Race Report: Door County Triathlon

When I arrived at Transition - yes, among the first handful of athletes - race organizers were still setting up, inflating the swim start arches, organizing the buoys for transport out into the water, testing the sound system. It was chilly. A weird morning for July - it felt a lot like September. As I set up, waiting for the sun to rise above the woods around us and warm the place up a bit, I ended up getting some coffee just to warm my bones a bit. And I'm no coffee drinker.

The Transition racks were a bit low, and my brake handles are short (I think like a lot of others'), so the only way I could rack my bike was using the saddle - like a lot of others - so the setup was a little weird - lots of bikes kind of crammed together. I've never had less room in transition - my mat was directly underneath my bike, and everybody was just kind of smashed together. I chatted with my neighbors, and we figured as we were all in different swim waves it'd likely be a non-issue as far as racing went. Just a few minutes after I'd managed to melt my mouth off with the hottest coffee in history, the sun came up and the world warmed up. I connected briefly with Erin, who was committing to the swim and bike (she's nursing a running injury), and it was time to head to the the water.

I was in just the fifth Wave, which if fantastic because it messes with my mojo a bit to get all into "race mode" leaving Transition only to sit on the beach while you wait for your wave an hour later. The race starts with a mass start, but about waist-deep in water. We wished each other well as the count ticked down, and finally we were off.

The water was 62 degrees or so - definitely cool, and I was glad I'd warmed up a bit in it, but generally it felt refreshing. Lake Michigan was crystal clear - I've never swam in water so clear. It made it great for drafting a bit off of other swimmers, which I tried to do whenever possible. I felt great - relaxed, and really having fun. I tried to keep technique on point, but really, open water technique is so different from when you're in the controlled environment of the pool. Especially if drafting at all, you tend to keep your head tilted a bit more forward. When dealing with the rolling waves, you breathe on one side more than another. It's just a different animal. I kept the zigging to a minimum, which was an objective of the day, swimming with the buoys close on my left all day. About halfway or so into the swim I hit somebody - or was hit, who knows - and jammed my right ring finger. I instinctively threw an F-bomb - while my face was underwater - then laughed at myself a bit for swearing in the general direction of fish. My hand hurt the rest of the day, still a bit tender as I type this.

The distance felt right, whatever that means, for 1.2 miles, and I came out and crossed the mat in 41:51. The ramp up out of the water was covered in nice carpet, and there were wetsuit strippers (a la Ironman) helping out anybody who wanted it. I decided to forgo their assistance and just head to my bike, stripping my suit as I went. I had no time goals for the swim, but thought anything around 45 minutes would be realistic, so I was encouraged with my time.

In and out of T1 in 1:50, and I was on the bike.

The plans for the bike were the same as the rest of my race-day executions this summer - do no work. Rely entirely on my training to get me from here to there, and save my legs for the run. So, I backed off whenever I felt a push, rested whenever sensible on descents, and kept my spinning at 90rpm, easy and comfortable. I practiced nutrition and hydration exactly like I've been training, and just enjoyed the ride.

The crowd and community support for this race were fantastic all day, and lots of families were set up with lawn chairs at the end of their driveways as we rode past. I waved a lot, said thank you for coming out, for cheering us on. Another goal of the day was to have fun, and to act like it. I wanted to keep a smile on my face, keep my attitude light, enjoy the atmosphere and the crowds and volunteers. It was fun to have that back and forth - when they cheer for you as you fly by, and you cheer for them as you do, and they get a little crazy at the acknowledgment. Fun.

The course had a gentle tailwind for most of the way out, and many sections of road were nice, new pavement. There were a few sketchy areas, but not too bad. It was mostly flat - not Racine flat, but the gentle rollers encountered didn't make for anything too dramatic. I probably used my small chain ring three or four times all day. I only saw one group of obvious drafters (I'm talking to you, dudes in Gear N Up garb), which will never make any sense to me, but otherwise there was enough room with the roads and the swim waves where we were all able to find some space. It was a really, really fun bike ride.

Except at about mile 45, when a bee or wasp or some stinging creature plowed into my face, right between the top of my glasses and the bottom of the helmet, on my left eyebrow. It almost immediately stung me, and I instinctively threw out another F-bomb and swatted my left eye. In doing so, I smashed my sunglasses and the left lens popped out. I was able to quickly grab the lens and my frames before I dropped anything, but I had to precariously put my lens back into the frames while moving at 22mph. Within minutes my left eye had swelled shut, and it stayed that way for the rest of the bike and into maybe 3 miles on the run. That part wasn't really too fun at all. But, by the end of the race the swelling was gone and it was as if the whole thing hadn't happened.

The end of the bike course takes us back to the first stretches of road where we started, so I waved again at all the spectators watching, chatting to them, giving them a fist pump, just returning their enthusiasm. I got back to Transition in 2:50:53, good for a 19.8mph average speed, done on no work. I'll take it.

In and out of T2 in 1:18, and I was feeling good, legs feeling fresh, out to the run.

The run-out shoot was a really popular spectator section, so I cheered and whooped loudly, raising my arms up, acting obnoxious. Everybody exploded with cheering, and I smiled and laughed with them. It was great energy, and I enjoyed it.

My plans for the run - which turned out to be pretty much backwards - were to pace the first 7 miles at around 8:30/mi, feeling easy. Then, if I felt good, I'd throw down with whatever I had left in the last 10k. As we headed out of race headquarters and onto some long stretches of road, the runners around me all commented on how great the crowds were, how awesome the volunteers were. I agreed - this was an incredibly well-put-together race. The athletes were also cool, though - we encouraged each other as we went, offered a kind word to those we saw that were already suffering. In that way this race had a very Ironman feel to it, and this was maybe the first time that this was noticeable to me in racing - when you're doing shorter distances like Sprint or Olympic, it's a bit of every man for himself. Nobody's a jerk or anything, but you kind of keep your head down and go hard, because you understand a bit how you're going to distribute your energies for the task at hand. When it gets longer, like 70.3 or Ironman, you get out there and just kind of settle in. You had a plan, but you know that two hours later you might still be out here with a new plan, so the OCD drops considerably. People are more thoughtful of one another somehow, like we're all in this together. We have some sense for the training it took for that guy to be here next to me, or whatever, and maybe there's some mutual respect there that causes...well, frankly, kindness. You say things, you chat each other up, with a comfort level that you'd never, ever have if you encountered the same guy at the counter in the gas station. I said it after Ironman in '06, but it struck me again yesterday - I wish real life were a lot more like raceday sometimes.

As it is, we really only had each other and the volunteers at the aid station for support - the long country roads weren't conducive to spectators for the first several miles, so we just put our heads down and got it done. About 5 miles into the run we came into town (Sturgeon Bay? Egg Harbor? I'm not sure where we were...) and were met with fun cheering and crowds. Like I did on the bike, I was conscious to thank them, chat them up, high-five the little kids. It was awesome. Whenever I went through an aid station, manned often with some older people, I'd thank them and say "high-five!" and the old ladies would squeal and giggle. So cool.

At mile 7 I ticked my lap counter, and tried to gauge what I had left for the last 10k. My pace easily increased to 8:00/mi, so I felt comfortable clocking along. Then we met the first of 2 obnoxious hills. This hill was long and winding - not terribly steep, but it got your attention. It was starting to get warm now, and all around me athletes stopped to walk, or some pulled off to have a stern discussion with the legs about the cramping that was going on. I'd been carrying a bottle of my Infinit with me for the run, and I was pleased to be able to run up the hill without any horror, no drama or craziness, if a bit slow. About 3/4 of the way up I heard someone shout my name, but as I had no team out there with me for this one I assumed it wasn't me. I heard it again, and this time looked over - it was my man Brazo's wife Gaye, with Brazo and their youngest son cheering right next to her. "Hey!" I yelled and swung widely to the right so I could high-five them all. Brazo started running with me then, asking me how I was and how the day was going. I told him I was feeling good, I'd been having fun, my legs felt on point. He gave me a bit of recon on what to expect for the rest of the course, "You have on more hill after this one - it's not as long, but it's steep. It's the 'bluff' everybody talks about". I high-fived him again, hoped to see him later in the day, and kept on. It was an awesome, awesome boost to have them out there - it hadn't occurred to me until then how morally helpful it is when it's getting hot and tough to have people cheering your name. Thanks for running with my for a bit Brazo, that was a highlight of my day.

At the top of that hill we got to go downhill for a bit, and it felt good to let gravity do a bit of work after fighting it so hard a few moments earlier. The descent took us back into town, so more high-fives and spectator cheers from the great crowds. I maintained a nice, solid pace between 8:00 and 8:15/mi, and continued to enjoy the day. I hydrated as much as I comfortably could, thinking of that second hill I'd been promised, and not wanting to deal with any cramping issues. I overheard runners talking about the hill coming up and the best approach for it - seemed like a big deal. I expected it anytime...but mile 7 turned to mile 8, then mile 8 to mile 9, and still no big hill.

Cue Voldemort Music.

