Monday, December 27, 2010

Confessions of a first time Ironman (epilogue)

If you ever get the chance to go to an Ironman whether as participant, volunteer, or spectator, there’s one thing you need to do.  Go to the stands at the finish line at around 11pm. Stay through midnight to cheer in the last athletes to finish.  All of us… Louis, Deb, Sam, Jenn, and I did this, and it remains one of the highlights of race day.

The people who finish in 16:xx are NOT pros.  They’re people like me.  And you.  First Timers.  Only Timers.  Bucket Listers.  People with jobs and families.  They’re the Stubborn Bastards who wouldn’t quit even while every muscle, tendon, ligament, and bone in their body screamed at them to do just that.  They’re Dreamers.  Insane, crazy, beautiful Dreamers who decided one day to embrace the motto: Yes I CAN.

These are the kinds of people who certain segments of the triathlon community believe have no business racing an Ironman.  If you can’t finish the race in 15, 14, or 13 hours they say (funny how the standard is always just slightly below whatever the douchebag making the statement is capable of themselves), you didn’t train hard enough.

BULLSHIT.

I say these races wouldn't be the same without these guys because they personify everything that is right about Ironman.  Desire.  Commitment.  Hard work.  Perseverance.  The beauty of this race, this distance, is that the former couch potato who finishes in 16:59 is every bit an Ironman as the former collegiate cross country star who finishes in 8:59.

Don’t just take my word for it.  Ask Chrissie Wellington, the most well known triathlete in the world today and an absolute monster in the women’s bracket, why she hung out at the finish line right up through midnight after winning her race 8 hours earlier that day in Arizona.  Ask Rinny and Macca, winners of IM Hawaii this year, why they returned to the finish line later that night to welcome in the last group of racers.  All of them will tell you that these part-time athletes with full-time determination are what Ironman is all about.  Their personal satisfaction and sense of achievement matches or even exceeds the public glory bestowed upon any of the professionals.

And *that* is why you want to be there at midnight to welcome home the last runners.  It says volumes about the Ironman community when the loudest cheers of the day are reserved for the slowest competitors.  Almost invariably, these are the people who for a variety of reasons have resorted to walking the marathon course for the past 1 to 6 hours.  But there’s something magical about that finish chute that seems to lift away all the aches and pains of the day, compelling athletes to RUN those last hundred yards.  It’s fantastic to see in person. 

You’ll yell along with the man who unleashes a primal scream after finishing in 16:30. 

You can’t help but tear up yourself when you watch grown men and women cry with emotion as they cross the finish line in 16:40. 

Only the most cynical person would not be inspired by watching an obviously hurt 50 year old woman limp her way in at 16:50. 

Finally, what other sporting event in the world has the woman’s champion pacing the last place finisher through the last 50 yards to ensure that she finishes before the cutoff in 16:59:43?

That is the Ironman community in a nutshell.  The camaraderie and support I received from fellow racers, volunteers, and spectators is something I will always remember about my first race.

The next morning, Louis and I returned to the transition area to retrieve our special needs bags.  On our way in, we saw a long line of people waiting to sign up for IMAZ 2011.  Some races like Arizona sell out in hours, and one way to jump to the head of the line is to either race or volunteer the year before.  So here's a line at least one or two hundred people long, made up of mostly athletes who had completed the same race less than 12 hours earlier.  You can't help but admire that special brand of crazy.

We also saw one of Louis' friends who, after dedicating six months of her life to training, failed to make the swim cutoff the day before.  Here she was, in line to try again next year.

That my friends, is the heart of a true Ironman.

Friday, December 3, 2010

Confessions of a first time Ironman (pt.4)

Swim 2.4 miles (1 loop)
BOOM!

