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lleodavis · 7 years ago

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2017 HITS Palm Springs “Ironman” Race Report

It’s been on my bucket list to do an Ironman distance race for some time. After completing the half-distance race at this location in 2013 with a friend (Carlos), we both agreed to come back for the full distance the following year. Unfortunately, it was not to be for either us. Carlos succumbed very quickly to cancer. One month he was my training partner, and the next he was gone. Around that same time I was overtraining, and ended up with PF. I rolled over my entry to the following year and vowed to complete the race next year for Carlos. However, a year-long deployment to Afghanistan meant a 2nd straight DNS (Did Not Start). In 2016 I dedicated the 2nd half of the year to the goal of finally finishing this particular race for Carlos, for myself, and all my friends who had supported me in pursuit of this goal. Instead, I made a series of little decisions that resulted in a DNF (my first and only). Fast forward again to 2017, and you can begin to understand the importance of completing not just any Ironman, but this particular race.

This year I’d have company on the long course with my good buddy Freddy as I had convinced him to upgrade to the full in 2017. He may or may not have been drinking at the time but I was happy he agreed as Freddy and I trained all summer and fall. Diana was also back to improve on last year’s first-time half-distance finish. The three of us departed after LA traffic cleared up on Friday and arrived in time to hear the RD’s mandatory race briefing. The course had changed back to the flat route that it was years before. I was disappointed, as last year’s route through Box Canyon, while difficult, was beautiful and a great way to break up the monotony of farmland surrounding Lake Cahuilla. Another new wrinkle was that there would be two different transition areas, but we were starting and finishing at the lake. Otherwise, the course was 2 laps in the water, 4 laps on the bike, and 4 laps on the run. Some of my friends can’t stand loops; however, when trying to conquer a new distance or keep track of your pace, the confidence of knowing the terrain makes racing strategy and adjustments easier. After the participant briefing we quickly set up our things in T1 and took off for our hotel. Despite a few beers and a soak in the hot tub I found sleep elusive most of the night. Perhaps it was race anxiety. Nevertheless, I had been banking sleep all week, and woke up at 0500 feeling well enough and got things going.

We arrived back at Lake Cahuilla a little later than desired (~0615), and had less than 20 minutes to get into our wetsuits, tires pumped up, and make any last-minute adjustments. This would later factor into my bike ride as I had failed to premix my electrolyte powder (Tailwind) into the water in my water bottles. Instead it was left in the back pocket of my bike jersey that I would put on after the swim. In no time at all it seemed as if we were being kicked out of transition and towards the water. The water this year was perfect: low 60s and calm. After last year’s low-to-mid 50s water temperature we were bracing ourselves for the worst. I later said to Freddy and Diana that what we were most worried about turned out to be the best part of the race experience. There were less than 200 participants combined between the half and full distance this year. I’m sure last year’s cold water temps and 20+ mph wind gusts through Box Canyon discouraged a lot of folks from coming back. Too bad for them, but good for us as it meant a whole lot less people at the swim start. Freddy, Diana, and I were almost ready to go when we spotted a photographer and got a group picture. About 30 seconds later it really was go time and Freddy and I were out of position for the start of the race. However, this would prove beneficial as we didn’t have to fight as many people while swimming, staying on the very outside of the pack for the first leg. We stayed parallel to the shore going into the sun. I had just purchased a new set of ROKA mirrored goggles which worked perfectly without any fogging, leaking, or pressure marks on the face. The buoys were a combination of small and tall yellow cylindrical and orange triangle, shapes spaced about a tenth of a mile apart. Except for the fact that we were in fresh water instead of salt water, I’d describe the course as perfect racing conditions.

