Ko Aloha La Ea, or "Keep Your Love"

Ironman World Championships Oct 8, 2011

racing morning photos.  all photos by shawn.

Hawai'i seems both a world away and so close at the same time.  I have had so many thoughts go through my head in the past 10 days that I have often thought how it would be possible to capture them all and explain to you what this race meant to me.  I don't think I can, and I certainly don't have the memory to recall everything I've thought.  So, I'll try to write a sketch of it all, and forgive me if things go off the rail at times, but it seems to be how my mind works.  I've also been having a hard time of figuring out where to start - where do you jump into the ocean off a cliff?

I think I'm going to give you the actual race 'report'.  It's such an elusive race, the Hawai'i Ironman, Ironman Kona, or Ironman World Championships, whatever it's called, that perhaps people want a peek into what it's like to do this race.  To me, the report is what I lived out, concrete and finite.  What is more interesting to me is what I learned from the race, what thoughts it stirred up in my head, what it makes me want to figure out, but I'll start with the race and see how much metaphorical rhetoric I can jam in here.

Part 1: Skip all the pre-race blah blah boring - get to the point.

There are helicopters above you, thumping and whistling.  I've watched the sun rise while sitting on the pier, looking right through all the people milling around me.  I watched a guy spray sunscreen all around him, but seemingly not on him, and I think a lot on his bike.  His carbon fibre will be happily protected from the killer sun.

I walked down the stairs, into the water, looking out at a mostly open ocean, save for boats and paddlers.  Nothing about this felt strange or uncomfortable.  I swam out, slowly, keeping an eye out for those guys who hand out punches to the face while swimming in opposite directions.  None for me!  What a novelty.  I went out early (you have to tread water while everyone is loaded in the water) and just enjoyed being out there.  It's not a super chatty place, because it's enough work just to tread water and stay relaxed.

It was a little wavy out there.  Thankfully I'm happy enough with the behaviour of the ocean, and can accept the rolls and heaves it provides.  I don't think it was an extreme day by any means, but nor was it flat, and certainly there was an amusing current.  If you looked to your left, you could watch breakers crash on shore, as they had been doing with much more enthusiasm in the days leading up to the race.

Paddle boarders sweep the front and keep the front line honest.  I was 2nd to the front line, happy to let someone lead out.  I heard two minutes to go, and then never heard a countdown to the cannon.  I just heard BOOM and realized it was time to hit my watch and get my head in the water.  And true to form, about 5 seconds in, I got a very decent punch to the face.  Sweet!  It was game on time.  I've really come to accept these punches with enthusiasm, and the whole process of swimming really, with excitement and downright glee.  I love the contact, and I'm by no means an 'excellent' swimmer who can say this because I rip a whole in the ocean with my speed.  I'm a good swimmer, and I just refuse to say I don't really like swimming just because I'm not the fastest at it.  I've really grown to like it, and for anyone who likes swimming, you just have to love this Ironman swim.

kaboom.  i'm about as left as you can get.

Part 2: The Swim

Long story short, my swim was a little slower than I had hoped for, but I certainly got more out of it than I was expecting, which I'll explain in the minute.  For you metric'ers (you know who you are) I swam 1:14 something, about 5 minutes slower than what I had hoped for.  Not too bad, considering I'd never swam this course before.  I do have to say though, I am of the belief that wetsuits would make very little difference here, unless you really had trouble staying afloat.  This ocean is very buoyant, in fact, I had an easier time floating while treading water in my swim suit than I ever had in our ocean or lake.  So, just my two cents.

Here is what really stood out to me.  Firstly, I realized the swell was enough that I was never going to see a buoy so I quit trying to figure that one out, and just keep my head down and enjoy swimming.  Second, a large (to me) ray of some variety was swimming right below me - for me, this is motivation to swim a little faster, but really neat at the same time.  Even being able to see in the water was such a treat here, compared to our ocean back home.  (Also not worrying about hypothermia is another wicked feature of this ocean).  Thirdly, eventually as I mixed in amongst different swimmers, I realized the man beside me had 1 and 1/2 arms, and although can't remember how it turned out, he was swimming as fast or faster than me.  This would eventually lead me to the man who was missing the lower sections of both his legs, who I had come up behind, and only realized this by reaching out to touch feet and hitting something harder than normal.

I can't say I'm 'amazed' just because these people are missing parts of their limbs as I think that's patronizing, but I can say I have the ultimate respect for these people's athletic ability.  The same way I have respect for my athletic ability to get to this race.  Both roads are hard, both roads are most certainly different, but it truly made me feel the spirit of this race that you can't help but notice all around you.  In this case, it hit me in the face while swimming through an amazingly blue ocean.  Then to top it off, as we swam back to shore (not that I could see it but I trusted those in front of me) a pod of dolphins were swimming below us (quite deep - they looked like mini dolphins) which you could hear a distinctive click before you ever saw.  I was amazed, and happy, and enjoying the entire process.  And I came out of the water a little slow, and I really didn't care too much about it.  People say this swim is nuts, I felt like it was the most pleasant IM swim of my career.  I've done 3 IMs now though, so maybe I'm untrustworthy.

Part 3: The Transition

What happens next is quite funny.  I went through transition, grabbed the bag I was pointed towards (they're hanging in rows) and ran to the women's change tent.  Open up the bag and see large mens shoes.  "Ahhh, sh*t", is what I thought exactly.  Bolt back up, jump back over women with their heads down changing stuff, luckily (well, hopefully) didn't kick anyone, and run to change my bag back.

Run into HOARDS of people like a salmon swimming upstream while giant boulders of line-backer size men and running right into you.  I body checked (and I am talking HARD) two giant men in the sense that you hit them once, and neither one of you want to change direction, and you body check them again, and then you both push each other (with some frustration and maybe cursing, although not on my part) out of the way.  I have lived another life as a soccer player, and I felt like, in general, my role was to check people into the ground by whatever means necesary (in the fair play sense).  So, this past of mine came in useful.  Also useful was the man running towards me who was # 1782, who really wanted his bag from me - sorry to have caused you distress - I did feel badly about that.