Just before the 10 mile mark came "the bluff". The race materials advertise "you can't bluff the bluff", and here it was, the dreaded last hill. I think, coming from the Ironman Wisconsin bike course, I was feeling a little proud of myself - like bah, whatever this "hill" is must just be something the locals get excited about, it can't be that bad. Just a hill, after all. It's inevitably over before too long. Blah blah blippity blah. This thing was awful. I've never encountered geography like this. It doesn't even make sense, it's so steep. Like, how do cars get up this thing in the wintertime? Two guys were biking it in front of us, and both of them had to get off and walk while we were "running" (I use the term absurdly loosely) up the hill. I honestly don't think they make an easy enough gear to bike up this thing - it damn near required belay ropes. I tried, in utter futility, to keep some semblance of a "runner's pose" going up the hill, but I might just as well have - and should have - just power walked. The net gain would have been better. It winded to the right - which was tough, because you couldn't see the top - and people on the sides of the road tried to encourage us with that - "great job, the top is just around the bend", but it was hard to believe in that promise. What a hill. No joke. Just a heartbreaker.

And that, unfortunately, was about where the "race" ended for me. I got to the top of that hill - which God bless 'em they put an aid station right there - and while I loaded up on ice and water and some more ice and yes please, I'll have some more water - I felt just spent. I walked through that station - my first walking all day - and just relaxed for more than a quarter mile or so - hydrating, collecting myself, stunned maybe that such a hill as that one exists in the world. I chewed on ice for awhile, feeling the sun, now hot, beat down; these last 5k were totally open and unprotected. I felt hot after the hill. I finally started running again, but the mojo was gone - it was a survival shuffle. All around me I was getting passed up, which was kind of a bummer - to know the execution had fallen apart after all. At the last aid station, around 11.5 miles, I grabbed two handfuls of ice to try and cool my core temp a bit, and tried to run it home. I ended up walking again for a short bit just before mile 12, but then I finally got it together and ran it in. My run time was 2:02:56, with a 9:23/mi pace. My finishing time was 5:38:50.

Bits & Pieces

• It was really just poor planning that sabotaged my race; I didn't know, or plan well enough, for 2 big hills in the last 10k, especially that the last hill was so tough, and dumped you out onto a very hot and open last 5k. If I had, I think I would've flipped my run script, and kept it slow and conservative - maybe a 9:00-9:30/mi pace, maybe all the way through 10 miles, with hopes to have something left to finish strong the last 5k. So, I don't credit the meltdown necessarily with a fitness issue or anything, just a strategic mishap. Next time I'll do my homework better on a new course.

• Heat. Ugh. I finished the race with it being my biggest concern for Ironman. If it's a hot, sunny day, then all bets are off on the run. I'll need to plan to go very conservative, especially the first 13.1 miles when it's still afternoon, and keep ice and hydration the primary objectives. Pace and speed will be out the window, and it'll just be about staying healthy. Hopefully I can get some hot days up here for some training ground.

• I think I'll eat a bit on the bike. I've been keeping exclusively to Infinit, which has worked just great, but I got a little bored. Have to give this some thought, particularly for my special needs bag on the bike.

• I can't say enough about how well done this race was. It has huge volunteer support, great crowds, great community support. In that way it felt very Ironman. But there were also smaller details - actual bottles of Gatorade at the bike out available, a guy checking race number credentials as athletes went in and out of transition all morning to make sure only athletes were in transition, carpet on the swim-out ramp. These guys have a very special race going here, and I strongly suggest it for anybody looking for a fun, challenging 70.3. Yes, it's the same weekend as Racine, but at least you're getting a correctly measured swim distance here. (zing!)

• Best moment of the day, bar none: An old woman, with a walker, the kind that has a little flip-down stool built in, sitting at the end of her driveway, having made her way down from her house, clapping sweetly and cheering us on on the bike. I yelled, "thank you!" as I went by, and she says, "thank you", like I was doing her some favor. I wanted to stop, get off my bike, and go give her a hug.

• Second best moment of the day: Dude arriving at the race riding his bike. With his wetsuit on.

• The medals for this race were awesome. But huge silver shiny things. Just another small detail they got right - no skimping on the hardware, even when hardware isn't too important to me.

• Thanks to Erin and her husband, and their friends Andy and Lisa, for hosting me at their rented cottage Saturday night!

• Thanks Brazo and family for hanging with me in the Finish line area while I chowed down a BBQ sandwich!

• Big nasty blister on the left big toe...I don't think the Lunar Trainers will cut it at Ironman. But, I've been leaning more towards the Newtons anyway. For me they just are a great shoe.

• From here: Well, I generally feel good. My bike strategy is working, so at Ironman I'll plan to "do no work". That means from here to then I'll need to amp up the intervals and speed work so that I'm as strong as I can be by race day. The x-factor, I suppose as always, is the weather. I'll have to develop a few plans for the run, depending on how the weather is. I feel good about the swim. There are (besides said weather, which I'm hardly going to sit and think about as that's pointless) no glaring weaknesses, no huge problems I'm foreseeing. I'm right where I want to be, I think - in good shape for a final hard push to taper.

Congratulations to friends who raced this weekend - IGN, Robert, RobbyB (who killed it) all raced Racine - looking forward to all of your reports. Who else was out doing crazy things this weekend?

Thanks for the support everybody - looking forward to the final climb now before the descent.

The Keys to the IMWI Bike Course...

I shot out for 100 miles yesterday on the IMWI course; one of my main concerns is developing mental toughness on the bike. It seems my standard operating procedure calls for some mental weakening from about miles 50-70 or so. So I'm increasing volume a bit this week to try and really address this.

I approached the ride having two purposes. The first, as I said, was the mental toughness, but more specifically to really experience the highs and lows. To learn what I'm feeling leading up to the lows, so I know better when they're coming and how to anticipate them. How to get through them while biking well, and develop some confidence knowing that, inevitably, they'll pass. So I really wanted to tune into my own head a bit.

The second purpose was to really analyze how to most efficiently ride this course. I've ridden it a bajillion times and raced on it once, but I think having a really close, analytical look at it is worth my time. So I really tried to study the course, and what I was doing and why, and I'd make a mental note whenever I encountered something that I knew, on loop 2, I'd want to do differently.

So here, for your perusal, are some of my discoveries. Your results, of course, may vary. And I'm not using a power meter or anything like that, so I don't have any empirical data about anything, just experience and anecdotes. And I'm no expert in anything, just a guy on a bike. This advice is geared certainly more for the MOP'er or first timer - if you're, y'know, trying to qualify for Kona then what the hell are you listening to me for. And, of course, this is just what I found is working for me. So. Do with as you wish.

• I like to divide the course into 4 sections. Each requires it's own strategy and approach, and an understanding of its place in context with the other sections. I call Section 1: From Madison to Verona, the start of the bike (well, and back again on the way home). Specifically, I think Section 1 ends at the turn onto Paoli Street. I think it ends there because A: that's when the terrain of the course takes on a dramatic change, as you head into the hills on Valley Road, and B: On Paoli is where the Special Needs will be after the first loop. Knowing this is the halfway point after the first loop creates, I think, an important mental shift. Section 2 continues until the top of the last hill before the roundabout in Mt. Horeb, just on 8th St. It's not enough to just think "Mt. Horeb", because Mt. Horeb kicks your ass with a hill that is too often forgotten about. More on that in a bit, and I'll explain my thinking on why Section 2 goes all the way to that last hill, specifically. Section 3 goes to the turn-off onto Shady Oak Lane, just after the last of what I call the 3 Bitches; the big hills in the meat of the course, the last of which is on Midtown. I think this is another important mental milepost; once you turn right on Shady Oak, it's downhill, and then a generally easy ride all the way back through Verona to the start of your second loop (or to the turnoff back onto Whalen, heading home). At the end of Section 3, the worst is behind you. Section 4, takes you back through Verona. Here's a helpful illustration:



• I think the key to success on the entire bike course is how one manages Route 92 through the last hill before the roundabout in Mt. Horeb.. Let me say that again. I think the key to success on the entire bike course is how one manages Route 92 through the last hill before the roundabout in Mt. Horeb. This is a tough bit of road that gets none of the respect or glory that the fearsome hills in Section 3 get on this course. But it occurred to me yesterday that this stretch is a friggin' energy vampire. There are some rollers, nothing to write home about, but anything that looks like flat ground is mostly a false flat. So you keep coming off of a small ascent or descent and think, sweet, now I can just plug into the big chain ring and settle down for a bit, but pretty soon you realize that you're better off going back to the small chain ring because this sucks. And you do that over and over again because in your head, this doesn't look like it should be this tough. So meanwhile, you're wasting all kinds of energy dinking around in a gear that's too tough before you back off, or you let your ego drive the machine and push a bigger gear than you probably should because, again, it doesn't look like this should be too tough. This would be fine if you didn't have the hills in Section 3 waiting for you, or if you didn't have to do this all over again. I think the smart play is to love your small chain ring on this section. Of course move to the BCR when it's sensible, but you will use energy so much more sensibly if you just take it in the nuts on this section. Your speed will slow down, you'll be rocking 14, 15, 16mph and hating life, but if you get your head out of the way and just pedal easy, you'll be in so much better shape later on. The rest of the course, it really takes care of itself. You know you have a big hill, you know you have a big descent. It's obvious to gear up or gear down. This section tricks you. Don't get sucked in. It's pretty much uphill to Mt. Horeb, you just might not realize it. Relax and take it easy.