At the sound of the cannon, the water begins to foam with the arms and legs of 2361 triathletes.  Mass swim starts like these are infamous for clawing, kicking, elbowing, punching, dunking, leg pulling, and general mayhem.  Oftentimes, people will simply swim right over you if you get in their way.  I wanted no part of that, so I “self seeded” myself at the very back of the pack.  By starting so far behind the start line, I might have added an extra hundred yards or so to my swim, but it was a small price to pay for not getting manhandled.
Waiting for the Cannon.

We're off!
The swim was a lengthwise course along Tempe Town Lake, from one bridge to another and back.  I’m a horrible swimmer, but I thought I made good progress this past half year.  By taking a swim clinic and training in the pool, I was able to cut down my 1k times from 28 minutes to 22 minutes.  This translated to a swim time of a little over 90 minutes for the 2.4 miles.  Add in a “fudge factor” of 15 minutes for getting lost in open water and whatnot, and I really thought 1:45 was achievable.

One hour and countless zig zags later (I'm having a hard time swimming straight), the starting bridge was still figuratively and literally a mile away.  I started to get concerned that I would not make the 2:20 swim cutoff.  It would have really sucked to train my ass off for half a year and not even get to bike and run.  For the last hour, my thoughts were consumed with the cutoff.  All of my friends were following me!  You better F-ing make it out on time Stephen!

Unfortunately, unlike biking or running, I only have one speed when I swim.  Slow.  Paradoxically, any attempt to swim faster by “going harder” only slows me down and makes me tired.  So even at this critical point in the race when every voice in my head is screaming at me to go faster, I had to calm down and trust that my training will be enough to get me there on time.  I’ll finish when I finish.  And finish I finally did, in 2:08 with twelve minutes to spare!

Looking back, I honestly don’t know what went wrong with the swim.  Yes I kept getting lost, but by 30 minutes?  Really?  Maybe my stroke fell apart.  Maybe I got tired and didn’t notice.  I dunno.  I’m just glad I made it.

One more thing I want to say about the swim.  I’ll be forever grateful to the kind volunteer kayakers who tried to keep me on course.  One pretty much took pity on me and personally guided me through the second third of the race.  A million "Thank You"s to them all!  If you are a runner or triathlete who races regularly (or even if you aren’t), please consider volunteering in at least one race each season.  The athletes appreciate you so much, and the karmic benefits are worth it!

My swim time:  2:08:19
My placement in Age Group:  334/334  (Yep.  Dead Last.  LOL!)

Fastest Pro Male:  47:44 (Damn fish.)
Fastest Pro Female:  51:13

Fastest Male in my AG:  50:50
Slowest Male in my AG:  You're looking at him!  Woo Hoo!  I should get a special medal for that or something.
Median Male in my AG:  1:17:30


T1
The thing with swimming in cold water is that the cold gets into your ear canal and messes with your balance.  I'll often exit the water and stumble around like a drunk sailor for a couple of minutes before finally regaining my sense of balance.  Ironman does a great job making sure the athletes make it to the changing tent in one piece by saturating the swim exit with volunteers.

The swim/bike transition (“T1”) was a trip.  Usually, I would struggle to take off my wet suit, walk around dazed looking for my bike, and fumble around with my bike gear.  Here, wet suit strippers pull your wetsuit off for you!  Sweet!  Then, every 10 or 20 feet on the way to the changing tent, there is a volunteer standing there making sure you're safe, warm, and on course.  Inside the tent, a nice volunteer emptied my bike bag and laid everything out neatly in front of me.  He even offered to wipe sand off my feet!  I took my sweet time getting ready.  As I ran out of the tent, a final volunteer already had my bike unracked and simply handed it to me as I made my way out of transition.  I felt like a freaking rock star.  :)

My T1 time:  9:47

Fastest Pro Male:  2:17
Fastest Pro Female:  2:46  (It's funny that the fastest pro females were consistently slower than the fastest pro males in what basically amounts to clothes changing.  That's right.  Even in triathlon, the guys are waiting for the girls to get ready.)