It was my fault, I won't lie and say they gave me the wrong bag (I think maybe they pointed to the wrong spot), but it's a pretty confusing place, and I should have double checked before I left.  However, I now had been punched in the face and body checked two clydesdales and was fully ready to bike.  It's very fun to run around this transition pier, and in no time you're out on the bike.

getting used to a speedy pace on the bike

Part 4: The Bike

The bike is tough.  I think it's the toughest thing on the course, and I knew that going in.  So, I just biked my little heart out, happy to be there and happy to be challenged by the amazing power of the winds of Hawi.  It was a low wind day, which really blows my mind.  I actually loved biking in the nutso winds, getting thrown around to the point of laughter with some of the people that managed to be around each other for the craziest of sections.  It's really fun.  And I think that so many race reports talk about it with dread (fair enough) but I'd like to tell you that really, you can make it fun (and it's probably more fun if you don't have a power meter/garmin/techno metric whatever telling you that you are currently sucking). So if you go there, you don't have to be scared, if you don't want to.

What was the only slightly nerve racking moment was being carried to the centre lane by a large gust just as the NBC convertible was driving down the centre lane filming someone of importance and knowing that if I overcorrected the gust I'd likely crash.  So, I just kept my eye on the car and watched the sideview mirror come about a foot from my hip.  Totally safe pass.  Ahhhh......if I could have peed my pants at that time it would have been welcomed, but it's honestly too difficult to stay on your bike while peeing at the same time.  There really should be some type of prestigious club of "I peed while cycling up to Hawi".  Doing it going the other way is much less of a challenge.

Speaking of people cycling the other way, it certainly was cool (and humbling, although you have to remind yourself pros have a 30 min headstart) to see the pros roll by the other way.  I can't say I was overly fascinated with the men's race, so to see Julie Dibens blowing away the chase packs of Wellington, Carfrae, Cave, and on and on, was really, really cool.  The woman I was cycling around for a good section of the lead up to Hawi and I really delighted in the 'coolness' factor of getting to see these girls race.  A major perk of going to the World Championships.

Another perk?  (Although this might make me sound like a jerk.....hey, hey?) is that people are caught for drafting.  I'm never really in a group where I could stay behind the same person.  I appear to be either a) faster or b) slower and c) really believe I should ride at my effort to stay true to me (physically and morally).  But after the turn around in Hawi the penalty tent was FULL of riders. They couldn't all fit their bikes in the tent it was so full.

 As you ride along, you can see red marks across the bib number implies a penalty, and as I really slowed down in the last 1.5 hrs of the race (because I really don't like when people blame inanimate objects for their performance, I will cite "tiredness" for my decrease in speed) I got to see a lot of these people go by.  Just makes you think, is all.  Like the thought, I saw a lot of "say no to doping"....perhaps you need to wear the "say no to drafting" shirt before you're allowed to wear the "down the with WADA" theme.  I may lose some followers, but it's about time as I notice more and more people reading my blog.  Don't want to get too popular.  Also guaranteed now next race I do I'll get a drafting penalty.  To be fair, there is lots of cycling behind other people in this race, however, as I listened to a race official explain to someone on the street corner (yes, eavesdropping is always part of the race prep), they "would give athletes the benefit of the doubt...and aren't as concerned with the measured gap as they are with those who intentionally stalk and track other athletes".  Enough said.

Again, for the metrics, I think my bike was 5:35, which I believe was 1 minute slower than my Ironman Canada.  I have no complaints and was quite surprised by that.  What I can say is that the efforts required for both races were quite different.  I can describe IM Canada as controlled, straight forward, positive and happy.  I would describe this race as toughening, crazy, fun, desperate, and keep control of yourself.  I encountered a section where I had slowed in speed, while others maintain or increase their speed, and that means you get passed.  It seemed like I got passed A LOT.  In reality, I'm sure it wasn't that horrible, but to me, as a competitive person, I really don't like it.  To me, at this point in the race, I was already quite physically challenged and then I became incredibly mentally challenged.  Hey.....hmmm, wait.

What I mean was that I found myself in a rough spot.  I'd be lying if I said I didn't think negative things, feel sorry for myself, think escapism type actions, get distracted from the purpose of the day (which incidentally, was to work hard and enjoy the experience).  After a little while you realize negativity serves no purpose, and that you are only wasting your opportunity of experiencing the greatness of this race.  But if you've ever had this experience, then you know you can't just switch off the bad thoughts and see puppies and rainbows.  So, I started the slow count from 100 backwards to 0 with one deep breath in between.  Then surprisingly, there were no rainbows at 0.  So back up to 100 I went.  No puppies.  Insert curse word, twice.  Back down to 0.  I think by this time I was able to return to words and sentences not including numbers.  Then I puked.  Albeit little pukes.  Although the second came out my nose, so how little could that be.  I really don't get too revved up about puking.  I'd get revved up about pooping in my pants, which I will write about later on.  If you're still reading this race report by now, as Macca says to Raelert, you're a true champion mate.

"When you don't have anything nice to say, better to not say anything at all".  You have to be good to yourself, you have to respect the challenges you face and work through them.  If you really believe in the 'process' to the goal, these parts are your process.  The stuff that goes off routine without a hitch and you never think of again, are a very small part of the process.  The bike comparison between my last two races are very different.  What I learned from the two?  Almost nothing from IM Canada, and HEAPS from IM Kona.  What is more important to a developing athlete?  And that may be the biggest take away message I have to give from this race.  I learned so much from this experience.  As a relative newcomer to this sport, I've learned quickly that I'm actually pretty good at it, but being in this race I learned also that there are people who are great at it.  I learned I want to be great.  Winning is terrific, but with winning can sometimes come the lack of fire to improve oneself.  So there is a benefit to finishing 12th in your age group, I believe, 22nd overall as an age groupers, and I think most impressively, 42nd (or something like that) overall.  Gaining perspective is a wonderful lesson.