• The hill into Mt. Horeb is formidable, and as tough as any of the 3 Bitches, but because it's not grouped up with them, I'm going to call it Little Bitch. But it's not little. But there you go, and now when you see that billboard for Cave of the Mounds you can say to yourself, ah, hello Little Bitch, I have come to destroy you. But here's the thing about Little Bitch, and why you need to be smart about it - it's not over when you think it's over. It looks like it's over when you see the "crest" after the overpass, but it's not. It winds to the left and keeps taking you to that high school or whatever on the right side. But, then it crests and you get a small descent and think "ah good, that's over" - it isn't! You crest again just after the high school and get a bit steeper small descent, and you think, "ah good, that's over" - but it still isn't! You get one last little climb, the top of which has you overlooking the roundabout to which you're about to descend, and now it's over. So again, don't be dinking around when you get to the high school and hit this little descent, thinking you'll move to the big chain ring. Just stay in the small chain ring, even through the little descents, until you get to that last little crest. "Ah, who cares," you say. "It's not such a big deal to move around the chain rings." Possibly, especially if you're a strong cyclist. If you're a Middle-O-Pack-er like me, though, or this is your first IMWI, then I think these little things matter. I think tiny mistakes, or at least opportunities to not make mistakes, can have a huge impact on how you're doing on this course when you're on the second loop - not to mention the marathon. I think even a momentary burst of wattage while you push too hard up a tiny hill just because you shifted too soon or something adds up if you do that several times over the course of the ride - which this bike course will do to you if you're not careful. So I say - when in doubt, take it easy.

• I'll repeat this same story for how to handle the first 2 Bitches in Section 3. You hit the first big hill - it's long, and it winds to the left, and you get a false flat in the middle of it. This is on Old Sauk Pass. You get to the top and you think, "ah, that sucked, glad it's over", and you get a small descent with some gentle rolling for the next half a mile or something. When you start that descent, it's easy to want to get into a bigger gear, maybe mash just a little to really build something on that descent. You think, "now I'll get some back after that hill". The road winds right onto Midtown and now you hit the second Bitch, which is a friggin' wall. Short, but steep. So I say, between the two Bitches, just stay in the small ring and rest. Don't descend for speed, descend for rest, and spin easy while you can between them. I think you just don't gain anything valuable if you try and push between the two hills.

• Last bit of specific insight, then on to a few more general things - Whalen kind of sucks. Especially leaving Verona and heading back into Madison. The first few miles of Whalen is kind of sketchy road - it's not in great shape. As soon as you turn onto Whalen heading home, the first thing you get to do is climb a bit. And there are a few other rollers. Nothing on Whalen is terribly sinister - the worst is definitely behind you - but they will get your attention. It's easy to think, once you're done with your 2 loops and heading back into Madison, that "whahoo! Home free now!", and that's not an entirely bad attitude to have, I don't think, but do keep yourself in check a bit. Don't have spent everything you have on the Verona loops so that you're struggling to get those last 16 miles home. Don't have raced smart only to let adrenaline get the best of you and push too hard going back into Madison. Try and settle down and keep riding smart, not hard.

Okay, some general thoughts:

• Any kind of significant wind on this course is a pain in the ass. You're just never really in a good position to take advantage of a tailwind, and the course is already so challenging that a headwind can be really demoralizing. Especially if you have a headwind heading home on Whalen, or on County G or Route 92. Each of these "long" stretches still require focus to manage the rolling hills, and a headwind can just kind of make you want to punch somebody in the face. Again, you just need to deal with it; that's racing. Trying to power your way through it will kill you by the second loop, nevermind the marathon. Depending entirely on the weather, it may mean whatever "speed" you're used to on the bike is dramatically slower. Again, you have to just let your ego go with that and ride smart, so you can run smart later. This course isn't made for PR's. It just isn't.

• Get to know your small chain ring. Get to love it. Spend quality time with it. Give it a name, buy it gifts.

• Get your machine dialed in before race day; you'll have never shifted so much in your life. You very realistically may use every single gear you have. Know you can shift easily and with confidence. This means a clean, well-lubed chain, too. Be sure your bike is getting a lot of love in prep for IMWI.

• For the love of pete, conserve energy. I was behind this dude for awhile yesterday that, on every single ascent of any significance, got up out of the saddle, stood up and mashed. And I don't know, maybe that was his goal for the ride, so I'm not wanting to be critical of him in general, but - pick your battles. If you need to stand up and mash, know what you're doing. You almost always use less energy, and go no slower, just staying in the saddle in your most comfortable climbing gears, putting your head down, and getting it done. When you're descending, rest. Let me say that again. When you're descending, rest. When I'm training, it's fun to push the pedals on descents and see how fast I can go. But when I'm riding "for real", I realize how valuable that time and energy is for when my legs are called on to do real work. Any opportunity to stop pedaling, however briefly, I take it. I actually have a mental image, where whenever I get to stop pedaling my "energy gauge" start to fill back up. Your legs will thank you for loop 2, and especially the marathon. Let all those crazy cats in carbon disc wheels churn by you on the descents, who cares.

• So to recap; what you do in Section 2 is critical to how you manage Section 3. And Section 3 is your litmus test; your marathon may be defined by how you ride it.

• Oh by the way, I struggle with every bit of this, all the time, just about every time I ride. It's a constant effort to ride for a marathon, and not to just start cranking, or descending crazy, or whatever. Why they call it Ironman, I guess.

That's what I know. What else do people think? Please contribute your own $.02 in the comments. Best of luck out there. Ride smart, not hard!

Race Report: Lifetime Fitness Triathlon

Like all my races this season, this one fit into a Grand Scheme of approach to Ironman. I'm looking at race day to practice execution - not to worry about how fast I can go, or if I can even beat that guy ahead of me. So I had two objectives for this race; the first, do no work. What I mean by that is, I wasn't going to go in with guns blazing, pushing some incredible and unsustainable pace, mashing pedals, whatever. I was going to let my training do all the work. I didn't want to get out there and sabotage my day with some obsession with 22mph or something.

My second objective was to stay in control on the run. In my head, I made the entire race about the last two miles of the run. If I could get to the last two miles of the run feeling like I could dictate my pace - choosing whether or not I wanted to bump up the pace, or not, or whatever, I'd have executed a good race. I didn't want to find myself feeling "great" for the first 1.5 miles of the run, only to start losing the pace, then getting into that feedback loop of trying to push back only to lose more ground, only to talk myself into a bit of a water break at mile 4 to recover a bit, blah blah blah. No death shuffles. I wanted to be in charge.

I say all this last because I have sucked at this race the last 3 times I raced it. In '06 they shortened it due to heat (that was the last time), but in '05 - another excruciatingly hot day - my run pace was relegated to..wait for it...11:11/mi. I remember pushing the bike that day and feeling awesome that I came in with a 20.2mph avg speed (topping 20 something I'd never done at that point), only to melt down with such splendid vigor on the run as to make the entire effort pointless. So, full disclosure; because I have only my past experience on this course to compare, I'll be referring some to that race in '05. But...it was 4 years ago. A lot has changed, and I wouldn't in any way say it's fair to really "compare" that race and this race. So just something to keep in mind.

The weather! Wow, the weather was awesome. Such a refreshing change from the suffocating heat I'd come to expect from this race. I started setting up in transition with temps in the low 60's and a slight breeze - just cool enough where long sleeves were most comfortable. As the sun came out things warmed up a bit, but only to about the mid-60's. It was a beautiful day - sunny, with enough breeze to keep us honest, and temps at the race start in the upper-60's, getting to the lower-mid 70's as the race went on. Just about perfect. Here's a shot of Lake Nokomis as the sun began to rise:



Here's a look at the special Pro section they had set up, and some of the machinery being prepared. It was an amazing pro field and race (more on that in a bit), especially for the men:



And here's a look at Vapor all set up and ready to rock.



They close Transition for everybody way early - the Pro race starts by 7:00, and they do some announcements and the national anthem, etc., so Transition closes by 6:45. I made my way out of the gates with the rest of the athletes; my wave wasn't due to start until 7:51, so I had some time to kill. As I was leaving Transition my man Steve in a Speedo saw me and called me over (alas, he was wearing neither a speedo nor the famed "bowl of sunshine", instead relegated to boring civilian attire. I was, I admit, a shade disappointed...). He was out to watch a handful of friends doing the race and had his camera in tow. We had a fun chat for 15 minutes or so as we gawked at the pro's as they headed out. Steve had printed his own little spectator program with all the pro bio's in it. And a handy sheet with all his friends' race numbers and start times. It was pretty Type A, so you know I found it pretty awesome. He also had on his person an entire roll of toilet paper. "Just in case". Dude is hilarious.

