Ironman is not pretty. Ironman is responsible for building some pretty bodies, for sure, but Ironman itself is not pretty.
The swim is not pretty:
For in-water swim starts, you know that half the people around you aren't quiet because they're focusing on the swim. After a cup or two of coffee, plus a water bottle or two of hydration formula, and those long lines at the porta-potties, and you can understand those looks of relief on those faces beside you.
Take a good open water swim, with a hefty wind and some serious chop in the water, and you can't help but swallow more water than some people drink in a day. Give that a few minutes to churn around in a few hundred stomachs, and something's coming back up.
The changing tent is not pretty:
With a 2.4 mile swim, then a 112 mile bike, and then a marathon, many people like to change into discipline-specific clothes between each segment. I mean a total change. Each gender has its own changing tent, so I can't say what it's like in the women's tent, but in the mens...trust me, it ain't pretty!
The bike is not pretty:
The people who are fast on the bike don't like to stop. For anything. Not event to unload excess liquid after several water bottles. Instead, they just let it go while they're on the roll. That's not pretty enough, but imagine someone doing that while flying down a hill in front of you at 40 mph. Definitely. Not. Pretty.
The run? You guessed it:
There's really not much new on the run, other than toward the back of the pack, where you see a lot of people after 13, 14, 15, 16 hours, utterly spent and running on nothing but pure determination.
Here are some samples (sorry, no changing tents):
2007, Normann Stadler vomits on the bike
1982, Julie Moss famously crawls to the finish line
Although Ironman is not pretty, it is pretty freakin' awesome.
John Blazeman, Warrior Poet, Ironman
Team Hoyt, might just be the most awesome act of a father's dedication you'll ever see
Friday, September 18, 2009
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Race Report: Ironman Louisville
August 30, 2009. Louisville, Kentucky. Ohio River. Rural Kentucky Counties. University of Louisville. Churchill Downs. Fourth Street Live. 2,352 people with a dream.
Overview, 140.6 miles: 14:58:07
Race day was an unexpected beauty. After two years when Ironman Louisville saw temperatures in the 90's with high humidity, the third running of IML caught a break with highs in the mid-70's, low humidity, light winds and clear skies. All those weeks of waiting until mid-day to head out for long training rides and runs, to catch the hottest part of the day to prepare for the inevitable heat, turned out to be good heat training that was not needed. Big crowds in Louisville and La Grange (which the bike route passed through, twice), and smaller concentrations along the course, were great boosters for everyone who passed through. Volunteers were fantastic all the way, with the occasional exception of some on the marathon route toward the end of the evening. They were understandably weary after a long day, themselves.
Swim, 2.4 miles: 1:49:33
IML has a unique swim. Rather than a mass start, where everyone is either in the water or on the beach, and all start at once, IML uses a time trial format, with athletes jumping off a dock one at a time to enter the backwaters of the Ohio River behind Towhead Island. But back up: to stage the swim start, athletes line up, first-come, first-in, with the line stretching for what must have been a mile along a parking lot and road. Once the cannon fired, the line moved fast, like jogging fast, onto the dock and into the water. After swimming upstream (although there was no discernible current) past Towhead, the course turns out into the main body of the Ohio and then downstream for the main part of the swim.
Although it's a major river, the Ohio does in fact taste better than the Hudson in NYC, even though you can't see your fingers at the start of your swim stroke.
Based on swim splits at Eagleman and Rhode Island 70.3, in June and July, I had expected a swim time of 1:20 to 1:30. So I was disappointed when I glanced at my watch a bit before the half-way point in the swim and saw that I was significantly off my expected pace. But knowing that pushing harder than my aerobic pace in the swim would mean losing time to fatigue later in the day, I stuck with the plan and crawled on.
T1: 0:05:29
I came out of the water for the transition from swim to bike, glad to be out of the water and ready to make up time on the bike. Nancy and Ben were there for encouragement. Ran into transition, a volunteer handed over my bike equipment bag, and I ran into the men's changing tent. Ironman has separate changing tents for good reason - maybe because some folks do a total costume change, maybe because what people look like in the tent is just not pretty.
Pulled on my bike shorts over my tri shorts - I like the extra cushion over 112 miles on the bike. Also socks for comfort, bike shoes, helmet, race belt with bib, sunscreen, sunglasses, and ran out the tent. I had to get my bike from the rack - often volunteers have the bike off the rack and ready, but when a hundred people are emerging each minute, they can't serve everyone. This is why, even in a well-supported event, it always pays to know exactly where your bike is, and to practice getting to it before the race.
Bike, 112 miles: 7:19:12
Oy. I felt fine on the bike, but my time does not show it. Coming out of T1, the bike starts with a few flat miles before leaving the Ohio River bed and into the rolling hills of Kentucky. This is a great opportunity to get settled into the aero bars, start taking on nutrition and hydration, and get ready for a nice, long ride.
