Ironman Canada, 2001 Race Report

Water: 2.4 mile swim
Air: 112 mile bike
Earth: 26.2 mile run
(On) Fire: My feet after the run

PRE-AMBLE
Penticton is a gorgeous town that is incredibly supportive of Ironman Canada (IMC) . Kids ask for your autograph (not mine, but it did happen to a friend), random folks who notice your ID bracelet wish you luck and after the race express their admiration, and over 4400 volunteers, most from the local community, turn out each year to assist with the event.

We (Cecilia, myself, and my Mom and Dad) stayed at the Rochester Resort Motel on lake Okanagan and couldn't have asked for a better location. It's right across the street from the lake for early morning swims and about 1K from start-finish area. I already miss the pre-race day routine in Penticton -- get up about 6:30, swim at 7, relax, visit town, then do a bit of biking or running followed by a non-wetsuit swim to cool down in the afternoon. This is a fine way to prepare for 140.6 miles of multi-modality forward motion.

RACE DAY: PRE DAWN
Rumblings from athletes in a neighboring room coincide with the ring of my alarm at 4:10 a.m. Something is dreadfully wrong as I am refreshed and eager while breaking fast on a PBJ sandwich and 600 calories of maltodextrine. An hour later, disoriented and sleepy, I am relieved to be feeling as I usually do before 10 a.m. Body marking is fast (#1015 on both shins and upper arms, and my age group on my right calf). The serpentine queue for the porto-john is not.

Pre-race anxiety is unusually mild. I don't look for anyone I know and slowly lube up with bodyglide (so the wetsuit would only lightly chafe my already scabbed neck) and don my suit. All the last minute additions to my bike (bottles, food) and transition bags are done and I walk to the rocky beach while reviewing my objective and strategy:

With 1985 starters, this is purportedly the largest mass swim start in ironman history. After stashing a 10 oz water-maltodextrine mix under a broken cinder block on the beach, I swim for a few minutes before the announcer's call to return to the start area. I chug my drink and move toward the start area. Never having experienced a mass swim start I am unhampered by prior knowledge. I position myself at the center about 5 deep from the front. The water is absolutely flat. The sun has lept up over the eastern horizon. The azure sky is calming.

The cannon's charge rings out. Any semblance of tranquility runs out. We all swim out. And out. And (yet further) out. Amid the flurry of bodies and swimmer-produced turbidity, I am surprised to be in the eye of the hurricane. In front of me a zealous age-grouper's vigorous kick produces a nice draft. There is a calming bit of green water-space to my right and left. Then the non-harmonic convergence begins. Swimmers moving perpendicular to me assault my soothing emerald cocoon. I'd vaguely noticed that the swim start was roughly twice as wide as the buoy-defined channel to the first turn but hadn't extrapolated the consequences. My mask is temporarily kicked off but this is the only casualty other than bumping, getting sandwiched, and sputtering down a quart of lake water.

The first turn arrives and things get again calm. An underwater cameraman on scuba films us curving around the anchored houseboat. Perhaps because of the deep green water color I have a memory flash of diving in California's majestic kelp forests.

A guy kicking hard appears before me and I swerve into his draft. I am excited to be behind another such fervent, leg using triathlete since many wetsuit swimmers don't kick much. After a few minutes I realize there aren't many swimmers around me. I break my swim strategy and spot on my next breath. We are about 50 yards to the wrong side of the approaching buoy. So much for trusting in others. I correct and swim back into the fray.

Rounding the final marker we start the leg that takes us back to the transition area. I'm no longer looking into the sun when I breathe and have the energy to swim more strongly. This is a good stretch of the race as I'm confident I'll exit the water without having accumulated much fatigue. I am optimistic about the coming bike leg and begin visualizing a fast transition and strong ride through the Okanagan wine country.