I wished him well, headed out to warm up in the water a bit, stretch, and relax. The swim start is a time trial kind of start, so you get in a big line when they call your wave and head out in 3 second increments. This is nice in that it keeps the proverbial washing machine to a bit of a minimum, but you maybe lose a bit of the draft advantages without all the people around (like I'm a good enough swimmer to take advantage of drafting, ha!) Here I am just about to get my number called, looking tough. Thanks Steve for all of the in-race photos!



Ready, set...



Go!



No big excitement in the water - the plan, as always, is to just keep solid technique, get into a rhythm, do my thing. I was trying to keep zig-zagging to a minimum, and may have swung a bit wide at one point and had to recover a bit to come back into the mix. I felt like I was out there for a long time - and I was. When I finally got back to shore I took a glance at my watch; it read 30:34. A PR on this course by about 2 minutes, but a shade slower than my last Olympic distance race. Good enough. This bit of info here doesn't matter at all, but will be interesting to note as the race report goes on: Out of 139 finishers in my age group, I came in 55th.

The run into Transition was a long one, and my bike was racked in a location that put me quite a long way from the bike out. But, in and out in 2:39 and I was on the machine, ready to roll.

So in keeping with my strategy that this whole race was all about the run, I mentally adhered to feeling nothing on the bike. I wanted to spin an easy 90rpm cadence and feel zero tension in my legs; if I felt even a hint of effort from my quads, or hamstrings, or in my knees, I'd shift gears or back off. Again, I'd let the training do all the work. I had no big plans for speed at all, I just wanted fresh legs when I started the run. I also was thoughtful about nutrition; I think one reason why in years past the Olympic distance has been such a tough one for me is that I've underestimated the caloric requirements, and toll, it takes. I've been a bit lax with nutrition on the bike. This time I had 300 calories of Infinit onboard with me, and planned to make sure I'd drunk the whole bottle by ride's end.

It was a pretty uneventful ride - lots of people out there, mostly flat and fast. The breeze was a non-issue, every once in awhile providing a bit of a tailwind, but I think all the aero gear made any kind of headwind mostly unimportant. The only really notable thing about the bike were the friggin' roads. Awful. I'd heard some people talking about this in the registration line at the expo - the number of potholes on the course - but seriously. Clean it up Minneapolis. There was hardly any stretch of road that wasn't teeth-chatteringly bad. It made for increased mental fatigue because you had to be really attentive to the road conditions. It made my hands tired and numb from vibrations and hanging on (no gloves for this distance race), and I saw lots of other riders, too, finding a rare calm spot to stretch out fingers and flex their hands. Between obnoxious gaping cracks in the road and avoiding well-marked-but-still-sketchy deep potholes, it was a crazy ride.

I finally rolled back into Transition after 1:13 on the bike- good for an easy, totally not-worked-for 20.8mph. This was another PR for the course by about .5mph - in '05 I pushed hard for 20.2mph. Not a lot faster, then, but that wasn't the point; I remember spending a lot of time out of the saddle mashing pedals in '05 for that 20.2. I came in 39th out of 139 in my AG.

In and out of T2 in 1:11, and now onto the "real" race. By the way, my T2 time was 2nd place in my age group! Why the hell don't they have podiums just for transitions? I'd be a contender, dammit.

I headed out to the run course, which is 2 loops around the lake on the paved running trail. It's mostly wide open to the sunshine, and especially around "race central", where you start and come back around for the second loop, it's crazy with spectators and a big aid station and all kinds of energy. I quickly found a pace I thought was comfortable and checked my watch - 7:15/mi. I hadn't gone into the run with any kind of pre-planned pacing, instead I just wanted to let my energy naturally find where I should be. I did assess earlier in the week that I think I've been mentally underestimating myself at the 10k distance; if I can do a half marathon with a sub 8:00/mi pace, there's no reason why, even in a triathlon, I can't expect a little more of myself in a 10k. But, I knew that I wanted to be ready to rocket the last 2 miles, so 7:15/mi was too fast. I decided to slow to 7:45/mi and see how that went. The plan was - find a comfortable, easy pace for the first 2 miles. At mile 2, if I feel good, bump up a bit. If I don't feel good (which would've meant I poorly judged the first 2 miles...), at least try and stay the same, or not slow down, so that by mile 4 I could push hard with whatever I had left.

So I dialed in 7:45/mi, had a nice spring in my step, only about .5 or less into the run, when CRACK, I'm, like, on my face.

I heard this comedian on the radio on my drive to Minneapolis, and he was talking about getting into a car accident. He said that being in a car accident is like going down one of those crazy fast, straight-down water slides. Only first you're in the shower just going about your day as usual, and then suddenly out of nowhere you're going straight-down on a water slide. This is like what happened to me. I'm just doing my thing, nothing out of the ordinary, and I'm suddenly, with no helpful segue, on my knees on the middle of the road. I'd stepped in a mother-effing Minneapolis effing pothole. My left ankle abruptly twisted in and I hit the ground hard, my right knee taking most of the impact. I swore, loudly, as much out of surprise, I think, as anything. I heard somebody around me say, "are you okay?", but I didn't answer. I got right back up and started running again, my left ankle screaming at me. I was limping badly, and had trouble putting weight on it. I had these visions of a hairline fracture in my ankle. Of a deeply purple sprain. When I was in high school I stepped on a buddy's foot when landing while playing basketball and did something very similar to this, and it ripped all kinds of ligaments in my ankle - just before football season. I was injured for the first few weeks of the start of the season, and slow (well, slowerer, not like I was ever some bullet) for 6 weeks. It sucked, and I had visions of something similar just 60 days out from Ironman. Oh, and I also thought of my daughter, who lately has been skinning the same knee every time she falls, which is frequently as she's running all crazy like she does and trips up on a crack in the sidewalk, or is trying to learn to negotiate uneven segments of ground. I thought - geez, I hope it doesn't hurt her this bad everytime she falls, that would suck. All this went through my mind in about two seconds.

I couldn't be sure what the real damage was, and what was maybe just initial pain from a sudden impact, so I just kept running, trying to consciously correct my stride from the limp, and continue to put normal weight on my left foot. It wasn't long and the pain mostly subsided altogether, which told me it wasn't anything too serious, thankfully.

I ticked past the Mile 2 marker feeling good with a 7:36/mi average. I bumped up the pace just a bit, with an eye towards not going any slower than 7:30/mi. Things felt good and drama free. When I came around again, on the second loop, to the location where I fell, I had a look at the road to see if I was just a clumsy idiot or what - nope. Big fat pothole-crack in the road. Awful.

I hit the mile 4 marker still feeling very good - relaxed and fresh, still with a spring in my step. My pace had increased to an avg. of 7:27/mi. Perfect. Now I just had 2 miles left, and I felt fantastic. I threw down with whatever I had left, buzzed a bit with the knowledge that I'd arrived at these last 2 miles precisely how I'd hoped to - that I'd executed my strategy just about flawlessly.

It's important to me at this point, I guess, to say that I hope none of this sounds too, y'know, self-congratulatory. I don't feel that way about it - I really feel much like an observer of some kind of experiment. I'm making hypotheses, and then I'm testing them. So when things go well, or according to plan, it's not really a "hey look at me, I rule" kind of thing, it's just...interesting.

That said...you know how at the end of a race, and you're feeling pretty spent and maybe miserable, and then some dude or woman just blows by you? And you feel like punching them in the face with all their spritely prancing down the road with ease? I was that guy. And I've wanted to punch my face an awful lot in my life, so this was a new experience for me. I was just flying, having to go around runners, split between them, go off the path to avoid big masses. Like the whole world was standing still. It was crazy how good I felt - I think I could've run all day.

I cruised into the finish chute knowing I'd had a blast, that my training had prepared me for a great race, that I was able to execute. Nothing more I could ask for as I prepare for Ironman. Here's a final shot from Steve as I approach the line.



The last 2 mile split was at 7:05/mi. My official run split was 46:21, for a 7:29/mi pace (the Garmin said 7:22, but whatever), good for 25 out of 139 in my age group. I finished in 2:34:17 - a 26 minute PR for this course, and a 19 minute PR for this distance. I finished 33 of 139 in my age group - good for a top 25% finish. Oh, and I went from 55th place out of the water up the 33rd. The moral of that story - it's all about the run, and execution is king.

Here's a self-portrait after the race, thumbs up on a great day.




Bits & Pieces

• I never set out to PR the course, but I figured I would, just because my '05 time was so obviously slow, and I know what's up a lot more this time around. Still, I was surprised. I didn't know my training had prepared me for that easy of a bike at almost 21mph, and that easy of a fast run. Very encouraging. It's not, I don't think, very quantifiable to any kind of Ironman perspective, except to say that my race-day approach to execution is paying off, and I'll emulate it at Ironman.

• Knock on wood, but...no glaring weaknesses. Nothing really felt out of joint at all. I swam about how I figured I would, did the bike how I planned, and the run took care of itself. Nutrition and hydration were on point.

• Can't over emphasize enough how much the weather helped have a great day. It takes a whole other, crucial element of difficult out when you're not having to obsess about heat and hydration management. Now if I could just get a halfway decent weather day in September...

• Craig Alexander isn't as crazy looking in person. Like, in all his ads in Triathlete mag for Orca or Orbea or whatever he's schilling, he has this lunatic death stare going on. He looks like a pretty regular dude in person. Shorter than I thought. Also, I think Steve has a little bit of a man-crush on him.

