Ironman is a big adventure, particularly when you have to drive across half of a continent to do it, and then back. There is so much I could say about this journey, and the people who have helped me (my Producer…) but then it would be even longer, thus I leave you with:
RACE DAY
I got up around 4.30 and had a big bowl of raisin bran (two scoops!) and 2% milk, as is fairly normal for me. I got all my stuff together, mixed up some ‘j-load’*, hoping that my little checklists were good, and that I was not missing anything vital. I tried to interest the children in the project, but my heart wasn’t really in it because there was no plan for how they would get back after the start.
I parked my car near Churchill Ave. where there always seem to be free spots, got what I hoped was all of my gear, and walked over to Body Marking, helping newbie Glen, since I had been there before, and knew the drill. I had expected a cool morning - but it was a comfortable temperature, so long as one kept moving or work a sweater/jacket. Indecision had me put my special needs stuff in the designated spot, and then take it all away again, as I realized that I still needed my jacket.
I stood in line for a very long time for the portapotty, not really caring about the elite start which came and went. Eventually I was in my wetsuit and wandering onto the beach, wondering why the electronics weren’t dingling - a different procedure was all. The beach didn’t seem as crowded as last year, despite the likelihood of a slightly larger field. I placed myself in the middle of the middle. Later viewing of photographs showed that the biggest knot of swimmers - the true “washing maching” - was over on my left. I like the rough and tumble of a mass tri start, and would like to have been there. The start was more low key than last time; it was not as loud, either in music or in ballyhoo; even maranatha, the old cannon, seemed muted, possibly a function of the nor-nor-west wind which was to be a constant factor as the day progressed. Off we went, with me in an oddly cheerful mood. I was determined to enjoy this swim, by whatever means I could muster.
I found it much easier to draft this year, having completely overcome my reluctance to touch feet, to shoulder past someone or indeed to kick someone without feeling I should stop and apologise. I followed one strong woman after another (of course the really strong women were far far ahead), reasoning that women seem more likely to pace themselves from the start than men. I was just on the edge of breathing too hard a couple of times, but reigned it in, kept it smooth, and found I was having a good time. Maybe a third into the swim I found a big man breaststroking (yes, he breaststroked the entire IM swim!) and followed him for the middle of the race. Later he slowed a bit and I tried to pass him, but made little headway.
About halfway through I noticed that my wetsuit was chafing the back of my neck, a little to the right. A slight modification of my stroke mitigated this, but not completely. I found various feet, and followed them, or struck out on my own. If I wanted to catch up with someone I resorted to breaststroke, elevating my HR from the 120s to the 140s, if a sample glance is any indication of the general situation. I noticed a canoe shadowing me. Did I look like I was in trouble? I didn't think so. Was she shadowing someone else then? Damn! I hope that wasn't Sister Madonna I kicked in the head!
In this swim my arms felt fine. My instinct to lay off swimming for the last couple of days had been sound then. I was concerned, since I had had arm pain, and some motion sickness, in recent long swims. But it was one of the most enjoyable tri swims I've had.
And there we are emerging from the water on our hind legs, several evolutionary steps in one burst! I feel good. Get stripped and handed my wetsuit. This year the change tent is not full! The extra time I spent swimming was when my erstwhile peers had been jockeying for underpant room. Transition was swift, since I was already in my tri clothes, putting on the lid, shades, Cornman racebelt and shoes and I was soon on my bike.
I expected it to be chilly, but it was perfect. It didn't take me long to get my HR under control, but I challenged its constancy again and again as I tried to pass knots and knots of cyclists, trying not to draft, which was pretty much impossible. Indeed, whenever I held back it seemed there was an official telling me to 'keep it moving!', so I kept it moving, all the time trying to keep my HR under the planned 135. Eventually I settle on a compromise of allowing it to go into the 140s as I was passing people, so long as it would come down again after. Since I apparently passed 981 people, you may imagine I played this game a lot, though I usually passed groups.
I had cycled up McLean Creek Road earlier in the week, and it seemed steeper this time. Then I had done it with 39/19. Here I played it safe and went all the way to the bottom: 39/23, but still got my HR up to 151. What lovely countryside there is there! On the descent on the other side I played it safe, since there were lots of cyclists, and I expected at any moment to see one wipe out, which didn't happen.
The journey to Osoyos was swift (I think my first 40k was around 1:09, but I'm not sure), pleasant, but there was a fair amount of traffic which I was alert to. There are a few rollers there which I was willing to get out of the saddle for, and a few times I heard people's tires pop - like a gunshot - as, over-inflated, they burst under the strain. I was thankful that I hadn't bothered to top my tires up (My pump! That's what I had left back at camp!), though I was a little paranoid at times that I would get a puncture.