The goal on the bike was to stay in my aerobic heart rate zone as much as possible, and to not let my heart rate climb too high going up the hills. The first hill was a good test - steep enough to force the heart rate higher, and long enough to keep it there. The bike course has one long descent into a creek bed in an out-and-back section, which was great for a sustained "yee-haw" 40-plus mph down to the bridge, and then a good climb back out - twice. The downhills gave me a great chance to see the advantage of the aerodynamic wheels and helmet: coasting downhill I was screaming past heavier people (think about the effects of gravity on bodies with more mass), and loving it. That image helped me as I churned along the flats and rollers, realizing that my aero-gear was making me faster than if I had standard wheels and helmet. Even so, the first two hours were frustratingly slow at exactly 15 mph. I got a bit faster after that, but still well below my expected speed of 17 - 18 mph. That's where the training and plan again probably saved me from an even worse finish: had I panicked and pushed harder, beyond my aerobic heart rate zone, I may well have had a melt down during the bike.
Passing through La Grange at mile 31 on the bike, I saw the sign our friend's son had made for me, and was able to pull over for 30 seconds to give Nancy a smooch. Definitely worth it. Wife & son, along with good friends from a former life and their boys, were in La Grange for both bike loops, and it was great to see them there, even though it was just for a few seconds each time.
The last 40 miles on the bike were much faster, capped off by returning to the flat road along the river to start getting ready for the run.
T2: 0:06:29
Although I wasn't sure if I could pull it off, I did a nice rolling dismount from the bike into the transition from bike to run. A volunteer took my bike to replace it on the rack, and I ran to the volunteer who handed over my run bag, and then back into the men's changing tent. In T1, there's a lot of chatter about the water, how people did on the swim, what the bike's going to be like. In T2, not. Bike shorts, helmet, socks off. Compression socks, hat, running shoes on. Gels in tri shorts pockets, race belt rotated so bib is in front. More sunscreen. Ready to roll.
Run, 26.2 miles: 5:37:24
In the most disappointing segment of the race, my run was 30 minutes slower than my Ironman Florida run, even after posting my best half-iron run in July at Rhode Island 70.3. I felt fine coming out of T2, pumped by the adrenaline, the change of movement, and the great crowd. Out of the chute and into the streets of downtown Louisville before turning onto a bridge over the Ohio. The bridge was just a bit of a climb, and the only real rise on the run course. I ran the first three miles in a comfortable pace of 9:43/mile in my aerobic zone, which I felt like I could carry forever. But after mile three I started slowing, despite my push to keep the pace. I ran through mile 14 and the turn around for loop two, just yards from the finish line with a huge crowd. After that, took several walking breaks. Although I felt well fueled and hydrated, my right knee and hip were complaining and I gave in to the urge to give them a rest. Or several rests.
Sundown hit at about mile 21. Take a few hundred tired runners in the last few miles of an Ironman, when there's not much in the way of sustained conversation, and add a bit of darkness, and you find out how to get solitude in the middle of a city. As I was counting down the miles, I knew I had enough time to walk the rest of the marathon and still finish under the 17 hour end at midnight. But I kept running most of the way, with walking breaks as needed, along with just about everyone else still on the course.
At mile 25, I forced myself to put it in gear and keep it there until the end. I could hear the announcer calling each finisher's name as she or he crossed the line, and I could begin to hear the finish line crowd. "Finish strong," is an endurance sport mantra, and it can be a powerful drug after struggling to finish an Ironman.
Turning the last corner, just a few blocks before Fourth Street Live
and the finish line, all the pain left, all the fatigue faded, and all the frustration washed away in the bright lights of the finish chute and line. "Run toward the light!" Cheering crowds, hands outstretched to high-five runners in the last yards of their day, music blasting, and then a lone voice booming through the din: "Kevin Peter from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!"
Total Time, 140.6 miles: 14:58:07
Overview, 140.6 miles: 14:58:07
Race day was an unexpected beauty. After two years when Ironman Louisville saw temperatures in the 90's with high humidity, the third running of IML caught a break with highs in the mid-70's, low humidity, light winds and clear skies. All those weeks of waiting until mid-day to head out for long training rides and runs, to catch the hottest part of the day to prepare for the inevitable heat, turned out to be good heat training that was not needed. Big crowds in Louisville and La Grange (which the bike route passed through, twice), and smaller concentrations along the course, were great boosters for everyone who passed through. Volunteers were fantastic all the way, with the occasional exception of some on the marathon route toward the end of the evening. They were understandably weary after a long day, themselves.
Swim, 2.4 miles: 1:49:33
IML has a unique swim. Rather than a mass start, where everyone is either in the water or on the beach, and all start at once, IML uses a time trial format, with athletes jumping off a dock one at a time to enter the backwaters of the Ohio River behind Towhead Island. But back up: to stage the swim start, athletes line up, first-come, first-in, with the line stretching for what must have been a mile along a parking lot and road. Once the cannon fired, the line moved fast, like jogging fast, onto the dock and into the water. After swimming upstream (although there was no discernible current) past Towhead, the course turns out into the main body of the Ohio and then downstream for the main part of the swim.
Although it's a major river, the Ohio does in fact taste better than the Hudson in NYC, even though you can't see your fingers at the start of your swim stroke.