Given how great the swim conditions were I was free to focus on my strategy, which was as follows: 1. Stay relaxed as long as possible, 2. Stay as long as possible (maximizing distance per stroke), 3. Follow through with every stroke, and 4. Kick only as much to keep your hips up (I’m not a strong kicker). This would be key as I didn’t want to race against the pink hats (half distance male racers), but stay focused on my own strategy. When I turned the first “L” of the first lap I caught my time as ~17:53 and thought, wow I hope I can maintain that. A quick check of my technique and breathing, and I realized, yes, I think I can. Having made the turn with the sun at my back I could see better the line of buoys and realized they curved to the left. I decided to do what I usually do in the ocean and focus on the target farthest away, which took me away from the closest buoys but put me on a more direct path to the last buoy. As a result, I encountered only one other swimmer. He was alternating between breaststroke and freestyle. During freestyle he kicked way too much and would be faster than me during that portion, but then I would pass him during breaststroke. After a couple of times of leapfrogging each other, one of his kicks caught my forearm and I got pissed. While any type of stroke is legal in triathlons it’s really inconsiderate to do it in close proximity to anyone. Still, I’m pretty sure I caught up to this guy and he was swimming away from everyone else so he could do his own thing. I quickly went back to focusing on my preferred swim mechanics and was happy to realize we were close to the final turn (for him). I finished the first lap (1.2 miles) in about 36:13, which I realized would put me on a crazy PR if I could double that. As I come from a trail running background a quote popped into my mind, “It’s not about who’s the fastest, it’s about who slows down the least.” I set my mind to not slowing down and getting my time under 1 hour and 15 mins. The 2nd lap was easier going back into the sun as it was a little higher, and there were very few swimmers in front of me. I found myself trying to catch up to a few of the swimmers ahead of me, and slowly but surely caught up before the 5th buoy and other end of the lake. I’m not sure if it was because I swam a more efficient route (I’m better than average at sighting), picked up my pacing, or if they were tiring. When I turned the “L” for a second time at ~55:26 I knew I had slowed down some, but I was going to push to the finish. I again lined up for a straight shot on the final buoy and had not a single swimmer in front of me as they again stayed closer to the buoy line. The only difference on this final leg was that I encountered a little bit of debris in the form of twigs, but nothing like the kelp that one encounters on a regular basis in the ocean. Last year at this point I was fighting wind and chop in the water. My hands wouldn’t properly close to catch the water on my stroke and my ears were starting to hurt despite the neoprene cap with chin strap. What a difference a year makes! This year I was passing people at the end instead of getting passed. When I stood up from the water I was at 1:14:33 and ran up to T1 for an official time of 1:16:05.

I was 12th out of 37 full-distance participants on the swim. Not bad considering I used to be in the bottom 25% on the swim. Normally, I would compare against my age group and gender, but there were only 4 of us dudes aged 40-44. However, for those of you that love metrics (like I do), I maintained a really strong swim cadence for me (27 strokes per minute avg) throughout, even pushing to 29 SPM to finish. By comparison, on my last three long swims (2 miles, 2.4 miles, and 3 miles) the stroke rate was 24 SPM avg.

I averaged 150 bpm heart rate, max of 174 bpm, which put me right in my Zone 5 heart rate, yet surprisingly I felt like I could have gone another couple of miles. Maybe not at the 1:48/100yd pace that I averaged, but certainly another mile or two would have been easy. Perhaps I’ll eventually get to that 10K swim I’ve been saying I’ll do one day.

T1 was about half the time as last year. I took my time first eating a macadamia nut cookie from subway and drinking some water, then toweling off, mainly my legs as I wanted to keep my socks somewhat dry. Moisture-wicking socks are more effective if they’re mostly dry to begin with. I zipped up my bike jersey over my tri suit (which had my nutrition, a 2nd spare inner tube, and my phone), grabbed my aero helmet, and took off. Total time 5:28.