Fastest Male in my Age Group:  3:13
Slowest Male in my Age Group:  25:38


Bike 112 miles (3 loops)
After over two hours slogging my way through the water, I couldn't wait to get on my bike.  It's by far my favorite leg of the triathlon.  I mean, who doesn't love going fast on a bike?  My arms were still a bit sore from the swim though, so it took about 30 minutes before I finally settled into my regular biking rhythm.
Riding down the Beeline Highway.  I'm in "aero position" here.
The bike was… windy and miserable.  Sustained 15 mph winds all day.  It rained on me a couple times, but I heard from other riders that they actually got hail.  Heh.  I averaged about 21 mph uphill with the wind at my back and 13 mph downhill riding into a headwind.  I kept wanting to go harder, but if there was one piece of advice I heard over and over from my coach and all of my friends, it was “Don’t hammer the bike on your first Ironman.  Save your legs for the run.”  So I didn’t.

Instead, I took it easy, stopped to pee 4 times and stretched my back and arms another 2 times.  I also fueled up on my all-in-one liquid nutrition, with the occasional infusion of Hello Pandas.  When you’re out there burning through 10,000 calories over 16 hours, the all important “nutrition plan” becomes something you follow religiously.  All the training in the world isn’t going to help when you run out of energy and end up bonking on the marathon.

I generally don’t like to fiddle with food packaging while riding a bike, and have trouble swallowing yucky tasting bars while exercising, so I opted to go with a special water soluble powder that has all the carbs, electrolytes, protein, and caffeine I needed.  One bottle an hour.  It’s easy.  The idea is to consume enough calories to make up the deficit you generated by swimming, sustain you through the bike, then take in a little bit extra to get you started in the first few miles of the run.  Each person will usually have their own nutritional strategy that they will practice extensively during training.  Again, you don’t want to try anything new on race day.  I had no problems with nutrition at all that day, so I was pretty happy.

I ended up finishing the bike in 7 hours.  I was hoping to be closer to 6.5 hours, but with the wind and the rain and everything, I was pretty content with 7.  Sometimes, you just have to take what the race gives you.

Oh, and I got to see my friend Deb at least 4 or 5 times on the bike course, cheering me on.  I can't say enough about her.  She welcomed us into her home, fed us, and was pretty much our own personal cheering squad and support crew throughout the entire race day.  Just awesome in every way.  She and her husband Steve drove all over the course in order to see me as much as possible.  That was pretty great!  Thanks Deb!  :)
Here's me complaining to Deb about the wind... and the fact that I still had to run an F-ing marathon.  You can see that I'd finally had enough of the wind and opted to retrieve my jacket from bike special needs.

My bike time:  7:01:42 (looking back, I prolly gave away 20 minutes peeing and stretching)
My placement in Age Group:  284/329 (5 people DNF!)

Fastest Pro Male:  4:21:38
Fastest Pro Female:  4:47:06

Fastest Male in my AG:  4:50:59
Slowest Male in my AG:  8:16:51
Median Male in my AG:  6:11:45


T2
Three words.  Valet Bike Service.  Dismount, hand your bike to a volunteer, and run to the changing tent.  Pretty damn sweet, man.  Decided not to risk chafing and changed into my running underwear and shorts instead of keeping my tri shorts on.

My torn up foot held up pretty well on the bike, probably helped by the fact that I didn't really exert much upward force on it like I would have had I been going harder.  I carefully wrapped up the balls of my feet and slipped on my socks and running shoes.

It was at this point that I also noticed I couldn't see clearly out of my right eye.  It was as if I was seeing everything through a white film.  I was a bit concerned because the last time I saw the world like this was right after my laser eye surgery.  I thought I had read somewhere that the flap that they cut on your eye doesn't ever completely heal (yes I was thinking this during the race), and was afraid that with the crazy wind blowing on it all day, that it might have dried up and something got messed up somehow.  I wasn't freaking out though, because it wasn't painful or anything.  Tried splashing water into it, but that didn't help.  So just to be safe, I ended up running about 90% of the marathon with one eye closed in order to keep it from drying out even more.  It eventually turned out to be nothing serious.  Just a hell of a case of red eye!
Finally cruising into T2.  Time for the marathon!