Based on swim splits at Eagleman and Rhode Island 70.3, in June and July, I had expected a swim time of 1:20 to 1:30. So I was disappointed when I glanced at my watch a bit before the half-way point in the swim and saw that I was significantly off my expected pace. But knowing that pushing harder than my aerobic pace in the swim would mean losing time to fatigue later in the day, I stuck with the plan and crawled on.
T1: 0:05:29
I came out of the water for the transition from swim to bike, glad to be out of the water and ready to make up time on the bike. Nancy and Ben were there for encouragement. Ran into transition, a volunteer handed over my bike equipment bag, and I ran into the men's changing tent. Ironman has separate changing tents for good reason - maybe because some folks do a total costume change, maybe because what people look like in the tent is just not pretty.
Pulled on my bike shorts over my tri shorts - I like the extra cushion over 112 miles on the bike. Also socks for comfort, bike shoes, helmet, race belt with bib, sunscreen, sunglasses, and ran out the tent. I had to get my bike from the rack - often volunteers have the bike off the rack and ready, but when a hundred people are emerging each minute, they can't serve everyone. This is why, even in a well-supported event, it always pays to know exactly where your bike is, and to practice getting to it before the race.
Bike, 112 miles: 7:19:12
Oy. I felt fine on the bike, but my time does not show it. Coming out of T1, the bike starts with a few flat miles before leaving the Ohio River bed and into the rolling hills of Kentucky. This is a great opportunity to get settled into the aero bars, start taking on nutrition and hydration, and get ready for a nice, long ride.
The goal on the bike was to stay in my aerobic heart rate zone as much as possible, and to not let my heart rate climb too high going up the hills. The first hill was a good test - steep enough to force the heart rate higher, and long enough to keep it there. The bike course has one long descent into a creek bed in an out-and-back section, which was great for a sustained "yee-haw" 40-plus mph down to the bridge, and then a good climb back out - twice. The downhills gave me a great chance to see the advantage of the aerodynamic wheels and helmet: coasting downhill I was screaming past heavier people (think about the effects of gravity on bodies with more mass), and loving it. That image helped me as I churned along the flats and rollers, realizing that my aero-gear was making me faster than if I had standard wheels and helmet. Even so, the first two hours were frustratingly slow at exactly 15 mph. I got a bit faster after that, but still well below my expected speed of 17 - 18 mph. That's where the training and plan again probably saved me from an even worse finish: had I panicked and pushed harder, beyond my aerobic heart rate zone, I may well have had a melt down during the bike.
Passing through La Grange at mile 31 on the bike, I saw the sign our friend's son had made for me, and was able to pull over for 30 seconds to give Nancy a smooch. Definitely worth it. Wife & son, along with good friends from a former life and their boys, were in La Grange for both bike loops, and it was great to see them there, even though it was just for a few seconds each time.
The last 40 miles on the bike were much faster, capped off by returning to the flat road along the river to start getting ready for the run.
T2: 0:06:29
Although I wasn't sure if I could pull it off, I did a nice rolling dismount from the bike into the transition from bike to run. A volunteer took my bike to replace it on the rack, and I ran to the volunteer who handed over my run bag, and then back into the men's changing tent. In T1, there's a lot of chatter about the water, how people did on the swim, what the bike's going to be like. In T2, not. Bike shorts, helmet, socks off. Compression socks, hat, running shoes on. Gels in tri shorts pockets, race belt rotated so bib is in front. More sunscreen. Ready to roll.
Run, 26.2 miles: 5:37:24
In the most disappointing segment of the race, my run was 30 minutes slower than my Ironman Florida run, even after posting my best half-iron run in July at Rhode Island 70.3. I felt fine coming out of T2, pumped by the adrenaline, the change of movement, and the great crowd. Out of the chute and into the streets of downtown Louisville before turning onto a bridge over the Ohio. The bridge was just a bit of a climb, and the only real rise on the run course. I ran the first three miles in a comfortable pace of 9:43/mile in my aerobic zone, which I felt like I could carry forever. But after mile three I started slowing, despite my push to keep the pace. I ran through mile 14 and the turn around for loop two, just yards from the finish line with a huge crowd. After that, took several walking breaks. Although I felt well fueled and hydrated, my right knee and hip were complaining and I gave in to the urge to give them a rest. Or several rests.
Sundown hit at about mile 21. Take a few hundred tired runners in the last few miles of an Ironman, when there's not much in the way of sustained conversation, and add a bit of darkness, and you find out how to get solitude in the middle of a city. As I was counting down the miles, I knew I had enough time to walk the rest of the marathon and still finish under the 17 hour end at midnight. But I kept running most of the way, with walking breaks as needed, along with just about everyone else still on the course.
At mile 25, I forced myself to put it in gear and keep it there until the end. I could hear the announcer calling each finisher's name as she or he crossed the line, and I could begin to hear the finish line crowd. "Finish strong," is an endurance sport mantra, and it can be a powerful drug after struggling to finish an Ironman.
Turning the last corner, just a few blocks before Fourth Street Live
and the finish line, all the pain left, all the fatigue faded, and all the frustration washed away in the bright lights of the finish chute and line. "Run toward the light!" Cheering crowds, hands outstretched to high-five runners in the last yards of their day, music blasting, and then a lone voice booming through the din: "Kevin Peter from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!"