I immediately felt better on the bike portion compared to last year. I was in far better shape after the swim this year and knew for certain I was a better conditioned rider. The route was 4 loops starting at Lake Cahuilla and ending at T2 only 2.6 miles away. One of the things I did throughout this ride was do math aloud. 112 miles minus 2.6 miles is 109.4 miles. Divide that by 4 and that’s 27.35. Divide that by 2 and each length of a lap is about 13.66 miles. Break down the lengths of each turn. Ok, that length was X miles.. so many miles until the next turn. Ok, my last 5-mile split was 19.9 mph.. let’s see if we can keep it above 19 mph avg for the next 5. I mean really, when it’s you and there are only so many other riders you have to find things to occupy yourself. I’m pretty sure I sounded like a less gifted “Rainman” out there at times (definitely, definitely a good rider) until things got worse, and then I switched to cursing out loud at times. My goal for the race was under six hours. I had completed two half-distance tris where I was able to maintain 20 mph for 56 miles and did that without race wheels. However, since then I had bought super light, super aero race wheels and figured that they would help me combat the ever present wind that is inevitable in the Palm Springs area. If you were to have any doubts about whether or not there would be wind in the Coachella Valley, pay attention to the ever- growing number of wind turbines on the West end of the valley. They’re growing like tumbleweeds in the Mojave Desert. So the answer is, wind is always a factor, but at least for the first couple of laps it wasn’t that bad. Excuse me for saying it again, but certainly not anywhere as bad as last year. The course also had only a combined 1080’ of gain/loss this year. Nothing like the sustained 3% avg climb for 12 miles through Box Canyon with 15-20 mph wind gusts. Yet monotony has its own price to pay. Later on we’d later comment that we missed the hills as the change of pace gave us a chance to coast on the downhills. Granted, that is coming from 3 individuals who have completed 100K or more distances who value the variability that hills provide. The course reminded us a lot of a trainer ride where there is no such thing as coasting. I would like to say that I knew exactly how fast I did the first 56 miles, but I mistakenly forgot to turn off auto pause for the bike portion of training. Moving time was about 2 hours and 51 minutes, which, despite the short breaks I took to grab water bottles of Heed (the electrolyte drink from the aid stations), I was well on the way to a 19 mph avg finish. Now let’s talk about where I F’d up.

If there’s one adage that you should always follow, it’s don’t do anything new on race day. That includes nutrition. That includes making sure whatever bottles they’re handing out will actually stay in your bottle holders. That includes making sure your stomach will accept what you’re putting down. That includes making sure there’s enough calories to keep your body going. Well, I learned that the arrowhead water bottles that they were handing out are likely to slide through my bottle holder because they’re TOO SQUEEZABLE and you’ll have to keep riding until the next aid station in 13.66 miles! I learned that if I’m rushed in the morning I should remember for the LOVE OF EVERYTHING GOOD TO STOP AND ADD THE TAILWIND ELECTROLYTE MIX IN YOUR JERSEY POCKET TO THE WATER BOTTLE THAT’S ALREADY FULL OF WATER. I learned that waiting to eat your shot blocks, or your ingenious snickers with almonds bar until it’s much later in the day, it WILL BE TO LATE BECAUSE you’re going the distance AND for speed. And why or why didn’t you just use the same stuff you did in training? Yeah, those wonderful homemade sandwiches (sometime with PB&J, sometimes with Nutella and ohney) that you used with the OFFICIAL UNCRUSTABLE SANDWICH CUTTER sealed up nice and easy inside of individual sandwich baggies. NO, you had to get all fancy and stupid with the “I ONLY NEED ONE HAND FOR SHOT BLOCKS AND THEY HAVE CAFFEINE WHICH WILL MAKE ME FASTER.”

