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Penticton Peach Classic Race Report (WTF2long): What a Hydrosloth does to cope with a non-wetsuit swim
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Data Collection Day
How I ran my way to the podium at the Peach Classic
A SATO Hydrosloth Race Report


Lead In: No expectations, no cry


After my big let down at the Oliver Half I wasn't too happy. I decided to enter just three days before the race. No big emotional build up. No real taper. Best off all NO EXPECTATIONS, since it was the first time I had ever done the Peach Classic.


I have been doing triathlon since 1990 and have done about 12 sprints, 30 Olympic, 40 half ironman, nine Ironman, and 1 UltraMan. This year in an attempt to get fast, I hired Jonathan Caron as a coach and was averaging 10 workouts per week for a total of around 13 hours of training. I was uninjured and healthy for the previous four weeks. No excuses there! Three days before the race I did our cycling club's weekly ten-mile time trial. The conditions were quite windy and I was about 30 seconds off getting a personal best, so I was pretty happy with that.


Equipment: Same as it ever was


Nothing new here really other than after about ten years of using a old style HED 3 tri-spoke, I went even more old-school and used a 25-year old Rolf Vector Pro as my front wheel. I wanted to see if I could ride more aggressively in crosswinds and on sketchy downhills than with my tri-spoke.




Pre-Race Preparations: The party starts now


Our daughter and her boyfriend came down to Penticton to join us for the John Fogerty concert the night before the race. It was us, however, who were partying like rock stars before the concert. A typical Okanagan sunny Saturday afternoon meant hours of fun on our massive floatie anchored in Skaha Lake complete with a healthy assortment of beverages.


As the sun went down, we headed back to the condo for steak, chicken, salad, perogies, and bottles of red and wine Okanagan wine. It was a tasty and booze filled pre-race meal, the likes of which I'd never had before. At 7:30 the cab arrived to take our giddy crew toward the concert venue and fifteen minutes later there we were at Highway 97 Brewery, awash in tropical tasting IPAs. Ok, just one more before the show. At this pint, er point, who's counting?


A memorable concert by a guy whose appeal spans generations and whose songs mobilized millions, Fogerty stuck to the playbook and served a main course of soulful nostalgia along with some newer numbers including a La Grange-esque collaboration with ZZ Top. For a guy who forty-years ago seemed like he was destined to be a pissed off old white man with millions, he presented like a well-adjusted farm-boy, genuinely happy with his lot in life. I left the concert wanting to be dressed in an American flag.


Fifteen minutes after the concert we were sitting in the back of a cab and fifteen minutes after that sitting behind a steamy, gooey plate of nachos Not content with the copious amount of FRESH jalapenos already on the nachos, a bottle of Tabasco sauce found its way to the table, along with, of course bottles of local IPA. At 11:30, my wife reminded me of that race that I was supposed to be doing in about seven hours.


Morning of the race: Angel of the morning


My spicy nightcap of jalapenos and Tabasco didn't really phase me. Neither, it seemed, did our abundance of booze. After a satisfying five hour nap, I made toast, drank water, and rode my bike to the race site with any hints of hangover disappearing into the crisp morning air. There was hardly anyone at the race site so I didn't have to wait at all for body marking, or for the helpful folks at the Bike Barn to top up my tyres, or for the porta-potty.


It was while I was obsessing how to place my cycling shoes next to my bike that I heard the news. “No wetsuit swim,” it was announced. I'm sure glad that I didn't have any expectations going into this race because the news meant I could add another five minutes to my swim split and any time goals would have been thrown out the window. Because I didn't have to put on a wetsuit my race routine changed and I forgot to put Bodyglide on, something that I would be reminded of later on in the event.


Swim: Take the A train


Due to the non-wetsuit swim, my goal was just to get it over with, using as little energy as I could. I did a 20 second warm-up (mostly just to pee) and walked back to the beach where we were lined up. The gun went off and I cautiously jumped into the water to join my like-minded kin. Let's just get this thing over so we can get on our bikes.


Unlike my previous “serious” races when I would line up right at the front and go full gas for the first 300 metres in unsuccessful attempts to uncork an amazing swim split, I was content to be a locomotive, a boxcar, or a caboose on a slowly moving train. At the time, the decision seemed to be a wise one. There were no heroics or dramas with this group, just steady progress to the finish line. After making our final turn, our eyes were blistered with sunshine, fracturing the pack as we blindly headed toward what we hoped to be the Big Peach. For the first time in the race, I had open water in front of me and I didn't like it. I accelerated hard for a minute in the hopes of catching a new draft pack, it didn't work.