Total Time, 140.6 miles: 14:58:07
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Baby, it's cold outside!
So, you're an Ironman, knowing you have an Ironman event in only 33 weeks and a whole lotta base fitness to build before intense training begins the spring. Not to mention a marathon in ten weeks. But it's cold, and icy, and you have a swim, a long run and a long ride scheduled for the weekend. What to do?
Yes, winter swimming is inside, and the pool is heated. But the pool always seems colder when dark comes early that the windows are coated with condensation. Just like at the beginning of a race, I just jump in and go. The water's not going anywhere, and the fitness won't come on its own.
I did my long run yesterday. I was really hoping to run in a nice snowfall, which the forecast had been calling for, for days. I don't mind running in the cold. Just put on enough layers of cold weather running gear, and maybe a rainproof vest, and I'm ready to go. I'd much rather run in really cold weather than in hot, humid weather.
Today's two-hour bike ride was a different matter. Last night's freezing rain made even riding down to the Wissahickon for a trail ride too slippery. So I did the next best thing - grabbed a DVD and headed to the basement to spin on my road bike on the trainer. Riding inside is not as interesting as riding outside, even with a good movie to watch, but sometimes it's the only option.
Yes, winter swimming is inside, and the pool is heated. But the pool always seems colder when dark comes early that the windows are coated with condensation. Just like at the beginning of a race, I just jump in and go. The water's not going anywhere, and the fitness won't come on its own.
I did my long run yesterday. I was really hoping to run in a nice snowfall, which the forecast had been calling for, for days. I don't mind running in the cold. Just put on enough layers of cold weather running gear, and maybe a rainproof vest, and I'm ready to go. I'd much rather run in really cold weather than in hot, humid weather.
Today's two-hour bike ride was a different matter. Last night's freezing rain made even riding down to the Wissahickon for a trail ride too slippery. So I did the next best thing - grabbed a DVD and headed to the basement to spin on my road bike on the trainer. Riding inside is not as interesting as riding outside, even with a good movie to watch, but sometimes it's the only option.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Ironman resolutions
What can an Ironman resolve for the New Year?
Get in shape? Done that.
Lose weight? Done that.
Swim, bike, and run 140.6 miles in less than 17 hours? Done that, baby!
Do something that no one else you know thinks they can do? Yes, I've even done that. (and by the way, most of those people are wrong - if I can do it, most of them can, too)
So here's what I'm thinking for 2009. Not resolutions, really, but goals.
1. Get religious about my training schedule. In 2008, knowing I had to work very hard to build the endurance to complete the Ironman distance, I signed up with Cadence Multisport Centers for individual coaching. I knew I needed some external accountability - someone keeping track of my training - to keep me on the plan. And it worked, mostly. But there's often a reason to cut a workout short, or to skip it. Family schedules, work, other activities - everything conspires to ask whether Ironman is more important. And for the age grouper (amateur) Ironman, training and racing are all about balance, as in, how to balance Ironman with the rest of your life. For me, when training loses the contest, it's usually not about balance, but about planning. So I'm going to do a better a job planning, this year, so I get the benefits of training and everything else, too.
2. Push harder in training. In 2008, I learned how to push myself in races - to keep a pace of eight minutes-per-mile in the 10K run of an Olympic distance race, for example. I learned how to push myself in training, also, and my coach's workout plans helped focus that. But with a major goal for 2009 to increase my speed in all three disciplines, I need to make sure I'm pushing hard in training, throughout the year, so I have more to push during races.
3. Bring more people into triathlon. In the four years I've been doing triathlon, I've enjoyed nearly all of it. Long, aerobic-paced runs with a friend. Early morning indoor cycling workouts at Cadence. Six-hour rides through Chester and Berks counties. Sharing brief conversations with other participants during races. Seeing my fitness and times improve in tangible return on my work.
Get in shape? Done that.
Lose weight? Done that.
Swim, bike, and run 140.6 miles in less than 17 hours? Done that, baby!
Do something that no one else you know thinks they can do? Yes, I've even done that. (and by the way, most of those people are wrong - if I can do it, most of them can, too)
So here's what I'm thinking for 2009. Not resolutions, really, but goals.
1. Get religious about my training schedule. In 2008, knowing I had to work very hard to build the endurance to complete the Ironman distance, I signed up with Cadence Multisport Centers for individual coaching. I knew I needed some external accountability - someone keeping track of my training - to keep me on the plan. And it worked, mostly. But there's often a reason to cut a workout short, or to skip it. Family schedules, work, other activities - everything conspires to ask whether Ironman is more important. And for the age grouper (amateur) Ironman, training and racing are all about balance, as in, how to balance Ironman with the rest of your life. For me, when training loses the contest, it's usually not about balance, but about planning. So I'm going to do a better a job planning, this year, so I get the benefits of training and everything else, too.
2. Push harder in training. In 2008, I learned how to push myself in races - to keep a pace of eight minutes-per-mile in the 10K run of an Olympic distance race, for example. I learned how to push myself in training, also, and my coach's workout plans helped focus that. But with a major goal for 2009 to increase my speed in all three disciplines, I need to make sure I'm pushing hard in training, throughout the year, so I have more to push during races.
