Ironman Lake Tahoe Race Report - 11:25:57
Well it's been almost a month and I FINALLY sat down to recap my day. It's 8 pages of text in Word, so maybe come back when you have some time to kill.
tl;dr - Ironman is hard. But not until you're almost done. Then it gets REALLY hard.
“I never want to run a marathon, but I would love to do an Ironman some day.”
Hey dummy. It turns out that in order to do an Ironman, you may have to throw a marathon in there. Two marathons, one ultra, and one 50 mile race later, I am an Ironman.
Pre-race
Abra and I were both feeling a bit anxious and wanted to get to Tahoe early to mentally prepare for the race. While there isn’t much real adaptation to take place in less than a week, at least we could familiarize ourselves with the course and know what the altitude would do to us.
We got up to Tahoe Wednesday evening and had a great few days of eating healthy and being lightly active took the opportunity to swim in the lake and do one more modified loop of the bike course.
On Saturday we dropped our gear off and went to preview the Martis Camp climb, which we hadn’t yet been able to ride. And then it started raining. Hard. As we got closer to Northstar it started to snow. They had predicted rain and the possibility of snow above 8000 feet, but it was snowing pretty hard at around 7000.
Because the weather was predicted to be stormy on Saturday and clear on Sunday, I was feeling hopeful that the storm would clear and tried to keep a positive attitude that we would get to do the whole race.
What went well: Low stress leading up to the race. Got another preview of the course. Healthiest/cleanest eating week of my life – no scale, but I am guessing I hit my race weight goal of 165lbs.
What would I change: The weather? I forgot my aero helmet at home (had my standard one) and picked up a Specialized Evade at Paco’s in Truckee. Not ideal, but we also picked up some warmer gloves and toe covers.
Race Morning
Didn’t sleep great. Got up at 4:xx which is always too early. Made some coffee, went to the bathroom, paced nervously, went to the bathroom again, and it was time to head out. Because we dropped off our bikes and run gear the day before, I felt kind of naked headed to the start with only my swim stuff and Special Needs.
Breakfast was a rice cake with cashew butter and honey with a banana sliced on top. I didn’t feel the need to stuff myself, as I figured the intensity would be lower and would be fueled by more fat compared to a 70.3.
Leaving with plenty of time for the 10 mile drive to King’s Beach proved to be leaving with not nearly enough time. After sitting in traffic and watch people ride and walk past us to the start – my favorite was seeing an athlete wearing her wetsuit on the back of a motorcycle – we got close enough to jump out of the car and head into T1.
I turned on my Garmin and tried to pair my power meter, but the battery must have died overnight. Bummer. Oh well. Time to put on the wetsuit.
Of course I was in a huge rush now as I was just getting into my wetsuit when the cannon for the pros went off. Got zipped up, kept on some wool socks to stand in the cold sand, and headed to the start. But everyone was already lined up and in their neat little corrals.
Abra was planning to take it easy on the swim and was targeting 1:45, so she was cool with being in the back. My goal was first not to swim under an hour, and second to definitely swim under 1:15. I decided pre-race that I would rather be at the back of the 1:00 – 1:09 crowd than the front of the 1:10 – 1:19 group.
So I did what any reasonable, composed, confident soon-to-be Ironman did. I ran up the side pushing past spectators and then I climbed the fence to get into the corral. I had a vision of myself knocking over the barricade, breaking an arm, and being out of the race. But that was my last negative thought until mile 19 of the run.
I’m an athlete. Cleared the fence with ease and took my spot with plenty of time to spare. 45 seconds later the cannon went off for the Age Groupers.
What went well: Woke up with what I thought was plenty of time to spare. Got some caffeine in me and got my guts clear. Made it to the start before the canon.
What would I change: Leave the house when you’re ready. May as well hang out in T1 instead of at home. That’s it. I don’t think a good night’s sleep was in the cards and I wasn’t stressing about it.
Swim – 1:05
Expecting to be nervous getting into the water, the wave start really helped calm things down. I was forced to go slower – even though I got in less than 2 minutes after the clock started, people were deliberate and acting like they knew a long day awaited. I waded into the brisk morning water, did a couple dolphin dives to get used to the temperature (didn’t want to warm up before the race and have to stand around wet – also I was late), and looked ahead for the first buoy.