I must also say, thanks to Doug Giles for lending me his wheels.  If you know me, you know I have a road bike, and no race wheels, so out of total kindness, Doug offered me his wheels.  I didn't even ask.  I think he should take them himself to Kona next year.  Jeremy Hopwood also lent wheels to me for Ironman Canada.  I think I owe these guys some baked goods.

happy & relieved to be running.

Part 5: The Run

No secrets here - I love the run.  Firstly, very happy to shuttle my bike away to catchers and get going on the run.  I said my goodbye, managed to get off my shoes while cycling (first time ever - the magic powers of being shamed in the shoot made me do it), hopefully distracted some people with my 1 in 10 road bike (zing!).  My legs felt as they should, mostly crappy with a chance of sunshine, went through the bag tent, risked being boring and took the correct bag, and threw on my shoes.  Someone threw on a cold towel across my back and at that moment I realized I was hot.  I really hadn't felt that bad (except for the part I felt really badly for myself, but I really never lingered too much on thoughts of temperature) - but I realized at this point that it must be hot if this towel feels that cold.  However, I think I quickly forgot about the heat as I set out on the run.  Not too sound too much like a jerk, but I really didn't think the race was that hot.  So either I was delusional or well acclimatized.  I'll go with the latter.

I wrote before and I meant very strongly about the beauty of Ali'i drive.  It's vine and flower covered, with bright blue ocean and stark lava rock adorning the shore.  It's gorgeous.  I continued to appreciate it and never had a grumpy thought while running along.  I did have the thought, "HA, you passed me on the bike, so did you, so did you, so did you"...you get the point.  I passed a lot of people back, and that's the beauty of triathlon (at least, it's the beauty for me).  And I told myself that on the bike but when you're in a bit of a black hole it's hard to see forest for the trees.

So I powered on, feeling quite comfortable while keeping an eye out for signs of mass destruction (possible as I had felt great while starting some runs while doing some training here leading up to the race, then quickly nose dived into a strange feeling of heat panic and a strange heart rhythm, 3 beats fast, 3 slow beats, any cardiac nurses out there?), but there were none, so just ran comfortably in typical 1st half of the marathon style.  To me, it's just the way to do it.  Maybe one day I'll launch myself into a killer pace, but that really seems self-destructive.

All systems normal, I ran along getting tons of compliments on my race suit provided by Aquadiva (thank you!) and people are always willing to voice their support for Canada (very nice of you, eh).  It's quite fun to run back into town and UP Palani.  That is quite the hill.  This is where I'm quite sure I encountered some funny running behaviour.  So this is a steep hill and I saw no purpose in grinding up it, so I just took it lightly, enjoyed the sidelines and started to notice a woman in white beside me.  We ran up to the top mostly together (and people on the sidelines are very enthusiastic about "BEATING" the woman who is beside you while you still have 15 miles to go) and started the Queen K together.  I don't know if I'm just sensitive, or if I'm right on, but this woman continued to find a way to run in front of me (as in, I ran 5 feet to the left to not run on her heels and she moved over 5 feet - that's a bit more than delusional drunk snake run tactics).  As I was just trying to recover from the hill and get my stride back, I just found this annoying and it happened 3 or 4 times.  Eventually I just had enough of her and ran quickly and easily past.  I'll sound like a snob, but oh well.  I think I've earned the right to say I'm a great runner.  In fact, I recently learned that I'm one of the best.

i love the darkness & light of this course.  i also love chicking guys.

So a big ol' highway and a lot of people to pass.  And the ability to watch Chrissie run by (smiling somewhat!).  Mirinda - not smiling.  Wurtele - doing so well!  So inspiring to watch.  Now, somewhere in the middle of the highway I'm not feeling so great.  It was one of those instant moments where your head spins a bit just as your stomach turns.  I instantly slowed down as a protective mechanism.  Assess.  What is going on?  My head then felt fine but my gut did not.  It's a cramp.  I think.  Just run on, take a mile or two to work it out.  Two miles later.  "What side is your appendix on?".  I don't know the answer to that question, and I think how dumb b/c you're a health care professional.  I continue with all the ice, the fluids, the gels, as I'm not going to let myself get distracted from my plan.  But honestly this was a bit painful.  I tried for a bathroom, it was locked and I'm too stubborn to wait.  Next bathroom, locked.  Into the energy lab (about 4 miles later), I was thankful to run in here, knowing there would be a turnaround and more nutrition in my bag that I needed (I put one gel too few in my bag, but had enough nutrition in eLoad etabs to get me there, always have a backup).

Next bathroom.  Locked.  I'm now convinced I really have to go to the bathroom.  This is the pooping in your pants part I previously mentioned.  No, I actually didn't poop in my pants to I'm sure your disappointment.  Although at times I had to worry, and this is something I'll need to sort out for future races, as you have some control in planning out your nutrition, and it's a tricky science, and I may need some help with it.  I ended up with a lot of gas (this was the pseudo appendix pain) and had no choice but to pass it, and just hope everything would turn out rose-coloured.  Um, not literally, although...I suppose possible.

I am still hurting, knowing I've slowed but not caring too much as it was still my best effort, I arrived at the special needs station.  I know they had called out my # as I ran into the lab turnaround, so I was expecting they'd have it ready.  No, no they didn't.  Well, at least it will be on the ground.  No.  Well, at least they'll have it.  No.  That was a case of 'great expectations' if there ever was one.  So, after running to special needs, slowing, stopping, waiting (not long but 10 seconds feels long) and finally yelling my bib #, getting a "It's not here" and me needing to release a little tension in yelling "COME ON!", and then a somewhat pirate induced "ARgggggggh" as I started up running.  I felt a sense like, you could cry or you could figure out a plan.  I still had eLoad tabs with me, which was enough to get me to another station so I took it and just got on with things, the dark horse of negative thoughts flying a little too closely to my shoulder than I would have liked.

