Delusions Of Speed

Sato Hydrosloth’s 2018 Oliver Half Race Report

Sunday June 3.

Preface: All attempts at a short race report failed, as did my goal race time of under five hours.

Lead In: This was my “A” race for the year. My goal was a 4:59:59, three minutes faster than I have ever gone. It seemed realistic. Healthy! Bumped & bruised from my tumble at Westwood Lake, nothing serious. Week 12 of working under the direction of Jonathan Caron. 154 pounds. Decided to experiment with NOT drinking during the week leading up to the race. Just one glass of wine on Tuesday.

Equipment: bike – QR Cd 0.1, HED Tri-Spoke with Specialized Turbo-S-Works 23 front & Wheelbuilder Disc with Continental 4000s 23 rear. Sketchers “Meb” runners, Pro-Motion Powerglide wetsuit.

Fuel: On bike, bottle 3 scoops of F2C Glyco-Durace mixed with 1 scoop of EFS electrolyte mix, and one 200 mg crushed up caffeine pill. Run, a flask of caffeine pills and salt tablets.

The day before: Drove new course, looked like fun. Biked 20 minutes to test gears. Swam w/out wetsuit for 15 minutes to calm my nerves. Supper was a burger and fries and salad. No beer! (weird).

Morning of: overcast and 12 degrees. Got to race site at 6 for a 7 AM start. DID NOT pump up tyres even though they had latex tubes. A lesson I learned from IM 2016. Took a gel 20 min. before swim start.

Swim: The easiest, most civil start to a triathlon I’ve experienced in about 10 years. A brisk but manageable start. I managed to quickly find a nice pair of feet and did my best to hang on to them. The biggest challenge was trying to hang on to the same feet, while going around the 2 turn buoys.

I didn’t have to site often as I was happily, well-situated in the pack. Pacing was challenging and no doubt I would be swimming slower if I was on my own. The second lap was a carbon copy of the first, although with a different pair of feet to follow. No drama, no swimming off-course. This swim was just a kinder-gentler version of the Ironman swim I did in Whistler back in 2016.

Swim time: 38 min.

T1: I’m surprised how hard some people run from the water allllllllll the way to their bikes at this race. I’m pretty sure the winner of the T1 contest won only about fifty bucks. Although my time goal of a sub five was lofty, I wasn’t about to be silly and make bad decisions in transition. I put on socks and cycling shoes with aero-booties. This took some extra time. I also decided to take 15 seconds and have a 5-Hour Energy drink to give extra boost for the first hour. (lesson learned at Westwood Lake).

T1 time: 5 min.

Bike part A: With the new course, we were already at the “big” climb of the old course, at Black Sage when we barely warmed up. I should correct that. There was no “we.” There was just me. By myself. All alone (naturally).

I was frustrated my unwelcome solace as I wanted to cycle with people to keep me motivated. Thankfully, I had some electronic motivation, as I set my Garmin to beep if my heart rate fell below 145. Sticking with this pacing plan, I was able to start catching and passing people. Time seemed to really move quickly and before I knew it, we were already (by now there was a “WE!”) back onto highway 97.

What was unusual about this stretch was that there was no wind! And the temperature was very mild, about 17 degrees. Things were looking good for a sub five! As we turned off highway 97 there was a bit of congestion at the first aid station but I was pleased with this inconvenience as this meant that after my usual Hydrosloth calibre swim, I was becoming part of this race.

Bike Part B: With wonderful temperatures, sexy smooth pavement, no wind, and with me passing a lot of people, the siren song leading me into the sea of mediocrity beckoned. Everything felt so good. Everything was falling into place. Following my coach’s instruction, I was biking sensibly up the long scenic climb to the turn-around but was still able to pass a lot of people.

My efforts at getting riders to work together and motivate each other were only luke warmly received. I had a few short-term relationships but nobody could match my speed for very long, a boost to the ego but detrimental to my goal of a sub five. I thought I was doing pretty-well. Damn, my bike position even felt good. No need to stop and do any on-course seat adjustments today.