• I shook Andy Potts's hand at the expo. I'm pretty sure that makes us BFF.

• Newbies: I love you, you know I do. You don't need a Batman utility belt, though. You don't need seriously 8 flasks on your fuel belt. You just don't. Make it easier on yourself, you know?

• I think doing an Olympic distance race on a mountain bike would be tough.

• Amy and Dakota are out of town now, and I really missed them at the race.

• Thanks again, Steve.

• The Pro men came down to a sprint finish between Andy Potts and Matty Reed. It looks like it was a close, great race all day. Can you imagine sprinting down the finish chute for $20,000? Like, I'm all Type A in transition before a race just to have my own geeky little goals and aspirations, but can you imagine having your paycheck on the line? Or missing out on that $20k by less than one second? That's crazy. It kind of hurts my brain.

• Here's a great, brief video of the pro race that somebody at Slowtwitch took. Check out Matty Reed's fantastic move in the last 100 yards - he just bursts out from the pack and turns it on. Awesome.

Race Week: Lifetime Fitness Triathlon

The Lifetime Fitness Triathlon in Minneapolis is a pretty special race for me. It's the first race I ever trained for - back in 2004, it was my goal race, my introduction to triathlon, my reason for getting off the couch. It was in the starting corral, awaiting the swim start, that I became curious, upon glimpsing M-Dot tattoos, about just what that whole thing might mean. 6 (!) years ago it had a lot of the same emotional investment for me that Ironman did in '06, and does now - lots of emotion just picking up the packet, lots of awe and wonderment just being around it. It's a huge race, with lots of competitors (from the Sprint and Olympic distances), and a great Pro field that comes out to have a crack at a huge prize purse. This means the organization and treatment of the athletes is pretty A+, and there's a great attention to detail that, really, I've only otherwise found through M-Dot. So, it's a really fun race, a well put together race.

It's also tried to kill me two and a half times. The first time was, as I said, in '04, when I knew nothing at all about anything at all. My whole goal was just to finish. I remember I had just a terrible run, but who cares, I was a triathlete at last. In '05 it was something like 160 degrees outside, and I - wait for it - had a terrible run. Totally melting down after a pretty okay swim and bike. In '06 - the year of my first Ironman - it was 100 degrees on race day, and they announced 20 minutes before the gun that they were shortening the Olympic distance race to essentially a Sprint. Which was a disappointment. Looking back at my race report for that one, it looks like it wasn't too remarkable of a race. Hard to really mean anything when it's suddenly turned into a Sprint distance race when you're training for an Ironman.

But, lo and behold, as of today the weather looks like sun and low '80's, which might make for some warmth, but I don't think anything that will warrant anybody changing the course distance, so - in my 4th attempt at this race - I might just be able to actually attempt a real-live execution of a real-live race, as opposed to wandering aimlessly about the place ('04) or death-shuffling through heat ('05) or not getting to really race at all ('06). I wonder if I'll know what to do with myself, being actually provided the opportunity to do this race like I'd mean for it to be raced.

I picked this race this season for two reasons - one, I believe in some kind of karmic symmetry, and think it's useful to Becoming Ironman to return to where it all started while I train for this one. Two, it is the first of back-to-back races (a half-Iron coming next weekend), and this week-long influx of intense training under racing conditions is meant to be both a forceful kick in the ass for me, as well as my last shot at practicing race-day execution; after these two races, it's head-down, blinders on to Ironman Wisconsin.

So speaking of execution, that's the goal of each of these races; nothing about pacing, nothing about pushing or not pushing or how, effort-wise, these two races factor into Ironman training. The effort in a race - any race - is always harder than a typical training day, so I'll let that come. I'm not going out there to chase any time, pace, or speed goals at all - those will come, or they won't, depending on execution, which is my goal for each of these races. The "practice" for Ironman will come in having patience, having confidence that my training will get me there, and running mistake-free, drama free, problem free races. If problems do arise - technical, nutritionally, whatever - then these are opportunities to practice that as well. I will pick it up a bit - they are races, after all, but the one thing races can provide that not just a tough brick-workout can also provide is that intensity, atmosphere, and energy that only racing can be about. So, no better place to practice how it should all go down.

Expectations: Well, if I execute as planned the whole point will be to have a solid run. Something I've never done on this course, not even close. This will mean sensible nutrition and hydration on the bike. It's a fast, flat course, so I'm going to just let the speed on the bike come - I'm not going to go blowing my legs up. If I do that, I should be able to get off the bike for a strong 10k. What's strong? I don't really know. Some kind of 8:xx/mile pace, I suppose, but more it's a feeling - just like at the Triterium, and my long-mileage run training; a feeling that I am in control, that I am choosing my pace rather than succumbing to it, that I am racing according to strategy, and not survival. If I end up shuffling along, walking, having to re-group, mentally checking out, cramping, basically having any drama at all, then something went not-according-to-plan, and I'll have to address it before next weekend's race, and of course IMWI in September. But if I do execute according to plan, then there's no reason to expect that I should have anything but a solid showing, with a finishing time - and especially a run time - that's pretty respectable. So, we'll see.

Not an ideal week for racing...wrapping up a fantastic long weekend with family, but now I'll be hitting the road early Wednesday for some business meetings in Minneapolis, and then spending the rest of the week out of town. Easy to let rest and nutrition slide when one is not completely in control of his situation, so I'll have to be disciplined there. It also means I'll have to pack for a Saturday race on a Tuesday night, which is a little weird for me. Also seeing Amy and Dakota off for a 10-day stretch with her family - besides being a bit emotionally tough on me, I'll be missing my favorite cheerleaders. Bit of a bummer, but hopefully I connect with some good friends in Minneapolis, and there's a fun plan for Door County as well. All in all, I guess just a race week that's a bit different from the typical.

Anyway, that's the scoop. I'll hope to keep some regular updates via Twitter of race week and all the pre-race stuff (remember you can see those updates over on the right sidebar of the homepage of this blog), so stay tuned. Have a great week, everybody -

Race Report: Wisconsin Triterium

As my propensity of all things OCD on race day is boundless, I was the first person in transition. The race organizers were finishing up set-up, and the registration volunteers had just settled in. I grabbed my stuff (race number 28), found my rack (3rd rack from the end, closest to bike in/bike out - good spot), and braced Vapor up on the rack, the machine ready to rock. Plugged in the iPod and casually went about setting up with my usual surgical precision, alone in his own zone cold and he don't care.

The day was all about execution. A common theme, especially the last two seasons; I used to get so nervous on race day. Like, sick-to-my-stomach nervous. Race day was always some adventure, some epic foray into the unknown. This made for interesting personal growth, I guess, but looking back to '05 or '06, sheesh, how exhausting. Race day is hard enough, y'know? This race was just an opportunity to see where I was in the world on the way to another Ironman. It's a good barometer because this is the third time racing it, so comparisons are more generally valuable as a meter of progress. I had no idea what to expect from the swim, I expected a stronger bike, and, tough as the run course is, I expected a stronger run. Expectations pretty firmly rooted in what my training to this point would indicate.

I also had a lot of new gear to put through the paces, starting with my wetsuit. I've had 2 Orca suits since 2004, and both have left me with such terrible chafing around my neck that I'd spend a week after races looking like a strangulation victim. I have a new 2XU C:1 wetsuit with an adjustable neck, which felt good in my single open-water training swim, but today I'd really get a sense for its fit and performance. At 8:02, my wave headed into the water for the start (I'm the last guy in.)


Unlike most races, this one isn't a beach start - you start in the water. It takes place in a rock quarry, and you swim around the quarry, then actually get out of the water, run around a tree, and run back in for another two loops. The quarry is a nice, small park, and the running in and out is kind of quirky and fun. It makes for lots of fun for friends and spectators, who usually are relegated to watching a swimcap bob around in the distance on raceday.

I found my pace right away - nothing too strong, something I'd call "ambitious but controlled". The biggest unknown for me in the water was how it would go with some changes I've been making to my stroke. This offseason I did some reading, and closely watched some video of Ian Thorpe and Michael Phelps, trying to understand a "good" stroke from a natural swimmer - which I am not. I've had pretty limited time in the pool so far this season, but I've been spending that time really trying to improve my catch and pull - my arm under water has, in past seasons, been quite straight. This season I've been working hard on bending my arm more 90 degrees, keeping my elbow high. It's becoming more and more natural, and it's felt faster - but I wasn't sure if that was just a hopeful feeling, or had some basis in reality.

One of the first things I noticed about racing with the new stroke was how much straighter I was going. I generally have to lift my head and sight frequently to correct my zig-zag line, but I found everytime I lifted my head I was pretty much head right where I wanted to be. As the race went on I got more confident just settling into my stroke and trusting it. Here's me breathing about to put my arm in, and I gots to say, my technique in this picture looks pretty on point. I can't say that's ever been an accurate description of my sloshing about in the water before.


