2019-08-02
Recovery from Ironman Canada 2019 has been coming along well. It's been a calm, restful, and only mildly-painful week off so far. Having had some time to fathom the weekend's success and put my thoughts together, it's time for a race report. For reference, my longest efforts to date include three Half Ironman races, four runs in the 40-50KM range, and a half-dozen rides in the 100-160K range. The goal with Whistler was to finish still standing. Cutoff in this particular race is 17 hours from the time one hits the water. Things kicked off for me at 6:12AM full of trepidation, hope, and determination.
The morning fog on Alta Lake was hard to see through in more ways than one. As thousands of us corraled into the loading area, even the tenured Ironpeople amongst us couldn't sort it out. What was actual mist and what was penguin-athlete heat? The music blaring from the loudspeakers was tough to drown out but it did play a tertiary benefit in helping us stay awake and alert. Caffeine is a fickle beast on race morning for digestive reasons. As a result, every athlete's got their own routine for ensuring things move or don't move as expected. Many of us had been up that morning by 3:30 or 4:00AM to ensure ample time to eat, prepare, and transport ourselves via shuttle to the lake. This made buoy-spotting and stroke orientation a major challenge as the sun peaked the mountains and horizon.
To make matters worse, I found myself in a challenging situation. In a hasty rush to exit transition on schedule, I had torn my wetsuit's lower half. The crotch seam had a 14 inch tear in it; this was a critical area of stretch given the extension of one's shoulders and torso with every stroke. One's best shot at warmth, buoyancy, and comfort in the swim is a high-quality wetsuit. I never once wanted to quit or felt compelled to on race day, but this was the closest I came. I had a little cry in the safety of my aquamask to mourn my hastiness. More than the costly mistake I had made, the consequences immediately to come were what made me sad.
Buoyancy means speed by helping to prevent water-plowing and inefficient limb flopping. In my particular case, my wetsuit's worth 10-13 seconds per 100 meters. That might not sound like much, but it's a lot like a low/leaking tire or a dragging emergency brake on a car. Over the 3800m swim I anticipated taking 90 minutes, an untorn wetsuit for me typically shaves off 7-8 minutes.
The swim is my strongest discipline, and I mean, it still went pretty well. Longer paddles and stronger flippers give me a formidable advantage the same way one often sees with Olympic swimmers. Even with my lack of honed technique and experience, I can crush swims. These efforts aren't without plenty of splashing and raw power/fatigue alone. A torn wetsuit though was absolute torture, particularly in the initial push to 250m. As I hit the water, the wetsuit tear allowed a ton of water to rush in with a faster intensity than one gets in a well-fitted wetsuit. Of course, it hit my torso and hips first - a region that is sensitive and vulnerable to dramatic shifts in temperature. It took a lot to keep my head above water and the uncontrollable gasping in the first minute of the race from actually drowning me.
My goggles were also leaking and stubborn to form a tight seal around my eyes simultaneously. I can only squeeze my left eye closed with ease. This presented challenges when the right eye decided to be the leaky one. Spoiler alert: I ended up having bloodshot eyes for two days after the race. This was crushing to me during the first lap in the water, but I knew better than to dwell on either or to let them stop me. Triathlon is a sport of compromise, and Ironman is about heart through the limits of one's durability.
By mid-way through the swim, the hurd had thinned out and thank heavens for it. Race day conditions (travel, new environments, altitude, etc) make it hard to anticipate how one's body is going to react. This makes intended paces unreliable. I kept the stroke cadence higher and with the shoulder reach gentler, as this helped ensure my torn seam didn't leak any worse. I took corners wide and tried to find calmer water when the goggles were leaking mainly for my own safety. Dark water has always been a fear of mine and facing that fear was scary. To keep myself motivated as my intra-wetsuit water continued to flush/cool me, I began to sing in my head.
Amazing pace, a sweet background
That saved a kvetch like me
I once was warm, but now feel drowned
T'was blind by lake, not sea
T'was pace that got my heart from fear
And pace, my tears relieved
How precious did pace persevere
The hour I first achieved
Over and over and over. I had a few other verses too, but I left those in the lake with a tremendous amount of worry. It wasn't anything I had planned or practiced in advance, but it worked like magic. Every couple of verses, I'd drain the goggles and get right back into it swerving between swimmers who'd had more luck at the start line than I had. Amazing pace did lead me home in 1:17:17 with 2:02/100m pacing. The morning light and roaring crowds brought warmth to the beach and transition area.
Transition one - the wetter of the two scrambles. What was left of the wetsuit came off with relative ease, and off I went into a changing area. I took my time with my bike gear, because I needed to calm my nerves from what was a challenging swim. Due diligence and efficiency are key in transition. One has to get everything right to prevent problems down the road here. It's a long list: anti-chafe, sunscreen, helmet/shoe adjustments, etc.
Got things done and headed over to grab my bike, which had been placed in a specialty rack right next to the pros/elites due to being oversized. One giant squirt of honey later from one of my bottle cages, it was party time. I got the watch positioned and off I went to the mount line with a satisfactory/relaxed 13:18 transition time.
Words cannot describe the challenge this bike course presented. The patience, the scenery, the tight cornering at speed: all of it was a challenge and noble adversary. Right from the get-go, it was a technical rollercoaster that never offered any relief. I focussed on cadence and heart rate, aiming to balance the two and ignoring speed/distance. Be the 180KM or so as they might have been, that didn't account for the ~2250m of elevation gain (and loss) we went through. This included two laps of a course that climbed up to the athletic area from the Whistler Olympics. From there, it stretched as far downhill southwest to Garabaldi and the mystical hike to Black Tusk.