I greeted Richter Pass as an old friend - this had been my favourite part of the bike last year - but it was here that I found how strong the north wind had become this time round. Well, nice and cooling, looking on the positive side.
The hill was hard work (HR peaked at around 155), but this time I was able to look at the scenery a bit more. It looked a bit greener than last year. The wonderful spectators who collect at this remote spot are a real boost, though there did seem to be a bit fewer than last year - and also at Yellow Lake - not such nice standing-around weather, I suppose.
The Richter descent was smooth - I do like my bike, which is happiest when it is going fast - but not as swift as I was hoping, as the wind held us back a tad here. I forgot to give attention to the spectacular mountain to the left which so captivated me last year. Next time I come to Penticton - maybe 2008 to register for 2009? - I intend to do a lot of climbing and hiking - this whole area is wonderfully beautiful, but still on a very human scale.
Yes, my mind was starting to wander, which always slows the pace a bit, but now I was on to the rollers and working into the wind - of course, so was everyone else, and there’s nothing like a steady wind to expose holes in one’s imagined smooth pedal cycle - and the first couple of rollers I noticed my HR getting up to around 151 again - so this is how it was going to be? I thanked Dave Ferguson in my mind for those out of the saddle sessions when it was still winter, and for those few, very telling, squats: that’s what got me over these hills with confidence and ease.
Around the 3rd or 4th roller (I get mixed up about which is what there) my chain came off! I wasn’t expecting that - probably the bike was flexing a bit more as I powered up a steep roller - and it took me a minute or two to get it on again. While this was happening a great circus parade of people whom I had passed zoomed by; it took me a long time to get them all again. That was the first blow to my morale in the whole race; up to this point I had a more or less permanent grin on my face, a loony rictus with which my training partners must be very familiar. I got into things again quickly though.
I was starting to look forward to Special Needs, where I had stashed some lovely fig newtons and a wee bottle of ‘j-load’, so along I went to Cawston and the out-and back. It was nice to have the wind on my back and to be going faster again, though - mixed blessing - the road there is both smoother and hillier than I remembered. Even with the wind, Special Needs was a long time in coming, and I was starting to fade a bit. Well, the stuff I stashed there was just what the doctor (presumably a nutritionist?) ordered! If I ever put on my own gruel-fest, such is the fare I shall present to my victims/athletes! (My experience in Morden had taught me to be careful not to overhydrate in this relatively cooler race - indeed, I probably consumed less than half of the fluids than I did on the same hotter race last year) Even so, it took a while to kick in, as I fought the wind out of the out-and-back to Keremeos.
From here there is a long ‘false flat’, this time exacerbated by the wind, until one reaches the final challenge of the bike course: the ascent to Yellow Lake. I felt in this part of the race the way that I had felt back on the rollers last year - so I was that much ahead, subjectively. The hill at Yellow Lake as a long time in coming, and then was there, suddenly. I alternated sitting and standing (very similar postures on a TT set-up) - staying in the bars was out of the question with my gearing and fatigue - and, amazingly enough, there was the top. Just like last year, the hill is so absorbing that it seems over very quickly. This time there was no cramping, just a trememdous sense of relief, and a genuine sense that the run might be OK after all.
Alone, on the first major descent, my relief was expressed in a very girlyman fashion. There, there, let it all out. All better now. A couple of the people whom I had passed now sped down past me. I zoomed past our campsite where I was greeted by my daughter and her holiday friends. And then on through town, where, farther in, a stream of runners was already emerging. What a journey! And yet, because this is Ironman, I’m not…quite… done yet.
Transition was again fairly smooth: I need only take off my helmet and bike shoes, put on shoes and a hat (last year’s IMC hat), and I was off, rotating my race belt so the number was at the front. Didn’t even bother keeping the shades. Was that all there was to it? Apparently.
I decided not to force myself at all at the beginning of the run: I would jog a bit, walk, jog; whatever I felt like. I would keep my HR round about 130 for the first bit, and then gradually let it rise to the 135 area. That was my plan.
I hit upon counting steps and doing "Indian Running" where one walks 50 and runs 50 paces; eventually I felt like running, and at some point in the second mile I was running continuously and feeling quite good. I started to notice that I would really like to pee. This was interfering with my concentration, and my priorities: I would look ahead for a portapotty, only to see someone else enter it as I approached; eventually someone's stone pillars looked like a row of facilities; finally, alone, I stepped off the road and peed into some bushes, yellow, racehorse copious.