About 2/3 of the way to the bike turn-around my Garmin started going off, telling me to stick with my pacing. I tuned it out, thinking since everything was going according to “plan” why should I try harder than needed? “Better to save the heroics for the run,” I foolishly told myself. Thankfully this state of mind only lasted for a while. What broke my slothful state was seeing all the cyclists coming down the hill. First, the usual trickle of top pros. Then the gaggle of top age groupers. I saw my co-coach at the ATC, Mikey Ross, and club member Angelo Froese coming down the hill as well. THAT was motivation and I dutifully picked up the intensity, all the way to the top of the hill in the hopes of catching them as quickly as possible.

Bike Part C: One of the reasons for my blissful bike ride was because I was never so sugared up. After a disappointing bike at Westwood Lake, my coach and I realised the cause was likely insufficient sugar. I was motivated to make sure this did not happen again! At every aid station I would grab a new bottle and 2 gels, one of which I would consume on the spot. My pursuit to a sub five was still on track, and I was confident as I had nothing but about thirty minutes of downhill on glorious new pavement. My heart rate monitor went off again. Again, I refused to heed its warning. Seeing as that I was going downhill, I thought that the extra effort to maintain that kind of effort on a downhill was unwise.

It seemed I was the only one who got that memo. For the first time all day, a person passed me. Then another. Then another. All the same cookie-cutter type of triathlete - mid 30s to mid 40s men on Cervelo P-2s. I hear there’s a factory that produces these triathletes in Korea. Google it.

I “let” these guys put a few hundred metres on me, using them to my advantage as pacers, hopefully for the rest of the bike course. Things were really starting to feel like a race. I was engaged. My Garmin rewarded me with silence. In spite of my renewed focus I was unable to catch up to Mikey & Angela.

Nearing our return to highway 97, I overtook two of the P2 lads, along with a bunch of cyclists who magically appeared. One of people was a female who looked like if I did pass her, she would make me hurt on the run. With steeled confidence, I was prepared for the final battle of the bike. Fittingly, it was with another old bastard, much the same age as me. His weapon of choice for the duel - a Pinerello road bike. After I bridged up to him, we engaged in self-congratulatory chit chat about how we were out biking people with much less grey hair, then, the gauntlet was thrown. Despite my 30 cog, he joyfully gapped me. I accepted my lot and consoled myself by thinking that you don’t bring a knife to a gun fight. A road bike was the weapon of choice for an 18 % pitch. The tables were quickly turned as we turned right onto Black Sage Road and were greeted with blasting winds. His weapon withered in the Okanagan heat. You don’t bring a knife to a gun fight.

Bike time: 2:45

T2: With a casual sense of urgency, I dismounted, rolled into transition, racked the bike, jogged to my “special” transition area, took off my booty-covered cycling shoes, rammed on my running shoes, grabbed my hat, race number, and pill flask, and took off for what needed to be a 1:38 half marathon. There were no excuses, the weather was a very mild 20 degrees.

T2 time: 15 seconds too fast.

Run Lap One: I realised my mistake at the first aid station. After slowing down and taking a caffeine pill and a salt pill, I realised my heart rate monitor was still on my bike. “Too late to turn-back now,” I said to myself. Besides, I thought, I was feeling great! My mind was clear, my breathing was controlled, and my leg turn-over was fabulous. And those two people who got ahead of me while I was walking through the aid station, well, I’ll pass them soon enough.

And pass them I did, just as we got off the main road and were running on the creek pathway. So far in the race, only three athletes passed me. Those people were probably in relays I told myself. My running felt crisp. Life was good. Shortly after crossing the bridge to cross the creek, I started to see the fast folks ahead of me. One of those folks who was Mikey Ross. I shouted some savoury words of encouragement to him. Next I saw Angela Froese, and offered her a half-smile and a wave. Both of were looking strong, but I was on top of the world. Today was my day!

After hitting the first turn-around point, I spied a fast-looking female in her 30s about 300 metres ahead of me. She would be my next victim. I set about lifting the pace knowing she would soon relinquish a notch in the overall results. One minute of chase became five and five became ten. `How could she still be ahead of me when I was feeling so good.` Rather than being disenchanted about my lack of progress, I focused on everything that was going well, my breathing, my stride, my crispness of mind. To further bolster my adrenaline and caffeine induced nirvana, at every aid station I drank a cup of glorious cola. In my mind, I was bounding up the hills and tearing down the flats, oblivious to the speed I was really running and more importantly, I was not realizing that my goal of a sub five was slipping away with every foot strike. Ignorance is bliss. Bliss is slow.