My T2 time:  11:15

Fastest Pro Male:  0:57 (less than 1 minute!)
Fastest Pro Female:  1:05  (Again, the girls get beat by the guys... this time in shoe changing.)

Fastest Male in my Age Group:  0:59
Slowest Male in my Age Group:  19:02

I should mention that the slowest T2 in the race was 50:56 !!  I heard the next morning at the awards banquet that this guy pretty much sat down in the changing tent and had a full leisurely lunch.  The saddest part?  He still beat my overall time by 30 minutes.  :/


Run 26.2 miles (3 loops)
Coming into the race, I knew the run was going to be the great mystery.  This was going to be my first marathon.  In fact, due to various injuries during training, the farthest I'd ever run up to that point was only 15 miles.
Beginning of the run.  You can tell because it's still light out.  And I'm still running.
The run started off well.  My coach had instructed me to go out with a fast turnover of 180-200 steps per minute for the first couple of miles to help my legs transition from biking to running.  There’s no way to do that without going at least a 9:00/mile pace.  The strained calf that had been bothering me the past several days suddenly became a non-issue, for which I was very happy.  Maybe the seven hour bike ride worked out the kinks!  Now I can just focus on running with no distractions.  Aside from being basically blind in one eye, that is.

The course itself was a flat 8.7 mile loop by Tempe Town Lake, bookended by two bridges.  It was a very spectator friendly course because you could easily walk between different points on the run to see your runners multiple times in the same loop.  Deb found me at least 3 or 4 times that night.  Unfortunately, much of the run was also on concrete, which is not the most friendly on your feet.  I was running along at around an 11:30 pace for the first 12.75 miles or so with no problems.  My legs still felt really fresh, and I had no doubt that I would finish.  Then, as I slowed to walk through an aid station to pick up nutrition, my right knee gave out on me as I started to run again.  Just pain.  I’d never had knee pain during training, so this was new to me.  After a few more strides, I decided to start walking.  The run special needs pickup was only a quarter mile away, and I had stashed an Advil in there.

Ironman Arizona (and most other Ironman races) gives you 17 hours to finish the entire race, from 7am to midnight.  The swim cutoff, with which I am intimately aware, is at 9:20am.  You need to be off the bike by 5:30pm.  But of the three legs, Ironman is most generous on the run.  Even the slowest cyclists are given 6.5 hours to complete the marathon, which is easily doable with a half run/half walk strategy.  Most people will have much more time than that, which means most people would be able to walk the entire 26.2 miles if they wanted to or were forced to due to complications.  I started my run at exactly 4:30pm, which gave me 7.5 hours to finish.  The knee never really got better, even after the Advil, so I decided to shut it down for the day and walk it home.  There was no need to be a hero tonight, as long as I finished.  Even with my busted knee, I was pretty confident that I would finish with time to spare.  But you better believe I triple and quadruple checked my pace against the remaining time left!

Some of you know me as a fast walker or a fast hiker.  You’ll be glad to know that all of those years of fast walking finally paid off, as I speed walked my way through the last 13 miles.  I was averaging anywhere between 13:30 – 15:00/mile.  A bit over 4mph.  I even ended up passing some of the "runners" who had slowed to a shuffle.  Why even make the pretense of running at that point?  Walking is faster and infinitely less painful!

I gotta say something about the volunteers at the aid stations.  They were just tremendous.  Out there straight through midnight, they kept us all going with their outrageous outfits, music, and infectious energy.  They handed out everything from water and sports drinks to flat cola and even warm chicken broth!  They also stood there with trays of grapes, bananas, oranges, cookies, pretzels, chips, and sports gels.  Just awesome.  I can't thank them enough!  :)

4+ mph is fast for a walk, but that's still 3 hours of walking remaining.  Every few miles, I would test out my knee by trying to run, but the pain would always still be there.  So I kept plugging away, just glad I was able to walk without pain.