Just when I had pulled myself together and starting running up the not so big but looks big hill to the highway (doesn't help it's wavy with heat) I heard a very quick footfall behind me.  Really, this doesn't happen to me in the race.  I never hear a fast person come up behind me, so it seemed odd, in the energy lab of all places.  It was a little boy, running with my bag.  I didn't have much ability to talk, but I said thank you.  He said "sorry".   I was humbled again, like I was in the water.  This race is bigger than you, I thought to myself.  That boy warmed my heart (which incidently was probably at some stage of overheating as it was) and my belief was restored that everything would be alright.

Top of the hill.  The bathroom.  An open one.  All details spared I allowed myself 60 seconds (when you do sit in a race it is very tempting to stay seating, so I find giving myself time goals helps from dilly dallying).  Then I realized I needed 90.  But no more, and back on the highway I went.  Not immediately feeling glorious, but better.  Then it became a purpose to pass back those who had re-passed me while I was seated.  Upon finishing that, feeling back in control of what was going on, I realized I had a decision to make, and perhaps the most important decision of my entire race.

I could see girls up the road, but quite far up the road.  It's a long highway, you can see a lot.  My life at this point basically boils down to these thoughts.  This is the world championships.  You want to walk away from this knowing you gave it everything you had.  Don't regret anything.  You have made a lot of choices in your life to get to this point.  You can still make choices now.  You must believe in yourself.  One person at a time, you can do this.

And I did.  After going through turnarounds I could realize that I was out of contention for a top 5 or 10 in my age group.  That would be the only thing I can say I was a little sad about, in all honesty I really did wish for a top 5 in my age group, but if you scroll through you can see the amazing depth of competition it took to place there.  That was initially disappointing but all you can do (or all I can do) is learn from that and use it to help me understand not to get overly comfortable with my 'bests' as there are a lot 'better bests' out there.  It's not upsetting, it's inspiring, to realize I need to work harder and get ready to blow some 'limits' out of the water (ironically, it starts with faster swimming).  So at a point while running back toward town, I was running with all heart and no need for worry about placing.  It was truly a race against myself.  And whatever poor girl ran ahead of me.  And I did really well.  With the obstacles I had to positively overcome, I ran a 3:16 something, good for 2nd overall fastest age group run.  Not too shabby.  Full results can be found on the championship website here.

Again, for the moments that make you think, as I was running back to town, so where some other people, but they were doing it on their bikes.  They would still have a marathon to run.  It was a slow trickle of riders coming through, and all I could think for them was 'good for you' because I knew they would make it.  I also thought 'my god that is going to be tough' because you still have a marathon to go.  Humbling.

Eventually upon reaching Palani there were no more girls in sight.  So, I was able to start enjoying this just a little bit more.  I smashed my way down the hill (enough that my laces - yes - my elastic laces - became somewhat undone).  I could feel that it was possible for my shoe to come off, and if so, I didn't care enough to run back up the hill and get it.  It would have made for some comedy, but luckily for my skin it stayed on.  You run along an amazingly supportive stretch for a few blocks, turn the corner and then you're back along Ali'i drive to the finish, lined with people, probably 5-10 deep all the way along.  I had the luxury of being all on my own, no one really close, so I was able to slow down and just look at everything around me.  I had many people heed advice to enjoy the last stretch.  I did.  I was so amazed with it all when I reached the finish line I really didn't know what to do.  So I just took it all in, and there's a lot to think about when you're up on that ramp.

Although I'd have to double check, I think my time was 10:14:07.  And I worked for every minute of it.

Part 6: The Thanks

I can write on and on, but this is reaching novel proportions, and I've certainly had many more thoughts on the race, my life, my future and my support.  All I want to finish by saying quite classically I could have done this without the support I've received from so many, most closely my family but especially from my partner Shawn.  I've been given the opportunity of a lifetime and I've done all I can to honour that and try to not take anything for granted throughout the year.  My life has changed as a result.  As with so many turns in the road of life, I didn't know this was coming.  But most things that I hold most important to me in my life, come from surprises, risks, and dreams.

this guy finally gets a holiday! so deserved!

A big thank you to so many of my friends and training partners who are such wonderful people, to my coaches Jeremy Hopwood & Jerry Ziak (of VanRunning) and swim coach Nathan Skirrow.   To the companies who put their faith my desire to do well and be a good ambassador for sport: Aquadiva Swimwear, Reflect Sports, the new & equally as awesome sponsor CHICKED, and the Massage Therapy Clinic at the UBC Aquatic Centre.  Also a big thanks to Compressport Canada who sent compression sleeves in a flash for me to take to Kona - they were wonderful & my calves love them!  You have all made me feel so special with your support & enthusiasm!  You can all do me a favour by checking out all these companies and support those that support athletes.  Their involvement in sport is a lot more than product=money.  These people do a ton to help athletes anyway they can.  It has been really neat to be able to partner and experience this with them.

Part 7: The Wrap

As I've also written before, as I learned this year, there is nothing wrong with being a dreamer.  And I couldn't help but notice, in those that have achieved greatness in this sport that dreams are a common theme.  So if you take anything away from this report, maybe you'll feel that it could be that it's ok to have a dream, whether you tell your neighbour that dream or not, it doesn't matter.  What matters is that you're ok with having one.

The rest is up to you.

Kona Contest Time!

The official Kona "Guess my time" contest.

Hi Everyone!  Thanks so much for taking the time to read about my contest.  I'm hoping to do a small contest to friends & local athletes in hopes to help with some of the travel costs to get to Hawaii.  I'm asking for a modest donation/ticket price of $10, but know that this goes directly to travel & accommodation cost of this race.  It will be a small contest & I think you have pretty good odds of getting some great prizes!

How to WIN: Closest person to my Ironman Hawaii time on Oct 8th, 2011.  You can enter up to midnight on Oct 7th.  You can enter by Facebook, twitter, or by email (gillianliz@hotmail.com).  I'll keep track of submissions & keep a list.

How to enter: 

Ticket cost: $10.  

Max # of tickets sold: I will sell no more than 50 tickets, so, you know your odds are pretty good!