3. Bring more people into triathlon. In the four years I've been doing triathlon, I've enjoyed nearly all of it. Long, aerobic-paced runs with a friend. Early morning indoor cycling workouts at Cadence. Six-hour rides through Chester and Berks counties. Sharing brief conversations with other participants during races. Seeing my fitness and times improve in tangible return on my work.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
I did an Ironman?
Seven weeks after Ironman Florida, it's getting hard to imagine how one does Ironman. Can I really swim 2.4 miles in open water, bike 112 miles, and run the 26.2 miles of a marathon, all in one day. And survive?
Thinking about 2009, right around the corner, and Ironman Louisville on August 30, it's hard to imagine what it will take to do another Ironman. With the past seven weeks of shorter, less intense swimming, biking, and running, my body has recovered from the long, hard work of the summer and early fall. Aches and pains are gone, and my body's ready to get back to work.
I've run two 5K races since Ironman. For those of us who discovered that the metric system died when we finished sixth grade, it lives on in race distances. And since it's been so long since most of us have had to do a conversion: 5 kilometers equals 3.1 miles.
Thanksgiving morning, Ben and I ran his first 5K, the "Gobble Wobble," at a local Y. Ben has owned most of the 1-mile "fun runs" in which he's participated in conjuction with at marathons and other events. He had yet to run longer than a mile, and he'd been wanting to go farther. He was pretty sure he could cover the distance, but had an unusual (for him) respect for the longer distance. He decided to take it easier than normal, and I ran with him. Ben finished in 26:58, at a pace of 8:42 per mile. Only three and a half weeks after Ironman, my goal was simply to run with Ben and have fun.
December 14, Ben and I ran the "Reindeer Romp 5K," in a nearby burb. This time, Ben thought he could run faster, now knowing that he could cover the distance. I also wanted to see how fast I could make the distance. So we each ran our own pace. I finished in an amazing-for-me 22:41, a pace of 7:17 per mile. That's 39 seconds per mile faster than I've ever run in an event. I came in only 1:38 behind the third place winner in the Male 40-44 age group, and 11th overall in that group. I also came in one second ahead of the second and third place women in the 40-44 group. Literally - they were running together and I finally cought and passed them about 20 yards before the finish line. And I have no problem being the second place woman!
We'll do a couple more 5Ks over the winter as I continue to work on my run speed. My new crazy goal for 2009 is to qualify, in fall 2009, for the 2010 Boston Marathon. For my mid-life crisis age group, that means running 3:30 or less in a qualifying marathon.
I'll run the SunTrust National Marathon, in Washington, March 21. That will give me a stand-alone marathon result to tell me how much time I'm going to have to shave off my pace between then and the fall. If I don't qualify for Boston, I'll still be a lot faster than now, which of course will help my Ironman Louisville marathon time.
Thinking about 2009, right around the corner, and Ironman Louisville on August 30, it's hard to imagine what it will take to do another Ironman. With the past seven weeks of shorter, less intense swimming, biking, and running, my body has recovered from the long, hard work of the summer and early fall. Aches and pains are gone, and my body's ready to get back to work.
I've run two 5K races since Ironman. For those of us who discovered that the metric system died when we finished sixth grade, it lives on in race distances. And since it's been so long since most of us have had to do a conversion: 5 kilometers equals 3.1 miles.
Thanksgiving morning, Ben and I ran his first 5K, the "Gobble Wobble," at a local Y. Ben has owned most of the 1-mile "fun runs" in which he's participated in conjuction with at marathons and other events. He had yet to run longer than a mile, and he'd been wanting to go farther. He was pretty sure he could cover the distance, but had an unusual (for him) respect for the longer distance. He decided to take it easier than normal, and I ran with him. Ben finished in 26:58, at a pace of 8:42 per mile. Only three and a half weeks after Ironman, my goal was simply to run with Ben and have fun.
December 14, Ben and I ran the "Reindeer Romp 5K," in a nearby burb. This time, Ben thought he could run faster, now knowing that he could cover the distance. I also wanted to see how fast I could make the distance. So we each ran our own pace. I finished in an amazing-for-me 22:41, a pace of 7:17 per mile. That's 39 seconds per mile faster than I've ever run in an event. I came in only 1:38 behind the third place winner in the Male 40-44 age group, and 11th overall in that group. I also came in one second ahead of the second and third place women in the 40-44 group. Literally - they were running together and I finally cought and passed them about 20 yards before the finish line. And I have no problem being the second place woman!
We'll do a couple more 5Ks over the winter as I continue to work on my run speed. My new crazy goal for 2009 is to qualify, in fall 2009, for the 2010 Boston Marathon. For my mid-life crisis age group, that means running 3:30 or less in a qualifying marathon.
I'll run the SunTrust National Marathon, in Washington, March 21. That will give me a stand-alone marathon result to tell me how much time I'm going to have to shave off my pace between then and the fall. If I don't qualify for Boston, I'll still be a lot faster than now, which of course will help my Ironman Louisville marathon time.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
What do you call the last person across the finish line?
In Ironman, what do you call the last person to cross the finish line before midnight? Ironman!