Two times, I would finish a loop, and two times, I would look wistfully down the left fork in the path that led to the finish line as I headed right instead.  Now it was finally MY turn to make the left turn.  As my walk turned into a run for the final quarter mile, all the pain seemed to lift away as I'm greeted by musics, cheers, and high fives from the crowd.  Impulsively, I spread out my arms and fly my way into the finish.

Finally.  After a year of build up, through 6 months of hard training, swim clinics, 7 hour bike climbs in 100 degree heat, and every foot and leg injury known to man... I hear the words I've been waiting to hear since 4th grade:

"Stephen Soong, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN ! ! !"



Yeeeeaaaaahhhhh!!!!



My run time:  6:11:10 (14:10 minute miles)
My placement in Age Group:  287/321 (13 people had DNF-ed at this point)

Fastest Pro Male:  2:48:12 (6:26)
Fastest Pro Female:  2:52:56 (6:37.  Chrissie Wellington is a beast!)

Fastest Male in my AG:  3:07:23 (7:10)
Slowest Male in my AG:  8:51:26 (20:17)
Median Male in my AG:  4:48:57 (11:02)


Summary
My overall time:  15:42:10
My placement in Age Group:  304/334

Fastest Pro Male:  8:07:16 (Timo Bracht)
Fastest Pro Female:  8:36:13 (Chrissie Wellington won by 29 minutes and was 8th overall, Men and Women.  Wow.)

Fastest Male in my AG:  9:14:03
Slowest Male in my AG (that finished):  16:51:26
Median Male in my AG (that finished):  12:42:46


(epilogue to come...)

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Confessions of a first time Ironman (pt.3)

When you have the biggest race of your short racing career in less than 24 hours, the last thing you want is an injury.  For the past few of days, I was already more than a little stressed out, massaging and stretching the crap out of a mysterious strained calf that just wouldn’t go away.  Now this happens…

Not good.
Yep.  I managed to F-up my foot on our Saturday morning practice swim.  The swim entry had aluminum steps that led down to rough rocks submerged in the water.  As I pushed off, the top of my right foot caught the rocks and peeled off several layers of skin.  I didn’t think too much about it at the time because the shock of the cold water was overwhelming all my senses.  I felt myself actually resisting exhaling with my face in the water because of the cold.  This involuntary reflex went away after a couple minutes, but I thought it was kinda neat.

Open water swims are challenging because there are no lines in the bottom of the lake that you can follow to swim straight.  That’s why practice swims on the actual course are useful because you have a chance to figure out what you should be sighting on race day.  You basically pick out a large landmark in the distance and swim towards it, looking up every few strokes to make sure you’re still on course.  It’s a real pain in the ass, but necessary if you don’t want to end up swimming more than you have to.

After a short 15 minute swim, I came out and assessed the damage to my foot.  The abrasions were not super deep, but I wanted to get some antiseptic and a bandage on it asap.  The last thing I wanted was for my foot to get infected and swell up overnight.  At least it was the top, and not the bottom, right?  The foot was going to be a nuisance and probably painful, but I was still more concerned with my strained calf at that point.

After the practice swim, we racked our bikes and dropped off our transition bags.  At most other triathlons, we bring our bike and run gear with us on race morning and lay it all out next to our racked bikes because everybody will wear the same base layers for all three legs.  With the long distances in the Ironman, many athletes will opt to change into full cycling kits for the bike, and a different outfit for the marathon for comfort’s sake.  Separate men’s and women’s tents are set up so people can strip down while changing.  The sweetest part about this setup is that volunteers will actually bring your bike and run gear to you in the changing tents.  That’s why we needed to prepack our stuff into separate bike and run bags.