Format: Make sure to write down the time in hours:minutes:seconds.  (ie. 16:59:59).  And please don't guess that time :)

Who guessed what?  I'll keep an actively updated list on facebook & my blog for those who want to be strategic!

_________________________

Grand prize:  Timex Global Trainer GPS watch with Heart Rate Monitor (value $375)

Runner up: 30 min complimentary massage therapy treatment by Shawn Trimble, RMT (value $50)

3rd place: 2 weeks coaching services compliments of VANRUNNING (value $50+)




4th place: 45 min nutritional consult with the awesome sports nutritionist Noa Deutsch (value $70)

__________________________

Random draws will also take place for the following (1st, 2nd and 3rd place people will be exempt)

*45 min Core Strengthening session 1-on-1 session with me (value $35)

*Reflective 'Run Cuf' (value $35)

*Asics Sky Speed Women's size 7 (yellow): basically new, only worn 2x (value $100)

*Possibly a bonus mystery Hawaiian prize! (value: clearly priceless)

______________________________

If you have any questions, feel free to email me.  I can collect any money on return or we can sort out a email transfer, so if you enter online, you're committing to the $10.  Just check random jackets for change - you'll probably come up with $10.

I'm leaving for Hawaii but will respond when I can.  And no, I won't tell you what I think I'll get.  But I can tell you my last Ironman time six weeks ago at Ironman Canada was 10:01:58.  If you want to hassle Jeremy and Jerry to get nuggets of knowledge, good luck!  I'll announce the winners in the days following the race.  But you'll probably figure that out before me!  I'll keep you updated on submissions so you don't double up on a number.

Thanks everyone & good luck!

Gillian,

Bib  #1728

the balance point

Or tipping point.  Or a little of both, which I know is a complete contradiction.

I am now at the 3 weeks post race state, and now with less than 3 weeks to go until the next one.  As is the case with anyone, I have been through a spectrum of physicality's since Ironman Canada (IMC).  Luckily for me I was able to be distracted for the first two weeks, happy with my result, accepting of the fatigue my body exuded and ok with the feeling of learning to move again.  Being amused with how much shock your body absorbs, however, only lasts so long.

Then you enter that state that so many others have been in, no longer just basking in your soreness and inability to put your pants on without almost falling over.   Now the state of active recovery, you are dealing with a state of diminished return of what you thought was a pretty great state of fitness you worked up to about ~ 3 weeks ago.  What happened?  Where did that go?  Why is this so hard?

So you reach a balance point of recovery & willingness to move forward.  You also reach a tipping point of a calm restorative state into one of what I call 'panic-don't-panic'.  That has been me for the last week or so now that I've started to train with purpose again.  Panic-don't-panic.  I think 'panic' can be the default to restart your momentum , but 'don't panic' has been even more important.  It's the case study of 'stress'.  What is good stress, what is bad?  I think we all know the answer to that question.

I always seem to be the slowest person to recover.  Or perhaps, the only person to admit as such.  And maybe even one of (I think) the minority who allow themselves to recover.  I'm not sure.  There never seems to be any points for being the 'slowest' at something - although it usually seems to work out in my favour eventually.  I've most certainly been on the other side of the fence, learned my lesson and hopped over to where the grass is greener (and more nutritious), and there are less minefields to trip over.  Ka-boom.

 I am learning to not let it bother me, because, really, it serves no purpose to be worried about others.  I have been very consistent about being 100% ready for my big races when that day arrives.  I do not doubt myself during races, I just perform to my ability.  So I really shouldn't worry about what my body is doing (I imagine little factories of reorganization, hammers & nails, flushing of gunk, repainting a nice shiny coat of something) - but I can't help but feel what is going on.  And that feeling appears to trigger that state of 'panic' - but I've learned, and have many great people to remind me - don't panic.

So every day has been better.  But we're talking, uh, 1% better, 5% on a good day.  And I find myself still accepting congratulations as I continue to run into people who I haven't seen since the race, and now starting to feel like I really need to get my head out of, let's say, 'the clouds', and get real about the next race.  I don't feel like I am going from a 'baby' race at IMC to the 'monster' race at Kona.  I feel like I am going from a 'pretty damn tough race' at IMC to a 'monster' race at Kona.  I had a competitive finishing time at IMC, that isn't going to evaporate just because this country grows pineapples instead of hardy evergreens.

Some people will gasp their triathlon gasp when I say this, but Kona is just another race.  It's the same distance, through the same mediums, with a slightly different feel (lift your bike off pavement & smash it down winds, and something hot called the 'energy lab', and I guess if you're lucky, a shark eats you during the swim so you don't have to suffer your way through the rest of the course).  There is so much hype - and that is what makes it exciting.  It is also quite difficult to get into - and I most certainly respect the qualifying process and appreciate how it continues to raise the bar for what is 'excellence' in this sport.

However, to spend your days cowering and giving in before you ever step foot on course seems counter productive to me.  You may make fun of me later, but I'm excited for these conditions the same as I was for IMC.  Tisk-tisk, I can hear you saying, but, that's your style of thinking, not mine.  I initially suckered myself into believing that I would be chum on the water on this course, but I don't think I will.  I think I've constantly put myself into the low lying ranks because I'm reasonably inexperienced compared to so many.  Sometimes naivety is a good thing.  And in this race, I really don't have anything to lose.

In case you're unfamiliar with the course-slash-propaganda machine, here's a quick peak:
Ironman Hawaii - Winds
And I'm sure you've seen this, but if you haven't:
The Crawl
And my personal favourite:
The slow-mo musical montage

I must say, I'm quite excited for this.  I might even fall off my bike - but chances are, I'll get back up and keep riding.  At this tipping point where I attempt to keep things steady and continue moving forward, I have a lot within me and a lot to get out of me on a hot & windy course.  The balance point.

But it's just another race, right?

gillian

"Like a dog with a bone", or, the Subaru Ironman Canada 2011 Race Report.

One week later.  

How would I describe my race?  I thought to myself, somewhat unglamorously, like a dog with a bone.

