytes earlier in the race.  I think taking them consistently throughout the day is more important then taking them only on the run.  I was using an electrolyte heavy drink on the bike but in those humid conditions, I don’t think it was enough. 

The biggest lesson of all: no matter how physically defeated or hurt you are, you just have to keep going.  You can fight through the pain.  You just have to tell your mind to shut the hell up. No matter how much it hurts, you can still run to the end.  Unless you convince yourself you want hamstring cramps. The race changed me, taught me about myself, made me mentally a stronger person. Next time will be different.  Everything will be different now.