Anyway, mistakes were made again. At least I didn’t lose my vision this year. OH, on that subject, I stopped twice at aid stations to remove the visor from my helmet and completely wash my face. The interesting thing is that sweat only accumulated in my left eye twice, which resulted in my closing my eye for a few minutes until the eye generated enough tears to flush it. Later on when I started the run, that same left eye was just slightly blurred. I’m thinking last year’s vision problems were a combination of factors, but perhaps the key one might just be the amount of salt taken into the eyes. I’m a very heavy sweater and I was thankful that while it did get hot at that point, I wasn’t grinding up Box Canyon with both wind and sweat to irritate my corneas. But back to the 3rd lap.About halfway through, the wind patterns did change as it was the hottest part of the day. I started slowing down on my 5-mile splits, and when I finished the 3rd lap (about mile 84,) I decided I needed to sit down for a minute and drink more fluids. I moved my sorry self over to the curb and sat down and thought, what’s wrong with you. This is about the distance you stopped last year. Certainly you’re better than this. You’ve gone through dark times on the trails. You once were counted out and then got up and hiked all night. Your legs still work? Ok, get your ass back on the bike and slug it out. I’d like to say that things got easier after that, but at that point the damage was already done. I could feel both lower quads start to cramp when the leg was fully extended. Being the problem solver that I am, I decided if my quads weren’t going to cooperate, then I use more hamstrings. Well, that worked well enough for a while. The aid station support was actually at the half-distance turnaround. At that time of day only the porta potties remained, and they had moved all support 1/3 mile up the road to the full-distance turnaround. When I pulled in and swung my leg over the seat I immediately felt my hamstring cramp up. Not like someone gave me a Charlie horse, no. This is the scream-out-loud, don’t-fall-over, don’t-pass-out kind of cramp that comes with dehydration, electrolyte imbalance, and high intensity exercise in heat. It’s a special kind of pain, and honestly, I was glad no one else was there to see me. It took about 30 seconds before I stopped clinging to my bike, afraid that I would drop my baby, and moved it over to the bike rack that was thankfully still there, and slowly lowered my butt to the ground trying to stretch out my right leg. As I sat there watching my leg quiver uncontrollably, I again turned to dark thoughts. In times like those you try to fight away the negativity, but inevitably fear of failure creeps in. The idea that I could DNF on the same race two years in a row was lurking, and I quickly turned to assess my options. I had remembered to bring my black “fanny pack” which had a variety of “when things go wrong” options. I quickly took a salt pill, Advil, and salt chewable (digests the quickest). I also finished the other half of Tailwind and sat there. People I had passed were riding by now, one actually asked if I was ok, which was appreciated. I kept massaging my hamstring and quads, hoping to bring them back to life. I needed less than 14 miles to get back to T2 and walk things out. I started psyching myself up. Carlos would keep going if he were here. There was a one-armed guy that did the half. You still have use of ALL OF YOUR LIMBS. Get your ass moving. Slowly at first, and take it mile by mile. Use one leg, just keep going. I managed to pick myself up and get moving. I shifted to the small ring up front to test things out on the bike. That seemed ok. Luckily the wind was now at my back or crosswind. No more aero, just let it push you. I saw that Freddy, who had been about 5 miles behind me earlier, was now nearly caught up. Made sense as I spent about 15-20 minutes sitting on the ground at the last 2 aid stations. As I slowly pedaled my way back to T2 I started thinking about how the salt tablets would affect my digestion. I still had a marathon to get through, and remembered what it was like to walk the last 3.5 miles at LA Marathon with double leg cramps, or trying to finish the last 2 miles at Silverman 70.3 in 2014. It’s one thing to have confidence in the face of the unknown. It’s another thing to have experienced pain and know that if you’re going to finish that there will be no easy way. To quote the movie 300, “This will not end quickly, you will not enjoy this.” But again, I was letting the negativity creep in. I thought of the 400-lb sumo wrestler that did LA Marathon each year. He had power walked it in 8 hours. If he could do that at his weight, certainly I could as well. When I finally finished the total bike time was 6:54:35, a 16.2 mph avg. I finished 20 out of 37 finishers, which was very surprising to me considering how much time I had spent on the ground. I also had an average cadence throughout the entire ride in the low 80s, even when I was cranking out 5-mile splits at 19+ mph, which is very unusual for me. I’d like to say what my average HR was, but it cut out on me very early in the ride.