When I popped out of the water at the end of the first lap, a glance at my watch said I was just under 8 minutes. For the second on third laps there's more water to swim in, as you go from the beach - whereas in the start you're a hundred yards or more out into the water. As I went around the second lap, I though anything around 10 minutes for the lap should be reasonable - anything much slower and I'd know I went out too fast and was getting tired. When I loped around the tree at the end of lap 2, I was right around 18 minutes - right on schedule.


I have never in my life swam 1500 meters in under 30 minutes. This last lap was fun because knowing sub 30 was possible gave me something to chase. Well, "focus on"...I was careful not to get myself in a "chase" mode, but I was intentional about maintaining great technique, and tried to push just a bit. I came out of the water in 28:56, a full five minutes faster than last year, and four minutes faster than my best on this course, in 2005.

Wow, well if that doesn't light a fire nothing will, and I trotted the several hundred yards into Transition feeling like so far, so good. Here I am giving my peeps a fist pump (and, by the way, looking like I'm about 60 years old. What's with my face? Also, you can get a sense for a jaunt up to Transition - the quarry is back there across the parking lot, over the fence, then across some grass, then across the beach. Good times.)


Into T1, strip off the wetsuit, throw on the gofast hat, shoes and glasses and gone in 2:03.


This bike course is tough. It's a great training route for Ironman, because it's very similar - mostly hills, with a few heartbreakers, and some sections in between to settle in and cruise, but they don't last long before you have to make a turn or climb another hill. For the Olympic distance, you head out, do two loops through a particularly sinister section, then head back in. I wasn't going to worry about the hills - they were going to suck, and as long as I was careful not to try and power my way up and blow my quads, the top would come soon enough. On the flats I wanted to have a very low RPE - just let the course come without chasing anything or anybody. On the descents I wanted to rest my legs whenever practical. I also wanted to keep a close eye on nutrition and hydration. I've been training exclusively with Infinit Nutrition so far this season, and here was my first gameday test. Infinit lets you go online and concoct your own custom brew, based on your personal requirements. I know what my caloric, carb, and sodium intake needs to be per hour, and up to this season I've reached all of that with a mix of Gatorade, Gu, and Clif bars on the bike. It's worked, but it's become a pain in the ass - a swig of Gatorade every 15 minutes, a Gu at the top of every hour, an 8th of a Clif bar every half hour. I'd have to pack all kinds of food into my pockets for every training ride - for the Racine 70.3 last year I actually had to find the perfect five pocket tri-top just so I could haul my crap around. The Infinit has been flawless. I mix a concentrated bottle, and that's it. Period. I've had Infinit and water on my bike - no gels, no shots, no Clif bars, not even (though I haven't had a crazy hot training day yet) electrolyte tabs. I tweaked my "flavor" setting for my Infinit way down, so I'm not overwhelmed with sweetness, and I've had no GI issues, or funky Gatorade-mouth issues, or anything.

Anyway, remember that last year my quads blew up on the run, I was thoughtful to make sure I was taking 2-3 good swigs of Infinit every 20 minutes on the bike, chasing with water and tossing back more water every 10 minutes or so.

The hills were tough, as I knew they would be. On the loop, there are two back to back hills that rival anything at IMWI (though, of course, there are more of such hills on the IMWI course, not to mention 112 miles long instead of just 25). I wondered if, racing with my wheel cover on my rear wheel for the first time, if it would feel like I was hauling extra weight, and was happy to discover that there was no noticeable difference. The full aero rig seemed to really kick in on the flats, or anytime I got to cruise - there was hardly any wind, and I found I could pretty effortlessly cruise at 23-26mph. I was also happy to find that, while they sucked, the hills weren't that bad. Some cats were walking up the worst of them, or I'd pass riders that were obviously in full on suffering. I never suffered, not once. I never prayed to Jesus that he strike me down because I can't possibly reach the top of this thing, I never cursed my friend RobbyB because he's a transportation engineer (or something) and so therefore I hold him personally responsible for any road-related curiosities I encounter. I just did my thing, and really enjoyed the ride.


I came into T2 in 1:23:44 for an average speed of around 18.5mph, about 4 minutes ahead of last year's speed. I was happy to take whatever I would get from the bike course - it's just not the kind of course where an intentionally low rate of perceived effort is going to give you 20mph or anything. To average 18.5mph knowing that I was taking it easy all day was another really positive milestone in the race. So far I was racing precisely to plan, executing flawlessly, and my numbers were across the board faster than ever before without any remarkably harder "effort" to account for that - just solid training leading to a solid race. Just what you want.

Into T2, on with my shoes, grab my hat and a water bottle and out on the run in 44 seconds.


This run course is crazy. It was designed by hateful people who hate triathletes and want for them to have bad dreams at night. Okay, well, that's probably not true. It's 3 laps of about 2 miles, which on paper doesn't sound too tough. The first mile of each lap is pretty much entirely uphill. You leave Transition to a deceiving incline, something that says, "meh, not so bad", then you arrive at, seriously, just a joke of a hill. Steep and long and awful. At the top of the hill is a cone to turn around - now you get to stress your legs in a whole new way by flying down what you just climbed. At the bottom of the hill, then, is a long slow burn that takes you uphill for the rest of that mile and into the next. Then there's finally some relief, and the last mile is a steady decline that, while it doesn't make up for the misery, at least gives you something to look forward to. When you reach the end of the loop, then, you run through a few hundred yards of grass, which doesn't offer relief from the asphalt, it only offers something sand-like to have to trudge through before you begin the next lap on that deceiving incline that, by the second lap, is kind of snickering at you, and by the third lap is pointing and laughing like Nelson.

I knew I'd be gauging my day by that awful hill on the second loop. If my quads held up through that hill, I knew my effort on the bike, and my hydration and nutrition, was on point, and that I'd ridden as well as I felt I did. If I blew up, then I'd know that I probably went too hard despite my best efforts. So I kept an eye towards waiting to see what would happen by that second loop as I started the run just trying to find a comfortable pace. I didn't worry about my speed, just comfort. I'd just let the rest come.

Two things I did to help create success: First, a trick I started last year in the heat in Racine, which was to put two sponges inside my trisuit on my chest. I had these wet and ready in T2, and then in every aid station I grabbed some water and just doused my chest, soaking the sponges. Brilliant. Keeps my core temperature so much more in control, and as the heat and humidity climbed I knew that would become important; so often for me it's not that my legs get tired, or even that I get dehydrated or something, it's just that I have such a tough time in heat, it can really derail my whole race. The second thing I did, new to me, was fill a running water bottle with Infinit to take with me through the first two loops. I've raced with Fuel belts before, but I don't love them - there's a lot to think about for me in getting the bottle out, getting a drink, fitting the bottle back in, keeping the belt from moving around. At this point in my "career" (ha!) and Ironman training, I'm really trying to simplify some of the moving pieces - the Infinit is an example. And while I don't think it's ideal to carry around a bottle when running, man it was so easy to just toss back a few chugs and get back to my life. It was so much easier than walking/slogging through an aid station to get a few sips while the rest of the drink went all over my face, and I could grab a sip when it suited me best. I think it helped me stay drama free throughout the run, and I'll continue with this, especially on hot days, at least for the first half of the run.

(by the way, peep the bottle in the right hand, the stride with my right foot down, left foot up... look familiar? I'm just sayin'... Becoming Ironman 2030?)


My first loop was uneventful - the hills sucked, the rest didn't, I was clocking in the mid-8's for a pace, which was just fine. My legs felt good, no crazy fatigue from the bike or anything. Hitting that first stretch of grass at the end of the loop was a bit of a demoralizer - you could just feel the humidity steaming up from the yard, and the ground just sucked in your momentum and you could feel the pace slow. I grabbed some water to resoak my sponges at the aid station, and hit the steady incline on my way to that awful second hill. People were already starting to walk around me as I hit the big hill, and I just put my head down and toughed it up. My quads didn't explode - my plan was continuing to perfect execution. I was careful not to just let fly on the descent of the big hill, and then hit the slow burn to take me up the next .6 mile or so. My pace was slowing now, into the 9's, but I wasn't worried about it - it's not the kind of run course where an attitude adjustment can get a guy like me running in the low 8's uphill. My goal all day was to stay in control of the run - I never wanted to find myself forced to walk, or into a death shuffle, or hating life and feeling dehydrated and miserable.

I tossed my bottle to my peeps at the end of the second loop, having hydrated enough to know I wasn't going to get anything more out of carrying the bottle around for the last 2 miles. I glanced at my watch and knew a PR was in reach as long as I didn't totally blow the last 2 miles - but again, I'd let it come, I wouldn't chase it. Again through the tough grass section, and now Nelson was laughing at me while I approached the big hill. I chose here to walk for about 30 yards to rest before the last big climb, but it wasn't a slow, please-somebody-stop-the-pain death shuffle, it was a funny power walk, like you see super serious marathon walkers do, all tossing of the arms and hips. I was going to walk as a matter of strategy, not survival.

Up the big stupid hill now for the last time, and I again power walked up a section of it, deciding it was better to leave myself some legs for the end of the loop. Finally on the descent, and this time I opened it up to a controlled fall - here's where I noticed that, while my new Nike Lunar Trainer racing flats had been great all day, they weren't much for drainage - my feet were pretty water-logged and feeling heavy after all the water dousing I'd been doing all day.