Umm, guys. Where’s the buoy? All I see is the most beautiful lake in the world surrounded by freshly snow-capped peaks as steam rises from the surface.
Yep. Couldn’t see much of anything from the shore and visibility was better under water than above. I figured there was no reason to stress and just followed feet that seemed to be headed towards Nevada. After about 150 yards, the temperature of the lake rose significantly.
Because of the shallow start, cold night, and storm on Saturday, the first part of the swim was CHILLY. Didn’t notice it getting in because the air was around 30 and the lake was over 50. But as soon as we hit deep water, the temp rose to the mid 60’s. Positively reasonable.
I felt great. The longest I have ever swam is 1.2 miles and only did one swim workout over 3000 yards. But I felt amazing – like I could swim for hours. Maybe Alcatraz set the bar for what to expect out of a swim, but cruising through the water in Tahoe was amazing.
After the first buoy, I looked up to sight and caught just a sliver of light from the rising sun on a snowy alpine ridge. That combined with the steam coming off the lake is an image that was seared into my brain and I hope it stays with me until I leave this planet. It was a life-changing moment.
And then I remembered that I was supposed to swim and decided to pick it up a bit. Trying to draft where I could, I made it back to the turnaround in cold water and completed the second loop without incident.
My target for the swim was 1:15, but more importantly I did NOT want to go under an hour. Knowing that in my first Ironman I would venture deep into the unknown, chasing a vanity swim split would be setting my day up for disaster.
Wasn’t sure of the exact time when I got out, but I felt good, passed more people than passed me, and I saw my family cheering as I headed into T1.
What went well: Started off easy and then picked it up a bit. I never put myself in a position of stress and felt smooth the whole time. Very little contact at the start. I LOVE my Roka Maverick wetsuit. Got a glimpse of the mountains that brings me to tears even as I remember it.
What would I change: Study the course. I tried to turn right at the first buoy instead of left. Have more confidence in my swim and start farther up. Swim faster.
T1 – Swimming through the cold water onto the shore I was thinking about what lay ahead in T1 – the unknown. I had never done a race with a change tent and wasn’t quite sure of the logistics. I was also trying to sort out what order to put on the 2398473497 articles of clothing I was planning on wearing for the bike.
I picked up my bike bag, knocked the ice off the strings to untie it, and breathed the biggest sigh of relief when I felt everything was dry. Headed to the change tent, grabbed a seat and went to work. The tent was crowded when I arrived with much nakedness and even more shrinkage, but getting a seat was no problem. This was not the case when I left. 5 minutes more on the swim would have easily cost me 10 more minutes in T1.
After finally getting on my bike bib, jersey, vest, arm warmers, jacket, gloves, socks, shoes (with toe covers), and helmet, I ran out to go grab my bike. Right before I left T1 a volunteer stopped me to knock the ice off my seat and tires. Thanks.
Bike – 6:15 (18mph)
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/380517522
It was a bit of a change to not be in a hurry on the bike. This is by far my weakest discipline, but it didn’t matter on this day. The goal was to take it easy, get over the climbs, and save some for the run.
It was pretty chilly going out to Truckee, but not super eventful. Once we got there, we went through town and did a fun little stretch on a bike path before heading out to Martis Camp.
While I can’t just grind out the watts like a lot of triathletes, I figured the Martis Camp section played to my strengths. Short climbs that step up with fast descents, sweeping turns, then more climbs. This part was a blast, but my legs still felt cold and I didn’t have a ton of power. We dropped down past Northstar and took a right on 267 to head up Brockway.
Very glad I swapped my 53/39 crank for a compact 50/34 (12-27) I spun up Brockway, high-fived an old dude in a speedo, and screamed down the descent. Take a right at the lake and do it again.
Cruising past Squaw on 89, I was enjoying a legal paceline draft until the guy in front of me sat up to take a drink and stretch. I came around him and entered the draft zone of the guy in front of him. Heard a motorcycle come up behind me, and I tried to drop back. Nope. Red card. Drafting penalty.
I was PISSED. But I broke the rules. Lesson learned was that if you’re going to enjoy the benefits of a legal draft, you need to be ready at any time to drop the hammer and head to the front of the line. Lesson learned.
I made a buddy in Martis Camp on the second loop and we chatted while we climbed. Conversation was sparse but manageable. I figured that meant I was pacing perfectly. I raced down the descent to 267 feeling great and ready to crush Brockway.