Swim time 33 minutes.


Transition 1:


One advantage (come to think of it, the only advantage) to having a non-wetsuit swim is that you don't have to take it off in transition. You'd think this would make for a fast T1 time. It didn't. As is often the case, I fumbled with my helmet's chin strap despite practicing it many, many, times. It's not even frustrating anymore. Once again, my lack of expectations for the day played dividends and I rolled out of transition in a positive frame of mind ready to take on the bike course.


Bike: Nowhere man


After an utterly graceless bike mount, I felt like a teen aged Alister Brownlee on amphetamines and played to the crowds along Lakeshore Drive with a vulgar display of power, speed, and stupidity. After almost overcooking the first turn-around point, I ignored a possible learning moment and kept pushing the pace and living in the moment. The steep pitch up Vancouver Avenue afforded me another opportunity to show spectators how many watts I could squander as I gnawed away at the climb and my fellow cyclists. Once the crowds thinned out, so did my watts and I settled into, what my heart rate monitor told me was a sensible pace.


Still, I continued passing people, a scenario that has played itself out for nearly three decades now. Rather than lament the fact that I should have been out of the water minutes before, I was happy to play Pac Man, eating up the food pellets lain before me. Happiness ensued. Brad Lee passed me.


On one of the moderate climbs by Township Seven Winery, I caught up to a fast looking female who was rocking a pair of sweet sounding wheels. It was Mylene Normandin, a fellow member of our local triathlon club. We motivated each other to keep pushing the pace and move up in the standings. What could be finer, a glorious day on the Naramata Bench and working with a friend to achieve triathlon awesomeness?


As sweet as our relationship was, it wasn't meant to last. Somewhere on an uphill near the Naramata turnoff we parted ways and I was... alone. A place that I was very familiar with but never comfortable with, after all, this was a race... supposedly with other people. For the about the next fifteen minutes my Garmin kept me company and kept me honest, as I was determined to keep my heart rate above 150. Whenever I sagged, it beeped, and I'd downshift to maintain the intensity.


It was only near the turn-around that I began seeing competitors, probably about forty of them ahead of me. Shortly after the turn-around a couple of older guys on well-appointed Cervelos passed me with sobering vigor. All of a sudden I was in a race again and the miles from the turn-around to the Elephant Island Winery disappeared as we jousted for gray-haired alpha male supremacy, eating up a few less testosterone-inspired riders along the way.


The funny thing was, that for as strong as these guys were on their carbon steeds, they couldn't handle them worth shit. Every time we got going over 50 kph or into something that even somewhat hinted at a tight turn, they relinquished the lead. “Too much Zwifting,” I mused, as my patience with them reduced and my gap on them grew. Again, I was alone, all the way to the end of the bike.


Bike time 1:15


Transition 2:


Even though I was in triathlon purgatory for only about fifteen minutes, it was refreshing again to be among people and to feel like I was in a race. As always, transition was a beehive of activity and I thought where the hell did all these people come from?


My running legs were tested as I dismounted and racked my bike. Things were feeling good. Thankfully, I remembered to do the most important thing all day in transition – take my heart rate monitor off the bike. I ran out of transition with my race number belt in one and my Garmin in my other, determined to run to my potential. Something that I didn't do in my previous race.


Run: Born to be alive


Dutifully putting on my race number belt after being strongly suggested to by a race official, I let my mind relax and let my body do the thinking for the first kilometre. After having done well over a hundred triathlons, my body knew what was in store and it faithfully responded, injecting a spring into my stride that disregarded the abuse of the previous forty kilometres. As equally encouraging was my that Garmin was validating my honest effort thus far.


And then that hill. Like a kick in the balls from an unrepentant donkey, that steep climb that we had to do for the first part of the bike, we also had to replicate on the run. My first reaction to the challenge was to walk it, as I didn't want to overtax my legs and spike my heart rate. Then I remembered, this was an Olympic distance race. Run! It was a gritty performance, that sadly lacked an audience to witness the Olympic class suffering.


After gulping some soul-replenishing nourishment, that is F2C Glycodurance, at the second aid station, the running surface changed from crazy steep pavement to gently graded gravel, the KVR had arrived! After having done this exact route a couple of times with my Penticton training group I had a clear idea of how to play my cards. Again, I was very happy that I was holding my Garmin in my hand to hawkishly monitor my effort. My confidence was steeled, knowing even though I felt strong and happy, I was putting out an honest effort.