Off I went again, but a) it had felt sooo good to stop and b) nutrition was maybe an issue - the "Zone Caps" electrolyte tabs that I had been taking on the bike were finished. Electrolytes have two functions in a long race: a) they promote gastric emptying and encourage thirst, which are both good things if you want to be properly hydrated and for your nutrients to actually make it all the way to your bloodstream; and b) after an average of 7 hours - but starting earlier - they actually restore the electrolytes lost from your body cells, which allow you to function so well! i.e. not die, be able to think etc.
So about 8 miles into the run, I started to include some walking. I was determined that it would be brisk walking though, and I actually enjoyed (all things are relative) swinging my arms and powering along. Some people were starting to pass me though, which rarely happens this late in a race. I started to look forward to the caffiene-charge can of "Full Throttle" in my Run Special Needs bag, but reeled in my imagination: one mile at a time. It was starting to be not nice. It was starting to be in that zone of "I hate this, I don;'t want to do this ever again". I was starting to feel - 8 miles into 26 - like I would normally feel at mile 21 of a standalone marathon.
Well, I alternated running and walking, but the pain that I get on my right side when my legs work too vigorously was becoming more intense, even at this paltry pace. There was my can of dodgy nectar, and a walked for a bit, draining it all in about a minute, before I started running again. Weird thing though: hills I could run or walk - neither seemed more - or less - an agonizing option.
Sometime after these substantial hills I encountered Glen, still coming in for his half way - he seemed quite happy. A little later I met, and ran with Brennan, and we alternated walking and running. His running was a little faster than I was comfortable with, and my walking was a little faster than he was comfortable with, so there was an interesting equilibrium there. Apparently I had passed Laird S. without noticing him, and the same for Grant.
Eventually, I felt like running continuously, just like last year, as we came into town. The last four miles were like this. I marvelled that it could be so, after so much difficulty, and such a long day. This is something I will explore as I get into ultra-trail-running. About 2k from the end the excitement of the crowd, which is already high, becomes overwhelming.
You hit Winnipeg street to a wall of noisy love. It doesn't let up. How can these people - many of them never athletes - project such warmth and such joy for the achievement of another - and not even the first or the thousandth - again and again? Not the Pyramids, nor any other wonder, can compare with the evanescent communal glory created by that crowd. And then there is the long gauntlet of mingled hope and pain as one runs AWAY from the finish line, for maybe a kilometre that seems to take forever, and alternates mind-numbing bone-weariness with wonder; and then you turn around and come back - another long way, this time with another flavour - and in the distance you see an arch - at this point I hear someone in the crowd shouting encouragement to someone called "Brennan" - What? He's here! He was behind me all along! maybe inches. I want to beat him! Oh petty, petty man, but I do, I do! So I pick it up a bit -
...and moving towards that arch is a man with his two young children hand in hand. No! I'm going to be in their background, their shadow, - little brats - I even heard one of the kids doubt that it was all right, but the dad insisted - not little brats at all - it's the dad.. unless... I started sprinting, carefully monitoring my legs for any likelihood of cramping or other shennanigans. I was past them - and now I see that the finish line is a further arch! Damn, it hurts, but I seem to be able to sprint, so..."John Blyth, from Brandon, Manitoba, you are an Ironman" exults the mighty voice of Mike Reilly. Those words I missed last year as the three runners ahead of me did cartwheels into the finish line, discombobulating the marvellous Steve King. And those words fan out into the world, now, finally, and my Ironjourney is complete. Oh yes, I'll do more long races, probably this one more than once again, but those words make the experience finally complete.
And Brennan is only a few seconds behind, and Laird and Grant not long after that. We are peers. Not just Ironmen, but damn similar Ironmen! If they ever come to town, beer must be involved. Grog!
I had goals, in tiers: sub 12 seemed possible, if my run had been better prepared - nutrition probably was the biggest factor there; then again a 12 and a half or so didn't seem unreasonable, if the wind had co-operated... but as the race approaches, even sub 17 seems a goal that is by no means certain to be acheived - though I would like to have improved on my last year time - which I did, by around 27 minutes! My swim was slow, but I was not disheartened, because it was fun, and because it must mean I would just have more energy for the rest of the race! And I had budgetted 1:30 for the swim anyway, since I seem to be a bit of a slower swimmer in general, even as my biking gets faster and my running seems to hold, or fade only slightly from previous years. I hoped for a sub 6 bike, but not in this windy year. I'm still pleased with the bike, and any harder would presumably have made my run still slower. My transitions were nice and short. My most concrete goal in the run was to get under 5 hours, and I didn't realize I had done this till late the next day, when I finally had a chance to look at the results in detail. I still think it is reasonable to get a run somewhere in the 4:10-4:40 area, but I will have to not just train very specifically, and pace myself very carefully in racing but also learn to balance still more finely the needs of food, hydration and electrolytes. So the only thing that was slower was the swim, and that was fun! 90% of this race was really great fun of the kind I would like to do every weekend - it's just those dig-deep times on the run, you know, that sort of make it less that party-time.