Glad to not have my power meter nagging me about burning matches, I really enjoyed dropping the hammer and pushing up the climb. Figuring this was my last chance to push, I decided to go for it. I was suffering just enough to really enjoy it. I passed a decent number of people including a very tall and sad man pushing is Cervelo P5 with Di2 and Zipp 808’s with a very sad look on his face.
I hit 49+mph on the descent and really enjoyed the last part of the ride. Stopping to serve my penalty with a smile, I took the opportunity to begin my T2. Stripping off my layers and shoving them into my pockets, I mentally prepared myself to suffer on the run.
My previous longest ride was 84 miles and I had no idea what my body would do when I asked it to run after my longest ever swim followed by my longest ever bike.
What went well: I really enjoyed the ride. Beautiful views. I pre-rode most of the course with Abra and this was HUGELY helpful – especially knowing what to expect on Brockway. Right equipment choices putting on more clothes in T1. Generally had an awesome time and at no time did a negative thought enter my mind.
What would I change: Prepare for the conditions better. I forgot my aero helmet and ended up buying a new one (Specialized Evade) at Paco’s in Truckee. We both also bought toe covers and I picked up a warmer set of gloves. I was glad to have my jacket, but something more snug would have saved me 5+ minutes and I just hate the idea of giving away time on my weakest leg due to poor equipment choices.
T2 – Didn’t think to take my feet out of my shoes, so I just rode to the dismount line and unclipped. Like a sucker. Went into the nearly empty change tent and for the second time of the day stripped completely naked in front for strangers (not as many this time) and put on my run gear.
Had a thought that if I was running a marathon I would want to use the restroom first. Tried. Nothing. Moving on. An army of nitrile gloves applied sunscreen to my neck/face/arms/legs simultaneously and I started running.
I could run! I was more surprised than anything else and when I saw my mom and brother at mile 0.2 of the marathon I shouted out, “I can run!!”. This was reason for excitement.
Run – 3:44 (8:36)
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/381347153
In hindsight 7:21 may have been too fast for the first mile and 7:45/mi pace may have been a little too quick for the first 5 miles, but I didn’t care. I felt great and this was me holding back. I picked off runners one at a time until the turnaround at Tahoe City 11 miles into the race.
The first time I got passed was at mile 12 before Special Needs. I was walking every aid station and drinking Gatorade with a rinse of water. I felt like I could run all night and then I didn’t.
I’m not sure if I got cold or something else happened of if I just started to get tired. Miles 13 through 18 are a gradual uphill until the turnaround at Squaw Village that is a motherfucker and makes you run right past the finish line and peel off 20 yards from the banner. Nothing worse than thousands of people cheering for you because you are an Ironman only to tell them, “Actually I have 8 miles to go”.
The energy is contagious running through the crowd and then they’re gone. And you are headed back out onto the course. Every step taking you farther away from the end of your day. Bummer.
And right when I got ready to hit bottom I saw my brother. Without getting too deep into it, my brother and I had a strained relationship when we were young – me competing with him and him always winning. But as adults we have become close and he is my running buddy. AJ pushes me. We run trail runs together and he is a huge reason for running being such a positive influence in my life.
It wasn’t just that I didn’t want to see HIM. I really didn’t want to see anybody. I wanted to just suffer alone in silence and be finished. But then I saw him. And he saw me see him and I knew that he knew what I was feeling. We ran the American River 50 Mile race together and I suffered, pushed through the wall, and had an amazing and life-changing experience. I was too tired for such hyperbolic and uplifting thoughts. Just wiped.
He ran with me for a few steps – I barked that he wasn’t allowed to – and then he slapped me on the back for encouragement. I threw the cup I was holding at his face and if I wasn’t racing I would have stopped to punch him. Yeah that was me hitting bottom.
What the American River 50 taught me was that my strength in endurance racing is not being able to avoid hitting bottom, but being able to bounce back after I did. The next 5 miles was me jogging the flats, running the downs, and walking the ups. Even the little tiny rises caused me to walk. I just wanted to finish and with less than 3 miles left I knew that I would.
And that’s when it happened. Sometimes we can motivate ourselves, but sometimes we need help. Thank you Mr Male 41 wearing the Wattie Ink Elite team kit while having a terrible day. You were on your first lap when you saw me break stride and start walking up the last real hill of the course heading into Squaw.