Run Lap Two: I began the second lap with unwarranted optimism. Before doing so, I took a final caffeine pill and salt tablet as insurance policies for a cramp-free and energy-filled finale. `` Despite the crowds watching at the turn-around point, I felt strangely alone. No other athlete was near me. This was not a good sign, especially as I needed to be within 500 metres of Angela and Mikey if I was to fulfil my destiny today. A sobering reality check!

``How could I NOT be passing more people?`` I thought, as I glided down the hill, letting my breathing relax and letting my still strong legs lead the way. Still nobody around. Time to start trying stuff. I began surging, going as fast as I could until I was close to blowing up, then slowing down, and then repeating the process. Subconsciously at this point, I realised my race goal was unattainable so I decided to have some fun, which meant trying to destroy my legs, results be damned. This renewed sense of purpose, along with the surging, made the sting of seeing both Mikey and Angela increasing their lead on me somewhat more palatable.

Then, there they were, only about 200 metres ahead of me. No, not Mikey & Angela, but another couple of athletes. For Christ`s sake, they were talking to each other! How can you do that if you are genuinely racing? The switch flipped. Kill mode. Pass them or collapse. Both outcomes acceptable.

Before the final bridge, the deed was done. My inner voice scoffed at them while I turned the screws, giving them fresh fodder to discuss at leisure for the final three kilometres of their race. My body and mind responded much like a shark after a kill, which is to say dispassionately. They had to be passed. There`s no joy in that. It`s just a job that needed to be done.

As I started the final hills of the day, my left calf cramped. This was my first physical problem all day. Although it didn’t last too long, it made me aware of the couple who were talking while they were running that I just passed. Did they see me falter? Was I now the injured seal in the water? I began listening for athletes behind me who were talking while they were running. Nothing.

After the crest of the final hill I was feeling strong and optimistic, the sugar and caffeine still fueling my fire. Again, I listened for athletes who were talking while they were running. Again, there was no sound. But I could sense something. With the finish line and Steve King`s voice beckoning me, it was time to see what my body had left. As the final aid station appeared, about 200 metres from the finish line, the melee began. Surging ahead of me was my chattering male friend. He was alone and he was silent. Apparently there was some racing to be done. And for that you don`t talk, you fucking race.

He mustered the energy to pass but he lacked the instinct to kill, and simply maintained pace. Sensing his weakness, I surged past him driving toward the finish line. Well, the old finish line. About 50 metres down the hill, a frantic volunteer yelled, telling us that we were going the wrong way. We needed to turn-around, go around the pylon, and then go through the finish line. My last minute heroics conspired against me and because we had to turn around, he was now about 20 metres ahead. I stood in shock for a moment before digesting the instructions and changing course.

By then it was too late, with his head start, the guy was able to get around the pylon, down the correct finishing chute, and across the finish line with me nine seconds behind him. That`s race brain for you!

Run Time: 1:46

Final time 5:16:55

Stats: 50 out of 248 (overall). 2 out of 14 (age group)

Lessons learned:

Swim: Seed yourself in the middle of the pack for the swim, 300 metre repeats in the pool with paddles seem like a good idea.

Bike: Not sure if the booties worked, they took about an extra 15 seconds to put on. The 5 Hour Energy Drink was a good idea, but take it while you are in motion. In training, do more sets of comfortably uncomfortable stuff. The nutrition plan for the bike was spot-on. Sugar yourself into happiness. Gliding down hills seems senseless. Find a 58 and get serious. Stick to the heart rate goals.

Run: Keep drinking Coke. Keep doing the salt and caffeine pills. The shoes and socks combination prevented blisters and excuses. REMEMBER your heart rate monitor. Run with more anger. Save the joy until you are reading the race results. Keep doing leg-work in the gym because it seems to prevent hamstring cramping.

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