When I got to T2 I asked for help dismounting. I had someone hold my bike at an angle so low it was only 1 foot high. It made it a lot easier not to test my hamstring by having to swing it high over my seat again. The volunteers sprang to work and took care of everything else. They racked my bike for me, they went and got my T2 bag that I had dropped off at T1 at the start of the race, they were kind enough to take my helmet to my bike and get me fluids. I felt like it was a VIP experience. At the time I didn’t think about how unusual that was for a race, but when you only have 37 full distance finishers (don’t know how many started) and it’s getting late in the day, a half-dozen volunteers makes for an amazing transition area. I’m curious to hear how T2 went for the half-distance racers, but I thought it was amazing. I sat there slowly changing my shoes, putting all my bike stuff back in my bag, and before I knew it, someone had taken that away too. Freddy soon showed up and I was so very happy to see my friend. I could tell he wasn’t having that much fun on the bike. I knew at this point forward Freddy would be ahead of me. I really didn’t care that much anymore about beating Freddy. I had hoped to at least push him on the run, but I knew I didn’t have the legs anymore for sustained running. Nevertheless, we headed out together to walk the first mile of the run. Time in T2 was 14:43.

The aid stations on the run were the opposite of the aid stations on the bike. I will make it a note to write the RD a note saying can we PLEASE, PLEASE have bananas on the bike course. Anything besides Heed and water. But I had been promised a cornucopia of fruit and snacks at every run aid station. At this point that was my primary mission on the run. Get to mile 2 and eat high-sodium and potassium foods; whatever I could stomach. Knowing that my stomach would be imbalanced from having so little solid food on the bike and then adding a bunch of salt I figured I was in for a tough time. Getting to that first aid station and assessing how much I could take in would be everything. I grabbed a handful of pretzels, green grapes, Ruffles potato chips, and bananas, taking my time to chew each as thoroughly as possible. From my experience on the Backbone race earlier the year where I took in too much salt, I knew that from that point forward, the ability to take in fluids and nutrition would determine if I were doing run-walk intervals or walk-run intervals. I asked how far until the next aid station, and was told about 2 miles. I wanted to eat more but was having trouble keeping down everything I had just subjected myself to. Walk-run intervals it would have to be. At that point I was really happy that I had put my jacket in my T2 bag instead of my special needs run bag (which wouldn’t be available until about mile 6), as the sun was already setting behind the 10,000’ peaks of the San Jacinto Mountains at 1600. The run course was 4 laps along the neighborhood roads and leading back to the lake. There were three total aid stations, with the first and third ones being the turnaround points for each lap. It was a completely unexciting race course for the initiated among trail running. The best thing I can say about the course is people driving by and honking horns, yelling at us to finish strong, and of course seeing everyone else out on the course. Considering how empty and quiet the bike course was, this was constant noise by comparison. I won’t complain about the course design, but it had occurred to me that it would be cool if we ran around the lake at least once. Of course, the problem with that is running in the dark, or getting lost. No, they designed a good race course for people who, like me, would be shuffling along in the dark for hours. We were like zombies; mindless, in search of nutrition, driven by the need to keep moving but forgetful in our purpose of why we existed. Some of the runners were pure joy to encounter as they overflowed with positivity and encouragement. I tried my best to do that with every runner, as I believe in karma. And when it wasn’t returned, I sometimes said a small curse under my breath and wished a small curse upon them. I wasted my precious breathe in my state to wish you well and you ignored me. The race gods will strike you down with FURIOUS ANGER for having not honored this sacred code among endurance athletes. But, like a cat’s memory I moved on to the next thought in front of me.

One of the pretty things about the run was that we were one day short of the super moon. Although the course provided us with head lamps, we really didn’t need them to see. The moon was gorgeous and the night was far from dark and full of terrors. No, the head lamps were so that we could be seen among the cars trying to pull in to their gated communities. It didn’t happen very often, but sometimes I’d have to check for a vehicle waiting to turn. That section of the road was the long, boring part of the race that I came to dislike, even though that’s where the most encouragement happened. I preferred running near the lake, which, at above sea level, radiated both humidity and air that was warmer than the desert air around us. During the 2nd lap I discovered they had chicken broth, and forced myself to keep taking that in, knowing it was loaded with sodium. For real, a bowl of that stuff and you’ll have almost your entire recommended sodium for the day. For us ironmen, it was just something to keep us moving. I stopped taking in solids for the most part during the 2nd and 3rd laps. The ability to digest food meant losing blood from the limbs, and I wanted to keep the walk-run intervals up. At least ¼ mile of each mile I would run. At one point during the start of the 3rd lap I ran for a half mile and that made up for walking the entire first mile. By then Freddy was 3 miles ahead of me, and I was realizing I would be out here for too much longer. I started stopping at the aid stations to sit down for just a minute to get off my feet. That hot foot that had started developing on the bike in my right foot was starting to come back. Truthfully, I had done more trail running than road miles, and even though I had a thicker shoe than the Vibrams I trained in, I could feel my feet swelling up and getting angry with me. I decided to switch to a very pronounced heel to toe stride with less pronation to ease off it, and that seemed to keep it from getting worse.