Him: “Oh no you don’t. You’re having an awesome race. You’re on loop 2 about to finish and I’m having a shitty day and am on loop 1.”
Me: … (still walking)
Him: Just suffer. Suffer for 15 minutes. 2 miles. 15 minutes of suffering and you’re done.
Me: I’d rather suffer less for 20.
Not another word was exchanged. He just put his hand in the small of my back and started running. I had no choice but to start running. And I knew that walking again wasn’t an option. I didn’t look back and I didn’t see him again. But thank you Mr Wattie Ink M41 having a crappy day. You made mine and you believed in me when I didn’t even believe in myself. Imagine that. A total stranger suffering more than me took the energy to motivate me and wouldn’t let me accept less than my best.
I hated him on September 22nd, but this was one of the most selfless acts I have experienced and I am so thankful Ironman allowed me to get a glimpse into the type of kindness people are capable of. Even if I think they are being a complete asshole at the time.
Just after this exchange I saw my badass wife running down the path looking fresh and beautiful. I told her I loved her, wished her luck, and charged to the finish. I didn’t hear Mike Riley say my name and I didn’t are. This was for me. I am an Ironman.
Post Race
It seems silly to have two people to guide an athlete 20 yards after they have just covered 140.6 miles, but after about 5 steps I realized I could use the help. Thinking some food and a massage sounded good, I chugged a chocolate milk and headed to the massage tent.
In the words of the illustrious Ron Burgandy, “Milk was a poor choice.”
Feeling nauseous and cold I told my fam that I was headed to the med tent. They gave me blankets and fluids while I warmed up for the next 40 minutes. Feeling better I changed into my sweats and headed out. Worn out, content, and thankful all the hard work and sacrifice had paid off.
Then it came time to cheer my wife across the line. The short story is that I should never have doubted her for a minute. HERE’s the rest.
Takeaways
An Ironman is really hard. Not just because it was cold and there was climbing. I was expecting it to be hard sooner, but it really wasn’t until 12+ miles into the run. Then it got REALLY hard.
I think I prepared pretty well. Sure I could have swam farther, biked more, and run more miles, but my training plan worked. I tried to do 8ish sessions of swim/bike/run Monday-Friday and a couple long sessions on the weekend. Long bike rides paid off and while I didn’t really want to do a marathon, running the SF Marathon in June gave me the physical confidence to KNOW that my body could cover 26.2 miles in a reasonable amount of time.
When people asked me if I wanted to do another one I said no. Same thing happened after the AR50 and then I started looking into the Western States 100. This thing called endurance racing is addicting and it attracts type A personalities who want to find the edge. And the only way to find the line of what you can and cannot do is to cross over it once in a while.
I didn’t realize I was type A until May of this year. I was on a sales club trip in Maui surrounded by a bunch of driven type-A douchebags and I fit right in. Damn.
For a while it has been my belief that “anything worth doing is worth doing twice.” When it comes to triathlon, I think it takes more than 2 times before you can judge if a distance is for you. My first 70.3 was ok, second was about the same, third was a disaster (Wildflower Long Course this year in the heat), and I had a huge breakthrough the 4th time I tried the distance with a 4:55 at Vineman 70.3.
What I do know is that Ironman training was more of a commitment than I am willing to make over the next year or three. Abra and I are traveling around the world for a month this winter, want to start a family, and do some home improvement projects. These things are more important to me than triathlon, but I still want to do some sprint and Olympic races and maybe even a 70.3 in the next couple years.
Up Next
My goals for 2013 were to become a real runner and finish an Ironman. I think I’m there on both, but I don’t really know what it means to be a “real runner”.
In 2014 I want to do races that are fun (sprints, trail runs, etc) and PR my 5k. I did 18:11 as part of a 3.5 mile run, so I think 17:59 is letting myself off the hook. Let’s shoot for 16:59 which is a smidge under 5:30/mi pace.
I am so glad Ironman Tahoe was my first 140.6. I feel like it was a challenging but fair course and to “just finish” was a real accomplishment. Next time I’ll go under 11 hours and if I really want to do it right, I’ll shoot for 11:00. 1 hour swim, 5:30 bike, 3:30 run. Including transitions.
Overall Race: B+
I didn’t crack. Swam well, but conservatively, lost time on the bike, made up a bit of time on the run. Finished.