The folks at North America Sports, the organization that produces Ironman branded events throughout the continent, know one important fact: the athletes who push through the pain, exhaustion, and in some cases overwhelming feelings of defeat, still complete the 140.6 miles under their own power, in less than 17 hours. Each one is, by definition, an Ironman.
Everyone else at the race knows it, too. Although the crowd is big, and loud, when the pro winners come through after eight and nine hours (I know this because I started my run as Bella Comeford, came in for yet another first place at Ironman Florida), they get louder and more excited in the waning hours of the race. Many people who finish the race earlier in the evening come back to the finish line to cheer on the people who finish in the literal, physical, and emotional dark as the clock races toward midnight. They know what it takes to get wary bodies through those last few miles and yards, and they give it with gusto.
Eighty-seven people did not finish Ironman Florida. Some pro's abandon the race for various reasons, but most of the the DNFs (did not finish) are age groupers, amatures, who get injured, suffer exhaustion or dehydration, or just don't have the speed on race day to make it to the finish before midnight. I've been out there with those people - I was on the run course with many of them, although at least three hours ahead of them. I can tell you that many of those people, knowing it was physically and mathematically impossible to finish before midnight, kept pushing as long as they could.
An Ironman event is about completing the 140.6 miles in under 17 hours and claiming the title, Ironman. But it's also about not giving up when every part of your body is telling you to roll into the gutter for a nice, ten-hour nap. So although Mike Reilly won't give you a title after midnight, everyone who finishes the course has something amazing inside themselves.
The folks at North America Sports, the organization that produces Ironman branded events throughout the continent, know one important fact: the athletes who push through the pain, exhaustion, and in some cases overwhelming feelings of defeat, still complete the 140.6 miles under their own power, in less than 17 hours. Each one is, by definition, an Ironman.
Everyone else at the race knows it, too. Although the crowd is big, and loud, when the pro winners come through after eight and nine hours (I know this because I started my run as Bella Comeford, came in for yet another first place at Ironman Florida), they get louder and more excited in the waning hours of the race. Many people who finish the race earlier in the evening come back to the finish line to cheer on the people who finish in the literal, physical, and emotional dark as the clock races toward midnight. They know what it takes to get wary bodies through those last few miles and yards, and they give it with gusto.
Eighty-seven people did not finish Ironman Florida. Some pro's abandon the race for various reasons, but most of the the DNFs (did not finish) are age groupers, amatures, who get injured, suffer exhaustion or dehydration, or just don't have the speed on race day to make it to the finish before midnight. I've been out there with those people - I was on the run course with many of them, although at least three hours ahead of them. I can tell you that many of those people, knowing it was physically and mathematically impossible to finish before midnight, kept pushing as long as they could.
An Ironman event is about completing the 140.6 miles in under 17 hours and claiming the title, Ironman. But it's also about not giving up when every part of your body is telling you to roll into the gutter for a nice, ten-hour nap. So although Mike Reilly won't give you a title after midnight, everyone who finishes the course has something amazing inside themselves.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Race report: Ironman Florida
I arrived in Panama City Beach two days before Ironman Florida. It was cool there. A little too cool. Like “I hope I brought warm enough clothes for the race.” The warm sun helped, but low 70’s and a stiff breeze made it seem like November.
I went down to the beach to look at the Gulf of Mexico. The swim was my only real concern about the race. I’m not a fast swimmer, and although the cut-off time at IMFL is a generous 2 hours, 20 minutes, I kept reminding myself that there’s a reason they allow an extra 20 minutes for this open water swim. (All other Ironman events in North America have a 2 hour cut-off, after which an athlete is not allowed to continue the race.)
The water was calm, even with the wind: only mild swells of a foot or so. Suddenly, the tape in my mind switched from “I hope I can” to “I can do this!”
Swim: 2.4 miles, 1:36
The cannon fired at 7:00 a.m., as the sun was still trying to force itself into the chilly morning. Then the mob of 2,200 triathletes, looking like penguins in our wetsuits, waded into the water. If you’ve never stuck your head under water to study the agitator in your washing machine, it might be hard to understand what a mass swim start is like. But try to picture roughly 4,400 legs and 4,400 arms churning the water into a roiling pot, and they’re all aiming right at your face!
The swim is the only portion of an Ironman where drafting (taking advantage of the person in front of you creating a slipstream so you use less energy to go the same speed) is legal. Ideally, you find someone else who’s just slightly faster than you, tuck in behind them, and swim in their wake. In a mass start, this is tough for all but the most aggressive swimmers. Everyone else gets caught in a start-stop, speed up/slow down traffic jam where it’s hard to get into a consistent stroke rhythm. That lasted through the first two turns, and then people spread out a bit in the stretch to complete the first loop of the swim.
IMFL is unique in having a two loop swim where the athletes exit the water, run on the beach for a couple hundred yards, and then go back into the water for the second loop. I checked my watch on the beach and was pleasantly surprised to see that I had completed the first 1.2 mile loop in 43 minutes – a bit behind my best time for that distance during a half-Ironman event. I knew it was going to be a good day. During the second loop, swimmers were more spread out, and I could occasionally catch someone’s wake a draft a bit. Proof that drafting helps: my second 1.2 mile loop took eight minutes longer than the first, even with the start-stop traffic jam in the first loop.