TRANSITION 1: (Almost) everyone pisses in their wetsuit while waiting for the start or during the swim. Yet the "strippers" as they are called valiantly push each competitor back onto the grass and pull their wetsuits off them. Brave indeed. Soon I have my shoes on and am skittering with my bike down the 100 meters of cement to exit with a T1 time of 2:53.

Distance: 112 miles (180.2K)
Course: Beautiful and varied through vineyards, dry agricultural valleys, and mountain passes.
Micro Strategies: No heart rates over 170; maintain a higher cadence to keep the quads light; go fast.

The opening stretch out of town is flat and fast. As my Berkeley mate Lance Doherty had forecast, a moderate spin at sub-threshold heart rates takes me past tens of fast-swimming now-struggling triathletes queued up on the first steep climb. My jubilation at moving steadily past 50 or so of the 267 people who had beaten me out of the water is short lived as a new sound makes itself known. I shift gears to see if it is in the drive train. No change. Then my front tire goes flat. The repair is fast enough but I'd only brought twoCO2 cartridges. The tire was still quite soft when the CO2 died, but I thought better of using the second (and last) cartridge so early in the ride for fear of another flat. [Note to self: Carry 3 cartridges in the future]

Though I think it was mostly mental, the bike now seems like work, the lake water in my stomach magically increases in volume, and the pedals are no longer turning themselves.

The flats turn uphill at mile 40 with the four ramp ascent of 1200 ft Richter pass at 6% grade. Fabulous mountain scenery and hundreds of spectators make this a great section to ride. Next comes a long set of rollers that keep the pace fluctuating to the 60 mile point. Here begins the feared out-and-back section that by reputation mysteriously drains riders of their will to live. Lance I had driven this portion of the bike course and, per our habit, had appointed animate, inanimate, and dynamic landmarks-to-look-forward-to. These included sheep, good pavement section, big fruit crates, a down-and-up section with a name unfit for print, "umbrella tree", a woodpile, grist mill, and the return to highway 3A. Lance and I pass one another on this section. He looks smooth and strong. I also see another Berkeley friend, Jake Kosek (who had a great swim), as well as Dan Knepper from State College. I give each of them a shout as we cross paths. Climbing a short hill out of the saddle, I pass some clapping spectators and give them a "howdy". Perhaps incited by my pseudo cowboy-western greeting, a young female in a swimsuit top yells out "nice ass". Wow. Canadians know how to make a cheer matter! But despite the spirit raising catcall and aforementioned landmarks-to-look-forward-to, this is all heavy legs and drudgery. The road leachs my energy into the void. The imminent marathon is unappealing.

By contrast, the final climbs to yellow lake and twin lakes reinvigorate and my form finally comes stronger again. The last 10 miles are descending and provide continuously fast cycling. As a few of us race down Main Street toward T2, I am even looking forward to the wee run ahead.

TRANSITION 2: It is good to be out of the saddle. I dismount, hand my bike off, waste approximately a minute as a volunteer attempts to clip on my race number, and then I'm waddling across the timing mat and onto the run course. The bleachers are packed with people, all of whom are cheering madly. I raise my arms and they cheer yet louder. Astounded at their fervor, I feel charged up until the first female pro, who I didn't realize had exited transition just a few seconds behind me, runs by as we turn onto main street ...

A slow T2 (2:41) and 1/2 a mile of gentle shuffling readjusted my enthusiasm for bi-pedal travel. Cecilia and my folks give a big cheer at mile three which helps a lot. The run along Lake Skaha is sun-baked. The air temperature is a manageable 86-90 degrees in town with reports of 95 on certain sections of the course, but desert sun radiates off the lake, off the road, off my body. The many spectators seated in the shade, drinking beer, and cheering, force the consideration of other life choices, such as sitting in the shade, drinking beer, and cheering.

Roughly as many people as I move past pass me by. At mile 8 my faulty arithmetic tells me I'm 1/3 of the way home and I pick it up a bit. Nearing the turnaround I see Lance coming toward me about a mile ahead. I yell out and he responds with "I'm done." I fear for my friend while in reverse polarity am feeling ever better. At the turnaround I again pick up the pace. Jake runs by on his way out. Later, another State College triathlete, Ed Tersine, also moves through on his way out to the turn around.