RAW DATA, some annotations.
Av. HR 129
Peak HR 155
Min HR 30 (haha)
9818 kCal est.
Splits HR Laps
1:29:51 128 Swim Enjoyable: followed a strong breaststroker in middle; sincerely hope I didn’t kick Sister Madonna in the head
1:33:51 129 4:10:52 T1 Fast - I was wearing a tri suit
7:43:03 132 6:09:11 Bike Lovely ride, chain coming off a bit demoralising at Roller #4 faded much later than last year; actually crying after Yellow Lake; contrary wind, but cooling. Glad of my own concoction at Spec. Needs. No cramps or other issues this year. Craved a bit more electrolyte than I had packed.
7:46:07 124 3:03:95 T2 Smooth, didn’t bother with shades.
132 8:43:00 Started very easily, “Indian running” 50 walk, 50 run, until I felt like jogging. Feeling cheerful.
135 20:48:34
135 20:11:44
135 10:23:87 Looking for a place to pee, similar to last year.
137 10:30:25
130 11:36:07 incl. pee - copious, yellow. My much reduced moisture intake due to cooler weather, still was maybe too much!
133 10:33:33 It had felt good to stop, and now was tougher to continue.
131 11:02:31 Running continuously, starting to fade - possibly nutrition related
130 12:17:57 first hills, starting to include brisk walking
123 11:32:60
121 12:25:11 Turnaround, got Full Throttle, walked as I drank whole can
121 12:33:51
127 12:31:10
117 37:56:21
122 12:27:01
118 12:06:08
118 12:50:18
127 11:38:01 Starting to run contunuously again
127 11:52:68
132 11:20:46
132 10:10:51
138 10:48:12 (I estimated where 26 miles was - I believe I was faster)
-------FINAL------ ---------------------- ------------- — — — -------------- ----- 2.4 mi 112 mi 26.2 mi
Category --------SWIM---------- ----- ----------BIKE--------- ----- ---------RUN----------
Pos Time Name City Sta Cty Rep Plc/Total Cat # Cat Ovr Time /100m Tr1 Cat Ovr Time Mile/hr Tr2 Cat Ovr Time /Mile
1196 12:43:13 BLYTH, JOHN BRANDON MB CAN 77/177 M50-54 1699 143 2110 1:29:42 2:22 3:43 61 958 6:07:04 18.3 3:38 89 1404 4:59:08 11:25
1:29:42 6:07:04 4:59:07 12:43:13 1196
RACE LEG DISTANCE PACE POSITION
TOTAL SWIM 2.4 mi. (1:29:42) 2:21/100m 2109
FIRST BIKE SEGMENT 40 mi. (2:06:32) 18.97 mph
FINAL BIKE SEGMENT 72 mi. (4:00:32) 17.96 mph
TOTAL BIKE 112 mi. (6:07:04) 18.31 mph 1128
FIRST RUN SEGMENT 13.1 mi. (2:24:26) 11:01/mile
FINAL RUN SEGMENT 13.1 mi. (2:34:41) 11:48/mile
TOTAL RUN 26.2 mi. (4:59:07) 11:25/mile 1196
TRANSITION TIME
T1: SWIM-TO-BIKE 3:42
T2: BIKE-TO-RUN 3:38
EPILOGUE
After I finished, ate, got a massage, got my stuff, and went back to the campground, I couldn’t find my kids anywhere. For the next three hours, till I found them, there was no thought in my mind but how my children must be feeling, and how to find them. My exulatation had to be postponed, but I learned, in remarkable circumstances, what is, and must be, important to me. I love you, Keiro and Pavel, as completely as someone like me can.
They had misunderstood, thought I wanted them to see me finish, and left the campsite at 6pm, in sandals, lightly clad, not realizing that I would finish earlier than they expected; that 8 kilometres is a long way in sandals; that they don’t really stand out in a crowd of 15 thousand; that it would get cold very quickly after sunset; and that they and I had no means nor agreed plan of contacting one another. At least they had the presence of mind to go to the massage tent where Andrea, our charming neighbour, was volunteering: eventually they were able to get a ride back to camp through her, and I returned just as the security people were closing the gate. I couldn’t be angry at them - it was like the parable of the Prodigal Son in miniature.
*j-load: most of the available ingredients of the otherwise peerless e-load, but at a 1/10th of the price!
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