Stubbornly persist, and you will find that the limits of your stubbornness go well beyond the stubbornness of your limits.  ~Robert Brault

Photo Credit to Sue S. 

Although it seems slightly embarrassing to admit, I have yet to take off my ID bracelet, the shiny, silvery, sparkling ring around my wrist.  I was told cut-off time was yesterday at 5:01 p.m., but, when the time came, no one cut if off my wrist.  And it's on today.  I think though, it's time to take it off and start fresh.  It does appear that I am not finished with this storyline yet.  Because I'll get a new one in less than 5 weeks.  I think there is a metaphor somewhere in there.

I won't lie, I've been having a hard time conceptualizing what to write as a race report for this year's Ironman Canada 2011.  I love to write.  I wish it was my part-time job and all the rest I could spend on my bike, in my running shoes, or attached to a kick board in the pool (yes, I do like kicking).  Sometimes, however, the push to write and describe and help people understand what it was like to be in my shoes for the day, is difficult for reasons unbeknownst to me.  I think it is due, in part, to the fact that I still may be suffering a bit from shock from it all.

So I came 5th.  Ok, that's good.  5th of all women.  That's really quite good.  I was the first female amateur finisher.  That's terrific.  I won my age group of W30-34.  That was my specific race goal, although I told almost no one about it, and until I crossed the tape at the finish line, I refused to believe it was true.  I qualified for Kona, which was the overarching goal of the year.  I'm sure you can look up all the stats if you want to, but I am also impressed that I finished 67th, men & women inclusive.  I thought that was pretty nifty.  There are lots of numbers, & if you're interested, you can find them here .

I don't find it's too interesting to go into a point to point, bit by bit descriptor of the race, because either a) you are a triathlete and you are quite familiar with the process, or b) you're not a triathlete and find the nitty gritty boring and would just like to know the funny parts, or, the sad parts.  I don't know if I have overly funny or sad parts, as my goal of the race was to stay consistent and focused on task.  How boring.  But, boring often yields results.  To appease all parties, here goes a short summary of race day and any follies or foibles along the way.

I must mention before I start, that I have been given a great advantage to be able to stay with our lovely home-stay Ann once again, although this time she would be away for the race.  That said, she still opened her home well in advance of the race and allowed us to stay.  Acclimatizing to the heat, as it turned out this year, was a major advantage.  I can't thank Ann enough for being so gracious as to have us stay there so comfortably for race week - but I'll thank her again anyways!

Race week last year was stomach turning for me.  I wasn't comfortable, always intimidated by flashy triathletes cranking out big workouts leading up to the race.  They were twitchy, hardcore, ready to race. Like a stable full of racehorses (not implying anything WADA wouldn't approve of here, don't get your knickers in a knot).  I didn't feel like I belonged, I wanted to stay up on the hill and just slide into the crowd on Sunday and race.

Flash forward to this year.  Knowing how I finished last year (10:58:34 I believe), I looked around and thought, "Ok, I am generally faster than most of these people" (I finished I think, 349th, of 2800 or something like that). So in my mind that worked out to me being able to look at an imaginary group of 10 people, and being faster than 7-8 of them.  That improved my confidence, and lessened the burden of intimidation quite a lot over last year.  People were ripping along Eastlake road with their bikes, I cruised along and studied the run course, taking a big swallow of pride every once in a while when I saw a speedy lady firing along.  It's ok, I thought, you're not racing today.

Days roll along when you're up there, and in the last few days it just came down to me wanting to race.  I was tired with everyday waiting and my body just wanted to go.  Horse in the gate.  Blinders on.  My imaginary jockey on my back with a whip, waiting.  All of a sudden, it was 3:30 in the morning, and in a very calm and organization fashion, life arranges itself and you're down at the body marking gate.  My ability this year to sit back (mentally) and take in much more of what was around me this year, was quite eye opening.  I wasn't the only one feeling sick to death about it all last year - in fact, that was the sense I got from so many other people.  Again, feeling quite calm about the whole thing, I just went and got all my jobs done.  Body marked.  Tires pumped.  Nutrition on the bike (funnily enough, I had drank all my powerdrink whatever in the days leading up to the race - woke up and realized I had none - which was fine - someone had given me some electrolyte tabs walking along the Farmers' market - so at least I had some sodium & potassium on board).  Honestly, it really didn't bother me.

As challenges go, when you train so much things are whittled down to a science.  You should swim about this fast, bike about this fast, run about this fast, give or take a few minutes.  When I looked at the forecast climbing and climbing throughout the week, I thought, "Ok, great.  A new challenge", and I honestly meant it.  I also know that I seem to do well in the heat (please no jinxing myself here....).  I can take on loads of fluids and process them pretty well, and most certainly that came in handy last Sunday.  I don't know exactly how much I drank, I don't keep track, but between each aid station I came close to finishing 3/4 of each water and powerdrink bottle, so if every aid station on the bike is ~18-20km apart, you can do the math.

But first, the swim.  This will be the only time I really struggled during the race.  I am now a faster swimmer than I was last year and knew that it would be more advantageous to me to start closer to the front.  This would also be my first experience with getting literally smashed in the swim.  I believe what had happened is perhaps slower swimmers started up front (why, why....doesn't it scare you to have 1000's of swimmers coming to drown you?) and then faster swimmers behind them start piling up, which slows down the swimmers behind them, who pile on your pile, and so on and so forth.  I had no where to go except over other people.  It was really uncomfortable.  I had no where to put hands in the water, nothing to pull, just a sea of neoprene.  I took a solid punch to the head, and that was a bell ringer.  I was instantly disoriented, but really had no where to go but forward, and within a few seconds realized I needed to not be emotional about that and just solider on.  Because it was war out there.  And anyways, I do well when punched before races, so now I know I also do well while being punched during the races.  Bring it.