Later, I heard someone say they saw schools of fish during the swim. Either they were fast enough to be ahead of the masses, or they were swimming way out to the side away from everyone else, or they were hallucinating. I saw one fish, and I tend to notice critters during my swims, bikes, and runs.
T1: 8 minutes
Triathlon has two transitions: T1 is the change from the swim to the bike, and T2 is from bike to run.
I emerged from the Gulf into a chute lined with hundreds of spectators, cheering on the athletes. On the beach, a group of strippers was there to greet me. No, not that kind of stripper – these volunteers quickly remove athletes’ wet suits so the athlete can move on to the changing tent. Running under a fresh water shower and onto the boardwalk, I came to another group of volunteers who handed me my bike gear bag. I ran into the changing tent, pulled my bike shorts on over my tri-shorts, grabbed my helmet and bike shoes, put on my race number, and moved on to get my bike. Seems like one could do that in less than eight minutes.
Bike: 112 miles, 6:59
Once out of the changing tent, a volunteer had my bike off the rack and ready to roll. I took the bike, ran to the “mount” line, and got on my way. I was still wet, and the air temperature was in the 50’s, but the adrenaline and exertion kept me warm.
The bike segment of Ironman Florida is flat. Not quite Kansas flat, but only a few gentle hills along the route. The good news here is that there are no major climbs to push you into the red zone and pump lactic acid into your legs. The bad news is that there are no descents, no coasting – you have to earn every bit of the distance. The first 1,000 miles or so was into a steady head wind – not a strong wind, but aggravatingly steady. After that (maybe it was really about 50 miles before turning out of the wind), the tail wind and side winds gave me a bike speed I had been planning for the entire ride. So my bike segment was slower than I had expected, but I’ll take it.
T2: 5 minutes
I felt fine coming off the bike. That’s not always the case, as I have a habit of pushing myself on the bike and finding my legs tired when the run starts. After handing my bike to a volunteer, and taking my run gear bag from another, I went into the changing tent for a quick change. Bike shorts off, leaving my tri-shorts for the run. Bike shoes switched for running shoes. Helmet became cap. Race number rotated from back to front. Ready to go.
Run: 26.2 miles, 5:03
I was able to run out of transition – plenty of “brick” workouts during training, going from a long ride straight to a run, had my legs ready to go. The first few minutes I ran a pace of about 9 minutes, 30 seconds per mile, but my heart rate was higher than my target, so I slowed down.
The IMFL marathon is two loops on an out-and-back course: 6.55 miles out, then back, twice. The course takes you along part of Panama City Beach’s hotel and shopping corridor, through neighborhoods, and out to a wooded state park. Several parties along the course keep runners entertained, although it’s not clear who’s more entertaining to whom: the runners or the partiers.
They talk about marathoners hitting “the wall” around the twentieth mile of the run. The wall is a mental and physical hurdle when the glycogen is gone, the pounding pavement is taking its toll on feet and legs, and the mind is ready to be done, leaving little but determination and fear of failure to keep you going. I hit that wall at mile two. From there on, I kept telling myself, “I’ll walk when I have to, but I’m not there yet.” I did walk through the aid stations so I could drink a full cup of Gatorade. The aid stations were positioned every mile, so I walked about a minute each mile. Otherwise, I ran.
When I made the final turn and saw the twenty mile marker, I started counting down the miles. “I can run six more miles…five more miles…four more miles.” By the time I got to “three more miles,” I could hear the finish line. The voice of Mike Reilly announcing each name as the triathlete crossed the line and became an Ironman. The roar of the crowd, cheering wary runners to a strong finish. From that point on, my legs did not hurt as they kept turning over, one stride at a time. When I hit the last mile, I met the first concentration of the finish line crowd. Hands stretched out for high-fives. Banners. Smiles. Everyone yelling, whooping, singing. Not for me, but for everyone, for the achievement, the commitment, the will to do it. For the idea of Ironman.
And then I hit the finish chute, with 100 yards to go. I crossed the timing mat and heard the words, “Kevin Peter from Philadelphia, for the first time in your life, You Are An IRONMAN!”
I went down to the beach to look at the Gulf of Mexico. The swim was my only real concern about the race. I’m not a fast swimmer, and although the cut-off time at IMFL is a generous 2 hours, 20 minutes, I kept reminding myself that there’s a reason they allow an extra 20 minutes for this open water swim. (All other Ironman events in North America have a 2 hour cut-off, after which an athlete is not allowed to continue the race.)
The water was calm, even with the wind: only mild swells of a foot or so. Suddenly, the tape in my mind switched from “I hope I can” to “I can do this!”
Swim: 2.4 miles, 1:36
The cannon fired at 7:00 a.m., as the sun was still trying to force itself into the chilly morning. Then the mob of 2,200 triathletes, looking like penguins in our wetsuits, waded into the water. If you’ve never stuck your head under water to study the agitator in your washing machine, it might be hard to understand what a mass swim start is like. But try to picture roughly 4,400 legs and 4,400 arms churning the water into a roiling pot, and they’re all aiming right at your face!