I hit the slow burn hill for the last time, and again went into a few short segments of power walk. My mind was wanting to get in my way as the top of this last long hill seemed so far away, and I said it out loud a few times, there is no spoon to get myself back on point. Finally to the top of the hill, a little water on my head, and I was heading for the home stretch. My focus on the last mile was just on solid, controlled technique. My pace fell back into the mid 8's, and I hit the finish chute determined to eek out the last of whatever I had left.

I finished the run in 55:24, for a pace of 9:04. 3+ minutes ahead of last year. It would have been fun to have a faster run pace, but I stayed in control all day, never melted down, and I think realistically gave the best I had on a tough course. My overall finishing time was 2:50:49, almost 13 minutes ahead of last year's best on this course, and a distance PR by 12 minutes and change. I'd never broken 3 hours before - in fact it felt utterly elusive to do so - and I convincingly achieved that goal. The best part was that it wasn't for some super human effort - it was all just a natural result of the time I've been spending in training. Precisely where a guy wants to be on his way to another Ironman.

Some thoughts:

• A few environmental reasons that probably helped on the way to a 13 minute PR, if you want to be more analytical. It was an almost windless day. It was mostly cloudy, instead of having the sun beating down, and no question that helped a lot with the heat factor for me (though it was still high 70's/low 80's by the time I finished, and humid). Last year, we'd had so much freak rain causing all kinds of flooding, that the quarry itself was much deeper. This year getting in and out of the water was a lot more sensible because the water was at a normal level. Last year we also had a big rainstorm the night/morning of the race, which made Transition a muddy mudfest. I'm also about 6 pounds lighter this year then I was at the same point last year, and no question that'll make a difference.

• The gear worked great. Amazing, in fact - if the reason a guy buys new gear is in hopes of having a faster or more efficient experience, than I don't think it can be argued that the 2XU suit, which did NOT chafe at all - contributed to my great swim split. The aero helmet - which I didn't wear for this race last year - and the disc wheel contributed to my solid bike split. The Infinit Nutrition has been flawless in keeping me on the road. My only cause for thought is the Lunar Trainers - I wonder if on hot days, when I know I'll be dumping water all over myself, a shoe with better drainage will be in order. I'll have to keep that in mind. At any rate, probably you know gear is working best when you don't have to realize it's working at all. When you can just focus on the game. I was able to do that almost flawlessly yesterday. Good.

• All of that said, and absolutely most critical - the engine is on point. I thought so, I figured so, but a solid race day confirms it. That's best of all. I'll keep doing what I'm doing, and doing it how I'm doing it. Stay injury free, continue to build speed, and work my mileage up slowly and patiently, to peak in September.

• From here: I have two more races this summer before Ironman, both in July. The Lifetime Fitness triathlon is another Olympic distance, and this one is pretty fast and flat. It's another that I've done before, so it should be a good opportunity to see what kind of real run pace I can put together off the bike, without huge hills getting in the mix, and another good barometer of "before/after" progress from previous races. A week later I race the Door County Half Iron distance. It's designed to be a tough week of "training" - I should get a good sense of progress/problems to work on before Ironman, but should also achieve some fitness gains over the course of two intense "brick workouts" provided by the races. In the meantime, WIBA is coming up already this weekend, and I'll have my longest ride of the year yet with that crew out on the Ironman course. Very much looking forward to it - not just the training, but spending some time with all my old friends.

Some bits & pieces:

• I guess the management for this race changed companies this year. All in all is was pretty well exactly the same race that I've done 2 other times, with the only changes being positive ones; for instance, the mount and dismount areas were more clearly marked, the bike loop interchange was better marked with cones. I felt the intersections on the bike course were a bit better covered with more, or more informative, personnel. Registration had a representative from USA Triathlon who was clearly involved, and that's always nice. One thing I've never noticed at this race, and didn't this year, was any kind of marshaling on the bike. I didn't see anything overt in the way of drafting, and this course is so hilly and crazy that there's really no opportunity where drafting becomes sensible, but I still like to see the motorcycle cruise by every now and then during a race, keeping everybody honest. At any rate, a nicely organized race, well done Race Day Events.

• Highlight of waiting for the swim - super chubby dude in tiny speedo rocking out to Mr. Roboto on the speakers.

• Speaking of RobbyB, he did the announcing yesterday. I thought he did a great job, had a good presence, repeated information often enough so everybody got the same message regardless of when they showed up, but did it in a way that wasn't boring. Kept things interesting but informative, and kept the information pretty well constant - nobody ever had much opportunity to get too confused. Good work, RB. One thing I'd like to see better announced before races is a drill down of the transition area - where the swim in, run in/out, bike in/out is. Races usually wait until the "mandatory meeting" to cover this, but everybody's wondering it while they're setting up in Transition. Signs do get, or are posted, but it's still helpful to hear, I think, what to expect. This race did a good job, as the time to transition closing neared, of explaining - for instance - where the bike mount/dismount is, relative to the actual "gate" into transition. All good stuff.

• Dear dude in trisuit, rocking a Schwinn with fenders: YES!

• It's hard to hear much around you when wearing an aero-helmet with the farings over the ears, but a few times in the first few miles I kept hearing some dude with a disc wheel behind me. I started to get irritated with him - dude, just pass me already. But then I realized - oh, dude is me. Ha! The wheel cover doesn't give you that same whooshwhooshwhoosh as a real disc does, but it still makes a new sound that I wasn't used to.

• I didn't really wear a trisuit at all last year, opting for 2-piece rigs. I'm going back to trisuits for Olympic distance and shorter. And not just because they make me feel as sexy as I know I look. They're just easy. Thoughtless. Simpler is better, says I.

• Had a few people ask me about my crazy new wheel decals, which was great because it gave me a chance to explain the "Lionhearted" thing and who knows, maybe they'll come aboard or make a contribution. Speaking of which, I have an exciting announcement about the Lionhearted goal coming soon!!!

• Also dope about the crazy wheels is - the machine Vapor is not hard to find in Transition. Not even a little bit.


• Big, heartfelt shout out to CznE her fiance Jimmy, my man Mike, and Amy and Dakota for coming out to cheer me on. I really appreciate it, guys. Makes the day so much more fun to look forward to seeing you around the corner.

• The best part about racing? The finish line, of course. The best part of the finish line? The people you can't wait to see, and who can't wait to see you.

Race Week: Wisconsin Triterium Triathlon

Wow, well I'm excited to have my first Race Week since October, my first triathlon since Racine last July. Let's get right to it.

This will be my third time racing the Wisconsin Triterium, a fun, challenging race right here near Madison. It's a great training race for IMWI, as it shares a tiny shred of the Ironman course, but is also just a really tough bike circuit - mostly hills, not much cruising, more climbing than descending. It's not a course for PR's, but I'm looking forward to seeing if I can execute a strategy that will get me through this Olympic distance race feeling strong, instead of like I've had my ass kicked (which was the result my other two times racing this one).

First off, I just read my race report from last year as a refresher, and it appears I was fighting a really absurd cold that just wouldn't let go. Hey, guess what! That's been me for a week! Last year, though, the race fell at the end of the cold's worst week, and I think this year I should have a few days' buffer, as for the first time in a week I'm finally feeling my head clear a bit. And, except for some fatigue, I haven't felt my training really suffer this time from this cold - likely because I've allowed myself a day off or a lighter workout when I needed it. Anyway, what's up with these early June colds? Enough already.

Here's the plan: I don't really see the point in paying for a "workout day", so this race isn't a "workout day". It's a race. Go hard when you race, or go home and get on the trainer, says I. That said, this race strategically falls at the end of a rest week in my training (meaning my volume is less this week). I plan on using this weekend as an early barometer for how the cylinders are firing. I've got new gear all around (more on that in another post); new wetsuit, disc wheel on the bike, new racing flats, even new nutrition (Infinit Nutrition for the win...). All need a real-world test-drive, so I plan to really be attentive to how things go through the paces this weekend. I haven't had enough pool time, but I've been working on my stroke a bit (trying to tweak my catch and pull...I hesitantly say to some improvement...), and I should get a good sense in this race for if, and to what extent, those improvements are making any kind of difference in the water. I'll be all aero'd up - spacehat and disc wheel - on the bike, and it's supposed to be a hot day, so it'll be useful to ride on a tough course with race-day intensity. And while I have several brick workouts in the books, none at any kind or race intensity. So, it'll be a day for all around experiments.

I don't really chase time goals in races anymore - there are so many variables from one race day to another that it becomes a bit impossible to quantify "success" strictly on if I was faster or slower than some arbitrary goal. Or, I end up fruitlessly chasing some imaginary goal, pushing the swim with an unsustainable effort, for instance, just so I can say I got in under xx:xx time; meanwhile I've left myself to blow up the bike or run. I mostly like to gauge my goals based on what my fitness can realistic provide for me; in this case, my swim should be a bit slow, my bike should be on-target, and - if all else is executed right - I should have strength left for a solid run. My main agenda for the entire race (besides working out some of the logistics I just got done talking about) is to live by this bit of wisdom: there is no such thing as a "good bike" and a "bad run". If I push to congratulate myself on my awesome bike split only to leave myself running 10 minute miles for the 10k, well, nothing much accomplished there, was there. I intend to ride the 40k bike at my IM intensity - which means low RPE, saving my legs whenever possible. The hills on the course already make for a tough day, and my legs will likely be shredded whatever I do. Minimize the damage to leave myself with something for the run, even if it gets me to T2 with a slower pace than what I'm necessarily capable of.