Over $5 million worth of bikes here!
Bike bag:  Helmet, sunglasses, cycling cleats, socks (pre-rolled so all I would have to do is roll them back up instead of struggling to slip on socks the regular way over wet feet), towel to wipe off my feet, a packet of Hello Panda chocolate crackers (320 tasty calories!), and sunscreen.  I also threw in a cycling jersey and cycling shorts in case I wanted to change out of the triathlon outfit I swam in.

Run bag:  Running shoes, pre-rolled socks, running cap, an extra pair of socks in a ziplock in case it rains, and athletic tape, duct tape, and scissors for blister prevention.  Again, I included fresh synthetic underwear and a pair of running shorts in case I wanted to change.

Transition Bags.  Bike Blue.  Run Red.
For lunch, Louis and I went to a sports bar in downtown Tempe.  I took the idea of “carbo-loading” to heart and scarfed down a giant plate of garlic fries with cheese wiz and bacon... then topped that off with half a pizza.  I love racing!

For our second lunch (Yes, second lunch!), we met up with Sam and Jenn, who had driven all the way out from LA just to volunteer at the race and cheer us on.  It really meant a lot to us that they were able to make this trip!  After only one season of triathlon, Jenn has decided to race the Vineman 70.3 next July (Half-Iron… full IM is 140.6 miles), while Sam just signed up for the full IM distance Vineman after much peer pressure and badgering.  I love it!  You better believe I’ll be there to watch them suffer!  We went to a rather forgettable Vietnamese restaurant called “UnPHOgettable”.  Meh.  Let's just say no one is ever going to confuse Tempe with the SGV or Little Saigon.

We returned to Deb’s house for our last half day of relaxation before race day.  Dress up my wounds.  Keep stretching that stupid calf.  Check the weather one last time.  Hmm…


Good thing Louis picked up some trash bags emergency rain ponchos today.  We laid out our morning clothes, and packed our wetsuit, bodyglide, goggles, and swim cap.  We mixed our sports drinks.  I made six 750ml bottles, one for each hour I was planning to be on the bike.  We also prepared our Special Needs bags for the bike and run courses.  These are bags that you will be able to access at mile 64 of the bike course and mile 13 of the run.  In addition to the 3 bottles of sports drink (I will start with 3 bottles on my bike), I decided to include my favorite Marmot Windshirt to my bike special needs in case the weather turned bad, and a fleece and an Advil to my run special needs.  Oh, and of course a rain poncho in each bag!

Ghetto poncho.
So much white powder that night, Deb's house might as well have been a meth lab.
9:00pm.  Off to bed we go.  The alarm is set to 4:00am the next day.

If there’s ever a time for routine, it’s race day.  The mantra that's repeated over and over is “Nothing new on race day!”  Here is the one I had practiced many Saturdays in the months leading up to the race. 

Wake up.
Start the steamer with the rice dumpling. (450 tasty, carby calories!  Yes.  I actually brought my own rice dumplings to Arizona.)
Put on my tri shorts and tri top.
Strap on my timing chip.
Put on my GPS watch.
Put on regular clothes.
Go number two. (Those of you who read my Mt. Shasta trip report know what happens when I skip number two on the morning of a big day.)
Eat rice dumpling. (After washing hands of course)
Pack up our swim gear and sports bottles.

It’s now 4:50.  We make the 15 minute drive in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts.  After dropping off our special needs bags, we head back to Transition.  All 2400 athletes are going through their own race day routines.  Some go for a light jog.  Others stretch or get body marked if they haven't already done so.  Still others check their bike one last time.  I opt to sit down by my bike and zone out.

It's Go Time.
Around 6:30, I remove my street clothes and squeeze into my wetsuit.  Still feel like a sausage in that thing.

Volunteer kayakers head out first.
At 6:40, we jump in the water and start swimming towards the start line.  You know how when dogs get really freaked out, they poop and pee as their bodies prepare them for Fight or Flight?  I must have had some nervous energy left because I finally was able to do something I've never been able to do.

I peed in my wetsuit.