The swim is the only portion of an Ironman where drafting (taking advantage of the person in front of you creating a slipstream so you use less energy to go the same speed) is legal. Ideally, you find someone else who’s just slightly faster than you, tuck in behind them, and swim in their wake. In a mass start, this is tough for all but the most aggressive swimmers. Everyone else gets caught in a start-stop, speed up/slow down traffic jam where it’s hard to get into a consistent stroke rhythm. That lasted through the first two turns, and then people spread out a bit in the stretch to complete the first loop of the swim.
IMFL is unique in having a two loop swim where the athletes exit the water, run on the beach for a couple hundred yards, and then go back into the water for the second loop. I checked my watch on the beach and was pleasantly surprised to see that I had completed the first 1.2 mile loop in 43 minutes – a bit behind my best time for that distance during a half-Ironman event. I knew it was going to be a good day. During the second loop, swimmers were more spread out, and I could occasionally catch someone’s wake a draft a bit. Proof that drafting helps: my second 1.2 mile loop took eight minutes longer than the first, even with the start-stop traffic jam in the first loop.
Later, I heard someone say they saw schools of fish during the swim. Either they were fast enough to be ahead of the masses, or they were swimming way out to the side away from everyone else, or they were hallucinating. I saw one fish, and I tend to notice critters during my swims, bikes, and runs.
T1: 8 minutes
Triathlon has two transitions: T1 is the change from the swim to the bike, and T2 is from bike to run.
I emerged from the Gulf into a chute lined with hundreds of spectators, cheering on the athletes. On the beach, a group of strippers was there to greet me. No, not that kind of stripper – these volunteers quickly remove athletes’ wet suits so the athlete can move on to the changing tent. Running under a fresh water shower and onto the boardwalk, I came to another group of volunteers who handed me my bike gear bag. I ran into the changing tent, pulled my bike shorts on over my tri-shorts, grabbed my helmet and bike shoes, put on my race number, and moved on to get my bike. Seems like one could do that in less than eight minutes.
Bike: 112 miles, 6:59
Once out of the changing tent, a volunteer had my bike off the rack and ready to roll. I took the bike, ran to the “mount” line, and got on my way. I was still wet, and the air temperature was in the 50’s, but the adrenaline and exertion kept me warm.
The bike segment of Ironman Florida is flat. Not quite Kansas flat, but only a few gentle hills along the route. The good news here is that there are no major climbs to push you into the red zone and pump lactic acid into your legs. The bad news is that there are no descents, no coasting – you have to earn every bit of the distance. The first 1,000 miles or so was into a steady head wind – not a strong wind, but aggravatingly steady. After that (maybe it was really about 50 miles before turning out of the wind), the tail wind and side winds gave me a bike speed I had been planning for the entire ride. So my bike segment was slower than I had expected, but I’ll take it.
T2: 5 minutes
I felt fine coming off the bike. That’s not always the case, as I have a habit of pushing myself on the bike and finding my legs tired when the run starts. After handing my bike to a volunteer, and taking my run gear bag from another, I went into the changing tent for a quick change. Bike shorts off, leaving my tri-shorts for the run. Bike shoes switched for running shoes. Helmet became cap. Race number rotated from back to front. Ready to go.
Run: 26.2 miles, 5:03
I was able to run out of transition – plenty of “brick” workouts during training, going from a long ride straight to a run, had my legs ready to go. The first few minutes I ran a pace of about 9 minutes, 30 seconds per mile, but my heart rate was higher than my target, so I slowed down.
The IMFL marathon is two loops on an out-and-back course: 6.55 miles out, then back, twice. The course takes you along part of Panama City Beach’s hotel and shopping corridor, through neighborhoods, and out to a wooded state park. Several parties along the course keep runners entertained, although it’s not clear who’s more entertaining to whom: the runners or the partiers.
They talk about marathoners hitting “the wall” around the twentieth mile of the run. The wall is a mental and physical hurdle when the glycogen is gone, the pounding pavement is taking its toll on feet and legs, and the mind is ready to be done, leaving little but determination and fear of failure to keep you going. I hit that wall at mile two. From there on, I kept telling myself, “I’ll walk when I have to, but I’m not there yet.” I did walk through the aid stations so I could drink a full cup of Gatorade. The aid stations were positioned every mile, so I walked about a minute each mile. Otherwise, I ran.
When I made the final turn and saw the twenty mile marker, I started counting down the miles. “I can run six more miles…five more miles…four more miles.” By the time I got to “three more miles,” I could hear the finish line. The voice of Mike Reilly announcing each name as the triathlete crossed the line and became an Ironman. The roar of the crowd, cheering wary runners to a strong finish. From that point on, my legs did not hurt as they kept turning over, one stride at a time. When I hit the last mile, I met the first concentration of the finish line crowd. Hands stretched out for high-fives. Banners. Smiles. Everyone yelling, whooping, singing. Not for me, but for everyone, for the achievement, the commitment, the will to do it. For the idea of Ironman.
And then I hit the finish chute, with 100 yards to go. I crossed the timing mat and heard the words, “Kevin Peter from Philadelphia, for the first time in your life, You Are An IRONMAN!”
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