Surprisingly, Dan Knepper comes into view walking. Sick for 2 weeks prior to the event, this normally strong runner had been crushed through poor nutrition and dehydration. I push him to run and we stay together until the next aid station where he stops to recuperate (commendably finishing with a brutal 6:40 marathon time that includes having a few beers with some spectators en route).

At mile 16, a tall, faster runner passes me and I jump into his draft through a light headwind section. Our strides are perfectly matched and the synchrony of our cadence builds my confidence. I move forward to return the favor and suddenly am invincible. As we pass the 18 mile marker, the late bloom I'd been expecting much earlier finally comes. Somewhat guiltily, I accelerate away from my ephemeral running companion. When I no longer hear his footfalls I again speed up to what feel like sub-7 minute miles.

The move beyond Skaha Lake and back into Penticton is mentally liberating and conceptually marks the start of the culmination of the day's efforts. In the distance ahead I see Lance's unmistakable running motion. I really don't want to pass Lance or even to finish near his time. He'd been a significant factor in my successful preparation (though "don't get tired" is my original contribution to triathlon race strategy) and is clearly the stronger swimmer and cyclist. As I learned later, however, he'd had the race of his life up through the early miles of the run and was 15th at that point. Having decided to push for greatness rather than conservatively achieve a good result, he'd taken the risk of potentially cracking and lost. This time. [Lance's IMC 2001 race report]

As I move quickly by him he shouts encouragement. I do the same and set my sites on the sparse but polarized schools of competitors before me. The incredible Penticton spectators are cheering and spread evenly along Main Street. The running is smooth and easy now. My quads have forgotten their pain. I search my body for the initial flicker of cramps or weakness and find no such indicators.

The final few Ks are out and back along Lakeshore drive. The crowd is thick and loud. A cord is attached from my chest to the roof of a two story building on the horizon, pulling me unstopably forward. My mother is standing out in the street and we high five as I pass by our motel. Rounding the final button-hook turn I'm finally heading straight for the finish shoot 1 K away. I feel odd about passing runners over this final stretch but I'm not sure what would happen if I try to slow down, so I don't. Easily clearing the final runner 300 meters before the finish, I hear the announcer call in the first pro woman as I move down the blue mat and through the bleachers packed with a roaring crowd. Since I'm next after the first female I understandably don't get announced until I'm through the tape, the finisher's medal is around my neck, and an attendant has walked me out of the finish area. The event is done. I am energetic and bouyant.

IMC marks the second time I've used E-Caps Sustained Energy (Maltodextrine) and Hammergel as my primary fuel sources for an ultra-endurance event. There are no simple sugars in either product. Though I never had an appetite and found both unappealing from early on in the race, I followed my nutrition strategy closely: 250 calories from maltodextrine 5 minutes before the swim start, roughly 2500 combined calories of maltodextrine and hammergel on the bike, and 2 hammergel flasks during the run. This was supplemented by occasional gatoraide on the bike and run, and one cup each of mixed pepsi and water at aid stations from mile 14 of the run to the finish. Additionally, I took Endurolytes, an E-Caps electrolyte replacement product, at a rate of 1 to 2 pills an hour. At no time during the race did I consume solid food. Though nothing tastes good during intense endurance activities, and maltodextrine/hammer gel are no exception, this nutrition program works well for me.

LEFT: Apparently the helicopter that usually takes the arial photo of the swim start had been called out on a medical emergency so this photo is actually from IMC 2000.

RIGHT: The boat level photo is from IMC 2001. I'm the one in the middle with the wetsuit on.

Running along Skaha Lake at roughly mile 7. It is 95 degrees and the lake is looking awefully good.

The finish line. Ever prepared, note that I am carrying a second head in case the first one were to get tired.