I must have been in the worst area because I know it wasn't like this everywhere.  Looking at an aerial shot of the swim start, I know where I am.  I'm in the white froth.  So....just trying to maintain a heart rate (not that I have a monitor but I just know what that ticker is doing) under 200bpm, and getting enough oxygen, was often the motto for minutes at a time.  Now, I'm sure the current kept pulling us along, but it certainly was not a well executed swim start.  Knowing where we turned, I would say that I was battling from about 100m, until about 1200m.  That is a lot of wasted energy. Well, depends on your definition of wasted.  It certainly wasn't wasted if you look at it from the "I'd like to live through this swim" viewpoint.  Knowing the pro-start was about 60 or so people, I think it would be nice to switch to pro solely for the purpose of the swim start.  Perhaps that's not the case either, but being in a shark tank with thousands of thrashing pirañas is not much fun either.  The second half of the swim was just lovely, and I had wished it had all been like this.  Oh well.  Nice to end it on a positive note, all the same.

So, that was the swim, and it was all over in 1:08:39.  Slower than anticipated, happy to be moving on to the next challenge, as I always am in this sport.

The bike is long but this year it really felt short.  Crowded, certainly for the first 1/3, but then when hills come I find I pass quite a few people and then it thins out on every successive hill.  I make no apologies about my ability to climb.  I love it, and I'm good at it.  I think that might make some gentlemen upset.  I don't care.  Someone made some commentary at my road bike as I was climbing along, "Guess it's nice to have a road bike hey?" was one fellow's remark.  "Yes, haha, it IS nice".  "See you on the flats" I said.  I don't know if I ever saw him again.

The bike was to me, really quite unremarkable.  I felt very lucky not to be victim to what appeared to be tacks along the first section of the course.  My heart really does go out to those who had to contend with that, an unfair happening as it really is just a roll of the dice & that takes fair play out of sport, something of which I hold in high regard.  To anyone who is reading this and had that unfortunate mishap, congratulations to you for maintaining a positive attitude and continuing on with the race.  Sport isn't just about times & results, it's also about the ability to overcome & persevere on so many levels.

The bike can be quite lonely for the last couple of hours.  Albeit solitary, it is beautiful, the Similkameen valley swallowing you up as you ride along it's valley.  This year, I was comforted by the fact there was no black lurching sky, no finger of grey whirling it's way down towards the Yellow Lake climb, ready to soak & chill to the bone as it was last year.  This year, it was all blue sky.  Hot blue sky, I might add.  I really never had a problem with heat on the bike, but as anyone who did the race knows, it was a little bit windy on the way back down the climb, which, at 160km, sort of takes a vice grip to your energy stores and puts the pressure on to the very end.  You are rewarded however, with heaps of cheering fans (the fans! the unbelievable fans!) along the sidewalks of what was turning out to be a very hot day in Penticton.

So no problems on the bike.  No time wasted.  You know what I mean.  No near misses, no troubles with anyone.  Really, boring is beautiful sometimes.  My bike was completed in 5:34:34.  Neat time.  And I must say, not to shabby for a road bike.  Although I am thinking a tri bike would be nice...

I don't have much to say about my transitions.  Efficient enough.  Volunteers are your greatest resource during this race.   Positive, encouraging, helpful to the enth degree.  They make it happen for you out there at the races.  I always wish I had more energy to thank them more, but I don't usually (or enough oxygen) so I hope that my thanks is transmitted along the karma express somehow.  I try to smile - always try to smile.

I must say at this point I really have no clue where I am sitting in the rankings, although this is quite important to me I'm not ready to get fussed about it yet.  At the out & back I did start counting females, and to my surprised realized that there weren't that many, although no way to really tell who was who, people are flying by so quickly.

Out on the run.  It always amazes me how much my body wants to run after getting off the bike.  It wants to get my butt off the saddle and stretch out and use some new muscles.  It likes the rhythm of running.  It likes to pass people.

Although well hydrated on the bike it became clear there was no time to waste in aid stations as I started to pass through.  It's just a well orchestrated (you hope) grab & dash the best you can using what little brain power you have to get the right things (cola....no....water....yes).   After missing a cup of water and worried that I would have to wait until the next station I sucked on a sponge.  Gross.  I now realize they fall on the ground, go back in the bin, get wiped on who knows what, but honestly, I was that worried about not getting enough water in.  However, that is the last sponge I will drink from.  Much better used on your head.

I don't run with a gps or garmin so I really have to rely on km/mi markings.  I checked the first couple of miles and my pace seemed good enough, and I felt really comfortable.  My overwhelming repetitive mantra for the first half of the race was, "Make it easy".  I must have said that hundreds of times to myself.  I have run a few marathons and I know, that every time I run a successful one, the first half just feels like a breeze, and of course, this also usually translates to a negative split.  I managed to do this again, as I did last year, not that I ever knew that at the time I was running.  I just cruised along (it is however, nice to cruise quickly compared to who is running around you, I won't lie) and noticed the odd woman with numbers ranging in the 30-34 range.

The inauspicious start to my run race I thought was pretty funny.  I chose to go with regular laces for this race because I wasn't liking how elastic laces where often putting too much pressure on the top of my feet.  So laces it was.  And laces really have done the trick all along - however, when you start dumping water, sponges, ice melting, sprinkles, guy with a hose and a good aim for triathletes - I didn't know that you laces can come undone more easily than normal.  So, upon passing a W30-34 contender, I promptly had my laces come undone and had to stop to re-do.  Then she re-passed.  Then I passed her back.  Then my laces came undone 1km later.  Then re-passed.  Then I re-passed, and at this point, had so much fluid on board that I was having trouble concentrating on the task at hand and had to visit the porta-potty.  That felt great.  Then, she had re-passed me in the process.  Eventually, I passed her again for the last time and I really never saw her again.

So you think that would be the end of it, but, you're wrong.  I managed to pass another girl in my age group, and right on time my laces came undone once more.  I laughed out loud and shouted "COME ON!" - and at this point I'm sure this girl thinks I'm going off my rocker and will eventually be victim to the side of the road shuffle.  Well, you guessed it, I retied with gusto and passed her again.  And then I just passed everyone else (although I refused to believe I had truly passed everyone.....when you are on the borderline of bloodsugar city you don't always believe what you hear, or see.....elvis?).

