The problem with 7:30, or any other insane time at Kona is the problem most of us face when we race.
We have done XX standalone swim time when we’re peaked, shaved and tapered, drafting off the fast guy in the lane. We’ve also ridden down a hill with a howling tailwind and smashed a YY time. We’ve also run wicked fast in training on our best day, say ZZ for 42km.
when we show up on race day, do a bit of quick math and reckon we can go X+Y+Z if the planets align.
We are fit, peaked, shaved and well rested, hydrated and fueled.
The problem starts when we get to the beach and there’s an increasing chop on the water. Some retread kicks us in the face and we take on urine filled water (how do you think the ocean tastes so salty?). We exit the water and run way further to transition than the RD told us. Unperterbed, we hop on the bike and smash the first half, making up the time we lost in the swim and in T1. By the second half of the bike, the wind has increased to hurricane levels and holy crap, the weatherman never said the race would be on the surface of the sun. How come the aid stations are so far apart? By the end of the bike, we’re a bit behind schedule, but the wind on teh run is less devastating than on the bike. We tear out of transition, feeling like a million dollars, with the fans cheering deservedly! The temperature somehow rises, and the aid stations are empty. We slow to a crawl, hoping death will be swift as the pain is becoming truly unbearable.
We cross the line (on a good day), unable to focus or recognize our own family members. We can’t even hear Mike Reilly call our name and we stumble into the massage tent, delerious and much later than if the planets had aligned. Hell, the massage girls aren’t even porn stars!
Whether you make your living at IM or just pay WTC for the pain, the planets rarely align, we rarely exceed our ridiculous expectations but we sign up for next year, confident in the knowledge that we’ve cracked it know exactly what to do to break 7:30 on the Big Island