The run course is crazy for this race, too - 2 laps of 3 miles each, the first half of each lap mostly varying versions of uphill, with one particularly nasty long, steep hill to climb just into the lap. Last year my quads cramped up climbing that hill - a result of pushing the bike too hard and not enough electrolytes. All things to be mindful of. When I reach the second lap of the run, that's when I'll assess any realistic goals to push towards regarding pace or finishing time or whatever. Before that, it's all about sticking to the plan and being strong.

I've never cracked 3 hours in this race - come to think of it, in any Olympic distance race; it's just a distance I've been famously inept with, treating it too casually like one might a Sprint distance - a series of time trials - instead of the tough endurance day that it is. We'll see if the training has been there (and this damn cold subsides) to get me in under that limit, or what problem areas reveal themselves to need more work and attention in training. In any case, nothing in the world like race day, and I can't wait. Really looking forward to it.

harder, better, faster...smarter.

A funny thing happened on the way to 60 miles yesterday.

I was on my bike, doing my thing and feeling good, wondering if I'd outride the thunder storms that were forecast. About 35 miles in I heard my first rumblings of thunder, then a few minutes later the first spatters of rain. A few minutes after that the downpour started.

I'm not opposed to riding in a downpour - in fact I think it's pretty dope (minus the cleaning the machine requires afterwards - that's a pain in the ass) - but the rain reached a point where I couldn't see through my Oakleys, couldn't make sense of if the rain was falling down or ricocheting back up off the road, couldn't see far enough ahead of me to be sure that drivers could see me. So I found a wooded spot, pulled over, and dragged my bike down into the woods, finding a collection of close-together trees that provided some protection. It was annoyingly cold, so I mostly tried to keep warm and avoid the worst of the rain.

The sky flickered with lightning, and I remember thinking - geez, that has to be bright stuff, lightning. To actually brighten past daylight. The thunder cracked, the lightning came, the rain fell, and me and my machine chilled out. It was about 7:30 in the morning, sensible people were still asleep, but I was at some kind of church, I'll tell you.

10 or 15 minutes passed, and rain lightened up enough where I thought I'd get back on my horse and hit the trail. There was still a lot of thunder though, still a lot of flickering. I was in a pretty forested stretch of road, though, so couldn't really see enough of the sky to get a sense for what was coming or going.

A few miles later I turned onto a more open stretch of road, and the sky broiled ahead of me, all gray and angry and wanting to take me to Oz. I was headed straight into it with the miles I'd have in this direction. The sky flickered again, and I thought - well, if it's just flickery lightning, that's one thing, but if I see the crazy Strike You Down splinters of light crack the sky, that's a whole other thing. It wasn't two seconds later when, coinciding with a huge crescendo in rainfall, a big splinter of light shattered the sky ahead and to the left. All while I was rolling in open terrain, a lonely thing on a lonely road.

Does Carbon Fiber conduct electricity? Don't they say you're safe in cars because the tires are rubber? That sounds like bullshit to me. I wonder if I'd be safe on my bike, then, with my rubber tires? That sounds like more bullshit. I read where this dude's shirt melted into his skin once when he was struck by lightning. I wonder what technical thermal fabric is like when it melts. I have metal on the cleats of my shoes, I wonder what that would do to a person. All this passed through my mind in about 2 seconds, when I became suddenly very nervous about the whole situation. I think the lightning was still a few miles ahead of me. But I was creeping myself out. Plus, I couldn't see a damn thing anymore. But at the moment, there was zero protection around. About a quarter mile ahead was a small copse of trees in a lower-lying area. I kicked into gear into a pissed-off wind and rode like hell.

I waited for another 15 minutes, huddled under some pretty useless branches and getting generally soaked, watching the show, when I finally decided it was enough, I'd cut my ride short by 6 miles and head home. The sky was still electrified, and the wind was still crazy, but at least heading the opposite direction of the storm I felt like things were less dangerous.

Two things really rolled through my head as I cruised the 20 miles home. The first, which had really been on my mind since I found myself feeling stranded in the middle of lightning-fest, was my daughter. And of course that's cliche, and expected, but there you go. I don't want to be overly dramatic here - it's not like I felt my life was at risk or anything like that, but I had a choice to increase, or decrease my risk. And the game has, by nature, a lot of risks that I understand and accept already. I'm uninterested in uncovering more just because they might be interesting to find. When I say I was thinking of my daughter, it's not quite as visceral as "I owe it to her" or anything like that (though, I do). It's really a complex thought process, that involves responsibility for and to others. Acceptable and responsible behaviors. Avoiding stupid things - I tell this to my dog Jack all the time, "don't do stupid things". If I find myself in trouble somewhere, sometime - well, that's life, and that's triathlon. But if I find myself in trouble because I did something stupid - and "trouble" can be defined as something really threatening or just going south on the run because I stupidly rode too hard on the bike after pushing too hard in the water - well then I can only hold myself accountable for that. It seems pretty obvious that riding into lightning qualifies as a stupid thing. And of course, there is that more visceral thing - I do owe it to her, and to myself, and to my family, to work hard out there - but within sensible limits. It's just a game, after all.

The second thing in my head was how completely opposite this entire approach is to anything I experienced when I was training for Ironman the first time. Then I would've seen the thunder and lightning and ridden as hard as I could into it. I would've dared the thunderbolts to come find me. I had, so fruitlessly, so much to prove; strictly to myself. Everything was some epic battleground. The world was my combatant enemy, and Ironman was just our convenient theater. When I did Ironman in '06, I did it thinking I was so much stronger than I really was. The fact that I was so restless, so eager to find a fight, proves only my weakness, my lack of self-confidence and awareness, my distortion of priorities and purpose. You'll find this theme throughout all of '06 (go ahead and re-read entries from back then if you like, I'll wait...) - I remember doing a half Iron race where the volunteers sent me 2 miles or something out of the way, and I, enraged, pushed the pedals like crazy to make up the time. Only to, inevitably, fall apart on the run. Really - how stupid is that? Every long ride, every long run, every race was a duel with ghosts and monsters and spectres who each and all looked just like me.

But - except with the objective perspective of that time - I'm not critical of it. That's what my process was about, then. It was so much less about the game and so much all about me. But that's the personal space I was in. And if I want to get a little self-analyzing, I'll probably find more examples than I'm comfortable with of self-defeat, of personal punishment. Of choosing to take the stairs when I could just as easily take the elevator, because dammit the stairs are harder. Well and good, I guess. I needed that, then. I needed to pick a fight. I'm glad I found myself a worthy opponent.

Inasmuch, though, as Ironman has hardly ever been about the miles, I am struck by the sharp contrast of this experience. First of all, I'm so much more patient. I have a perfectly laid out plan - which I'm happy to deviate from if it proves I should at any time - that gets me the miles I need in a time I need to (hopefully) peak at Ironman. I'm not about just finishing this race (with the normal disclaimers that, of course, that's the first and only real goal of the day). I'm putting myself to it just like I did last year's 70.3 and marathon - I want to do the race under the optimum conditions for success. That's not about coming in under a certain time or goal, it's just knowing that I did it to the very peak of my ability, wherever that gets me, whatever that is. I'm not fearful of the race, I'm not even intimidated by its grueling distance and challenge. I welcome that. I enjoy it, I submerse myself into it. Maybe that's the difference this time around - I don't feel in opposition to Ironman, and that I need to conquer some part of myself to acquire the title. I feel, this time around, so far perfectly in tune and in time with Ironman. I'm going with the current. I'm trusting myself, my experience, my abilities. I don't require convincing myself that the distances are even possible. I'm not afraid of this.

Which isn't at all to say or suggest that I'm not feeling tremendously challenged, or like I'm not having to bust my ass to make this all happen, or that I don't think this is hard, hard work. Because it is. And if there are not epic battles this time around, there are definitely skirmishes. I said the first time around - and I believe this - that you have to be a little mad to do Ironman. You have to have something deep within you that is restless, or angry, or unsatisfied, to think it logical to subject yourself to it. But this time around, those elements are so much lesser a part of the scene that, really, they're not useful to think about. I don't have any chip on my shoulder this time is my point. I'm strategic, rather than tactical. I choose to work smarter instead of work harder. My head is much more in the game, rather than the game being so much in my head. True enough that these things all come, as one would expect, with time spent in training and racing - you live, you learn. But moreso, it's a different me out there now. A me that knows so much more. And a me that expects so much more.

Anyway, that's what's up with me lately.

In the next few days, I'll hopefully share a post about all the cool new toys, gadgets, and gizmos I've been playing with. Lots of cool stuff around here. Until then, train hard and be smart everybody -