When I got to the start of my fourth and final lap, I ran into Diana, who was back from finishing her race and driving back to the hotel to freshen up. She had her jacket, beers, and vegan food for Freddy and I and was getting ready to catch us crossing the finish line. I was so very pleased to see her. Between Freddy and Diana they’ve pulled me through some very, very long races. They know what motivates me, when I’m not myself (I stop talking), and when I just need to be told to “stop being a little bitch” and keep moving. Ok, they didn’t really say that to me. She told me she was proud of me and that I just need to keep walking and that she would see me soon. 6.7 more miles and I would be an Ironman. About a mile into the last lap I saw Freddy. He too offered up encouragement and told me, “I’ll come get you if that’s what it takes!” I let him know it wouldn’t take that, and to be ready when I got to the finish line. I started running more after that. In fact, I caught up to a few people, passed them, and stayed ahead for the next several miles. At this point I wanted more energy, so I switched to orange slices and water. I love simple sugars, and with less than 10K to go, I didn’t want to waste time trying to worry about the next lap. No, at this point it was finish time. I noticed on my 4th lap that about half the runners had cleared out. Those of us who were left were mostly walking. You’d think that the tall skinny guys would have finished or the really old folks would be last, but there was no rhyme or reason to those who were behind me or in front of me. When I got to the turnaround point I sat down again, this time for a few minutes. My right foot was flaring up again, angry from the run-walk intervals I had switched to. I decided to not push injury and just speed-walk the last 3.3 miles. I could average a 16 min/mile pace on flat ground with no problem. Less than an hour to go. I stuck with the oranges and water, making sure to thank everyone still out on the race course for their support. I have volunteered very few times, but I’m always extremely appreciative of those who take the time to enable us to do crazy feats of endurance, or masochistic behavior (depending on your point of view). With about a mile to go, Diana found me heading in. I was able to forget about everything for a while, which was nice. We got to compare notes on how the race had gone, and I was pleased to learn of her finish and Freddy’s. We kept messaging Freddy to let me know how close we were to finishing. Once we got about 500’ out Diana ran ahead to join Freddy, and I got to muster enough strength to pretend that I was still a runner and not some poser who was out here pretending he was a triathlete. I crossed the finish line just a little after 10:30 pm, over 15.5 hours after I started. It was the longest marathon I had ever done, and the first in which I started in pain. In the end it took me 7:03:12. By comparison, I’ve down a 50K with 4000’ of gain/loss in 90 less minutes. I finished 35 of 37 overall in this category, clearly the hardest part of the day/night for me.

Overall, I finished 26 out of 37 finishers. Considering the downward spiral of cramps, nausea, and moments of sitting, I’m shocked I finished where I did. I was thrilled to have finally finished for the night. Not for the pride of accomplishment, but because I wanted my bed. I wanted to be resting. I had threaded the needle between pushing my body just fast enough to avoid throwing up and succumbing to cramps for nearly 8 hours. Not exactly the most fun way to complete your first ironman distance race, but I’m already thinking about how to improve and getting another shot at it. But mostly, I’m just super thankful to my friends who were there to see me through this, yet again after doing stupid stuff on race day. Super thankful that we get to share in these moments and keep going. People wonder why I’m so faithful to this particular race. I’ll tell you, it’s not the race, it’s not the place, it’s the faces staring back at you when you finish. May you find those moments in your life too.

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