By the half way point I was told that was I was the first amateur.  I really didn't believe this and thought some girls had slipped through the cracks unnoticed.  At the turn around I noticed that it really wasn't too far back that a line of girls had formed behind me.  I grabbed whatever I needed at the special needs bag and started to formulate my plan.  It is a bit of a slug out of OK Falls, uphill, now into the headwind, and a bit of a mental turning point (good or bad).  Luckily for me, I had felt so good to this point that I was ready to get moving.  Arrogant or not, the phrase in my head was to "make them hurt".  So, up the cadence, up the speed, up the breathing a little, and stay true to my fluid & nutrition and stay on the gas for a while.  It's really odd to be ahead - I very much felt like I was being chased, yet at the same time reasonably confident in my abilities as a runner.  I passed a WPRO who was incredibly encouraging, and then realized, holy cow, what is happening?

By this point I started to believe the people who were cheering for the first amateur female.  Me?  I didn't expect this.  I was blown away with how supportive everyone was.  I don't just mean fans & spectators on the side of the road, although they are always impressive.  Participants (mostly women) coming the other way - giving their support and encouragement to me while they were still racing!  The smiles on their faces - just incredibly uplifting to me - although I'm sure my face remained quite straight, if my heart was on my sleeve they would have been able to see my appreciation.

Now, at the same time this is all happening, I am also just a little bit terrified of letting this all slip away from me.  I was definitely feeling the heat, every once in a while the world becomes a little bit tippy, or fuzzy, and that was a little worrying, but it never seemed to get the better of me as long as I just stayed consistent to pace.  I now had realized I was in a position to win, more excited than anything to win my age group as that would solidify my goal for the year, which was qualifying for the world championships in Kona.  That's really all I wanted.  The rest of what was to come was one big bonus.

I was also trying for the sub-10 hr mark.  I started the run knowing that if I could run 3:10 that I would fall underneath 10 hrs.  I also realized that time shouldn't always drive your efforts, especially in a marathon at the end of 3.8km swim and 180km bike.  So I hoped for the best but realized I was running a different kind of race, a race for placing.  I could make an excuse for the fact it was hot but really I just didn't execute a 3:10 race.  What I ended up doing, after putting a relatively strong and consistent surge for about 12km, was to run within my comfort zone and contain the energy I had should I need to race someone to the finish.  I half expected someone to crawl up on my shoulder and make a pass.  I almost wanted someone to do it because I felt so confident in what I had left in the tank.  But long story short, no one was there.  At 2 miles to go, I looked at my watch and had about 14:05 left to make it under 10 hrs, which means running about 7:02 miles.

Crap, I thought.  Should I try?  Would I explode, cramp, end up walking and being passed?  I assessed the risk.  My body certainly wanted to just cruise.  My brain thought, you should give it a try (knowing pretty well I was going to miss it).  I did it anyways, I gave it a try, knowing second by second was ticking away.  It wasn't upsetting, just very matter of fact.  At a point I could hear Steve King announce there was 2 minutes to go until 10 hrs was up, then 30 seconds.  I was impossibly far away.  But I didn't slow down.  This train had got up to max speed and it was loving it there.  Sure, maybe I could have been more precise and ramped it up earlier, but the elusive 10 hr mark has become quite diminished in the face of every other mark that fell down upon me as I grabbed that tape.  I did it in 3:14:27.  I'm quite proud of that time, and even more so, that run.

It feels impossibly good to cross that line.

I finished in 10:01:58.  I heard a blur of Steve King's voice explaining I was the first female amateur of the day.  Then I really believed it.  The catchers asked if I was ok, I said yes.  I'm not sure if they believed me.  I must have looked shocked - and physical shock and mental shock can look quite similar, I suppose.

I have so many thoughts and feelings about the race, about my year I have spent focused on this race, with all my eggs in one big proverbial basket.  Some days I was sure of myself, other days I worried the earth's floor would be pulled right out from underfoot.  When people asked if I was ready for the race, I think for the most part I said yes.  I felt quietly confident.  There were many levels of great performances on the day and I have a great appreciation for all of them.  I may still be digesting my own.  I make no apologies for being happy with my performance.  This wasn't a fluke.  I worked for this.

In the same vein, I have had unbelievable support.  I have been given the opportunity to go after my dreams and complete them to the fullest, only realizing that dreams never really stop, they are ever ascending.  I have now done things that just years ago I truly would only have dreamed of.  And I'm just a regular human being who has been able to go after it with everything I have.  I am an incredibly lucky person in that sense, and I owe gratitude to those who allowed this to be possible.  Of note, I would like to thank my lovely sponsors for believing in me and supporting me this year.  So a big thank you to Aquadiva Swimwear Sponsorship, Reflect Sports, and The Massage Therapy Clinic at the UBC Aquatic Centre .  Also a big thank you to IMPACT Magazine for being so supportive and encouraging of local Canadian athletes - your support & recognition makes a big difference! Of course it goes without saying, if there is anyone who is interested in further sponsorship, this gal could certainly use it!

So that's it.  That is the race for me.  And now I have another one to do, in 5 weeks.  It's exciting and again, I don't really think I have a clue of what to expect.  But I'm looking forward to racing.  I love it.  I love the training too, I am looking forward to slowly getting back to that after one week off.  What else can you do but just enjoy all of this?  I don't know, but at this point that's how I feel.  There are decisions I will have to make down the line, but at this point, I have a job to do in of all lovely places, Hawaii.  I don't think it gets much better than that.

Time to sign off and wrap this up.  I will try my best to post a photo blog in the upcoming week when I gather a few photos together, but for now it's just the story.

Thank you for taking the time to read my never short thoughts & reports of my year's happenings.  I'll try to give you something worth reading about in another month or so.  Stay tuned :)

To everyone who helped make my race another one of the most special moments of my life, I thank you.

Gillian