But, where the hell was everybody? Other than the occasional athlete, I was pretty much by myself until about the three kilometre mark, when I saw the race leaders and then the rest of the competitors who were ahead of me. There seemed to be less of them than at the bike turn-around. No doubt I was making my way through the field but was there enough distance left in the rest of the race to do anything special? That didn't really matter to me much at that moment because I was running the numbers that I needed. My legs and form felt crisp and I was savoring the gentle downhill of the next three kilometres.


As is often the case in the last few kilometres of a race you begin to see casualties, folks who have over-raced, under-trained, under-fueled, or were just having an unpleasant end to their day. And while it's somewhat satisfying to pass the living dead as they lurch forward to the finish line it's even better to pass your competitors when they are at their best.
Buoyed with confidence of having passed six people between kilometres seven to eight I was primed to tackle the last two kilometres and gulping down more Glycodurance only fed my optimism for last-minute awesomeness. Above all, I was enjoying the moment. There was none of this “let's just get this god-damned thing over” mentality. As I got back on the pavement and looked down over Vancouver Avenue, I saw two more people not more than 400 metres ahead. They looked like they were running strong. But maybe...


By this time, in the heat of battle my heart rate monitor was going off like a pinball machine, it was music to my ears as I threw caution to the wind and let my legs do the thinking. My legs told me “Everyone ahead of you is in your age group.” One person passed. And as we approached the one kilometre to go mark on the suicidal downhill on Abbott Street, one more. And as the Prague Cafe neared, just before the Japanese Garden, I passed my a final victim in my joy-filled finale. A check of my heart rate revealed an honest 172. Hadn't seen that in half a decade.


I know that I'd be pissed, if I was passed in the last 400 metres of a triathlon, so I was preparing myself for a sprint to the finish line, just in case the last guy had some other plans for me. I took a deep breath, relaxed my gut, loosened my stride and endured. Fortunately I was spared another duel and I crossed the finish line alone, about twenty seconds ahead.


Run time: 49 minutes


Race Stats: I feel lucky


Final time 2:40:38. 3/15 in my age group, 28/151 overall. Average heart rate combined bike/run 151. Average watts on bike 201.


Lessons Learned: Don't worry be happy


Not using a wetsuit for a swim will cost you 5 minutes. Ok, maybe I knew this already. Maybe the lesson is that you will never improve in the swim, so be happy and smart and accept it.


Good race day execution on the bike, maybe bring a gel next time. Try to go just a bit higher than 150 heart rate in an Olympic distance race.


A bit more consistent with the temp runs. Gotta walk that line between maximum benefits and risk of injury. Room to improve. Keep taking your Garmin with you on the run for races and look at it, you may not be as lazy as you think.


All that sun and food and booze the day before the race didn't really hurt you but don't do it again.

http://www.fitspeek.com the Fraser Valley's fitness, wellness, and endurance sports podcast
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Re: Penticton Peach Classic Race Report (WTF2long): What a Hydrosloth does to cope with a non-wetsuit swim [Hydrosloth] [ In reply to ]
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I gotta ask that with such a deep resume of racing (my respect) why are you writing from the viewpoint of a newer racer/novice?

You should get yourself that well-appointed Cervelo that apparently is for sale in Kelowna. You will not be disappointed and could ditch 50% of your report about wheels and shoe covers :).

Also your relationship vis-a-vis other competitors is quite curious. I am not sure I have ever experienced the feeling of "picking off victims". Probably because I get passed a lot in the run :P

Training Tweets: https://twitter.com/Jagersport_com
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Re: Penticton Peach Classic Race Report (WTF2long): What a Hydrosloth does to cope with a non-wetsuit swim [SharkFM] [ In reply to ]
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I didn't realize the tone was from a newbies point of view. What made it sound that way?

Not sure Johnny O could bear another bike-fitting session with me. The QR is fairly well dialed in, depending on the thickness of the chamois of the cycling shorts and the phase of the moon. I have a P3-SL in the garage but not sure if it would be faster. Heeey - no shoe covers for an Olympic, don't be silly =-)

Maybe a poor choice of words regarding "picking off victims" although, having been passed in the last 3K of a.n Ironman by a fellow age-group competitor, that's pretty much how I felt.

Thanks for wading through the long race report.

http://www.fitspeek.com the Fraser Valley's fitness, wellness, and endurance sports podcast
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