The bike's first lap was really strong. It took a solid 20-25KM to get fully dry and warm. I didn't mind as I knew the real game and test was going to be hydration and salt in the dead heat of the mid-day sun if the wind wasn't as forgiving as we had hoped. The initial climb up Callaghan Lake went pretty well. The bike was well tuned and prepped for this, but I was too.
Ripping down from the top of Callaghan was surreal and actually more exhausting than the climb. Looking at the charts after the fact, I cracked 65-70KPH on several occasions. On lap two, I maxed out somewhere in the 73-74KPH range. This cling-for-dear-life positioning screaming down the slopes was dangerous. Due to mass, I'd often pass folks pedaling in their highest gears without so much as a single rotation of my cranks. Deep breaths, deep focus, and deep fear conquered once again.
As I wrapped up the first lap, I got some very special rewards. The first was getting to see Mom and Morgan cheering as we ascended back into the core of Whistler Village. My goodness, how I missed the warmth and safety of loved ones by that point at the five hour mark. The second were the contents of my Bike Special Needs bag including a wholly-melted Coffee Crisp and refreshments for the bike and the body. Vivienne was my bag attendant at this particular pit-stop. She shared her passion for triathlon and the contents of my bag with me. I reciprocated with stories of my journey to Ironman and a precious hug to help both of us keep going.
Gearing up for the second lap, I was feeling confident. Back up Callaghan, things were scorching. I desperately needed some ice and as many fluids / bananas as I could stomach to keep the motor firing on all cylinders. Blasting down to Garabaldi the second time was far more relaxed. The second lap was Full Iron only and we were few and far between across that course.
On the final 30KM returning, the suffering really kicked in as the valley's wind was nowhere. By this point, the saddle sores were becoming apparent. Further, the sweat was contributing to an intermittent stinging of my lake-soaked eyes. Even my bike was feeling deflated, with my front/rear tires needing 10/15 psi respectively at the 150KM mark. I completed the ride without a single flat or mechanical issue - thank goodness.
By 165KM, I was so keen and eager to get off the bike. The marathon wasn't even worrying to me at that point. This wear and fatigue was mental and salt chews / squirts of honey kept things rolling. Though my smile never left my face throughout the race, the only music singing in my head was pain in my back and under my left knee-cap. I began to favour my right side by 15-20% through the somewhat-flatter end of the course. When I reached the dismount line at 7:36:16 for the bike, I had an audible sigh and celebration.
Second transition was an easier task than the first. Further, the tent was significantly less populated. I took three chairs for my helmet, posterior, and nutrition. I re-did most of my sunscreen and got my feet lubed up with a few finger-scoops of Vasoline. Upon rising once again, I was relieved to feel the knee/back pain dissipate. My T2 exit in 8:32 was delightful, encountering a few friends and loved ones in the process as I stepped out for the run.
Now, the run is both my weakest and strongest discipline of the three. I have the greatest amount of experience with running and run races, which is a major advantage. I also run steep climbs, trails, and mountains which proved to be an excellent back-pocket trick. Downsides? My stature and weight becomes a tremendous obstacle both from an effort standpoint. I also don't cool as well due to a thicker longer torso. The Stillman formula for athletes specifies an individual my height ought to be running in the 215-225lb range. For years, I did run at this weight and it was superb. What 220lb Aaron couldn't do was swim or bike as well as 240lbs Aaron can. Performance and recovery for my back and upper body is miles better with more muscle and mass.
I started out the run with a pace I was really comfortable/happy with. I feared for my ability to power through it down the stretch and slowed it right down to a comfortable/relaxed 7:45-8:15/KM pace with a calm heart rate. By this point, I was at roughly the 10:30:00 mark. This course was everything I wanted the run to be. Scoops of ice in the hat served as my best friend for the first lap, which was the toastier of the two. The sunset was one of the most beautiful I've ever seen as it kissed the mountains goodnight.
I can and have run a few marathons faster than I did in Whistler. I can say now with confidence there's opportunity for improvement here. The knowledge and experience of how my body performs after twelve hours is of immense value. Don't be surprised if my next attempt at a Full Iron improves by a large amount next time.
I began to count down the kilometers one sign at a time. Something fascinating and transformative started happening as I did this. My legs were completely empty and the soreness from my back/shoulders was back. The world around me started to slow down. It's not that I was giving up, but I was giving my body a chance to switch gears.
The pace stayed steady, but how I was going about keeping it was quite different. From 30-39KM, I can only explain my cadence and pacing as the bastard child of a power walk and trot-jog. This was symbolic for me though, as it represented how teenager Aaron used to run. It was this power-walk-trot-jog that got him through gym class 2400m assessments. And here it was again - the difference is that now it was bringing the best out of his determination and courage to tackle the mighty Ironman.
I gave the 39KM sign a little love-tap because I knew it was going to happen. I was midway through the fourteenth hour and the calmness and peace were there in abundance. I was ready to be an Ironman, and my doubt dissipated in an instant realizing how soon I'd be finished. Through the final 3.2KM, I ended up passing quite a few folks and made up a lot of time lost on those brutal bike hill-climbs.
As I got closer, I began to hear the announcer and collective roar of the finisher's chute crowd cheering. My pace hastened faster than I had even started with. This brought out unfound strength that I needed to torch the rest of the course. Weaving through the corraled gates in the village, my heart filled with joy and pride. The world stood still and was silent with a rush of indescribable energy. With 500m to go, the faster I ran, the quieter the universe became. In sight of the finish, the bright lights and loudspeakers catalyzed one of the most profound out-of-body experiences I've ever felt. It brought with it an otherworldly oneness with the energy of Whistler and the universe as a whole. Eyes closed. Heart open.
14:50:41. Aaron, you are an Ironman.