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I Am the Master of My Fate
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RacoonQueen wrote: »Good. We'll make a star marathon runner out of you yet
My initial thoughts exactly!
Well done on a fantastic performance A, particularly impressive with the run layoff. I've been following the log with interest since the days of torturous-sounding brick sessions in Thailand and it's been a great journey. My girlfriend has been sharing a pool lane with you at times over the year and claimed you had come on a huge amount. It's great to see it all coming together.0 -
Preamble
Despite all my good intentions to be one of them, I still found myself amongst the last few stragglers leaving transition. After my third visit to the toilet this morning, I successfully cleared my bowels and with that I was happy I wouldn't need to be going again at any stage during the race. 5L of chocolate milk, with minimal solids, was how I fueled on the eve of the race and it appeared to have worked.
With that essential pre-race ritual out of the way, I made my way down to the beach. We first had to drop off our post-race clothing bags before going to the swim start. A café on the beach front, obviously seeing an opportunity to make money was open early. I wouldn't have minded the caffeine kick an espresso would have provided, but I didn't have the time to root for money in my bag and I hurried on my way. The caffeinated gel I planned to take immediately before the race would just have to do.
I had put my wetsuit on up to my waist before making my way down to the sea and while walking through a small gap between two fences, I snagged the trailing suit on a piece protruding metal wire. "Oh ****!" was all I thought. Thankfully the damage was minimal though. It had pierced a small hole in the back in of the suit, and with a Zen like mindset I forgot about it.Swim
3.8km Done, 222.2km To Go
The start was divided into pens, but where one seeded themselves was entirely up to the individual and from previous experiences not everybody was totally honest about their abilities. I wanted to get as close to the front of the sub-60 section as possible. At the start of my march, I could easily find my way through gaps in the assembled mass of bodies and reached half way before coming to a halt. This wasn't as far up as I was hoping, but it was too congested to progress any further, so I stayed where I was, took a few deep breaths and started visualising how the swim and me standing up at the end with 59 minutes something on my watch.
I found it easy to relax and realised that no matter how many overly optimistic swimmers were ahead of me, I was going to have plenty of people to draft off. There was no doubt doubt as well that there were faster swimmers than me who didn't even as close to the front of the pack as I did. It wasn't a mass start and no matter how many minutes it took me to cross the timing mat, the WC slots weren't going to be handed out to the first people out of the water. I wasn't at any huge disadvantage and it was still within my control to swim sub 60.
Three minutes after the pro women started, the age groupers were set off. After the gun went, I began to inch my way towards the first timing mat that would be the official start of my race. It took 2-3 minutes to cross the mat, at which point I started my Garmin and began sprinting into the water. I couldn't have given a damn about any spikes in heart rate this might have caused. I can run a lot faster than I can swim and straight away I was passing people who were barely jogging. It's only very recently I started dolphin diving and I'd only give myself a 5 out of 10 for how well I execute them. Still, it's faster than trying to run through deep water, so I did a few of them as best I could. There were people who were doing a better job of it and getting away from me. Equally though they were others still running, or swimming, whom I was passing.
The water was calm and the buoys were well positioned and easy sight. I felt as if I was swimming straight, but there were so many people both left and right, it was hard to know which group was holding the best line. I wasn't getting a draft for any prolonged period of time, but I just kept swimming regardless. I got round the the furthest buoy and swam round it without too much trouble. This was also the case when we turned right at the next buoy and started swimming back to land.
About 300m from shore, a guy in a white Compressport top passed. He was moving faster than me, so I swam over to get on his feet and took a tow for a minute or two. I then made what turned out to be a mistake and moved onto another swimmer's feet.
Some people started standing soon after this. I did a few dolphin dives and got out for the Australian exit. My feet weren't working as well as they had been at the start and it seemed harder to hurdle the waves this time. I spotted the guy in the white top I had been successfully drafting only three minutes beforehand, now 20m ahead of me. '**** it!', were my initial thoughts, but then I remembered the Zen like attitude I had resolved to adopt today, and reverted to focussing on good technique.
I got through this second lap in a similar manner to the first. No stress, or hard thumps and a feeling that I'd swam well. The moment arrived when it was either stand up or continue swimming, so I did a few more pathetic dolphin dives. As it didn't give any advantage to swimmers who had mastered that skill, I was happy when water became so shallow, running was the only sensible option.
As soon as I was upright, I stripped the wetsuit down to my waist and as I had been wearing the Garmin underneath the sleeve of the suit, this was the first time I was able to see how I was doing. It was showed 1 hour, 0 minutes. Just a slight feeling of deflation crept, until I remembered it didn't matter a f*ck.
The official results give me a time of 1:00:06, but I think it's safe to say I'd actually physically stopped swimming in under 60 minutes. I didn't press the lap button on my Garmin until 1:01:19. It also tells me I swam 4,472m. No way could I have ran 672m in 1:13, so despite what I thought at the time, I clearly didn't swim very good lines. But on the positive side, many things would suggest I did swim 3,800m in under an hour.
Still, it wasn't the sub 60 swim time I was hoping for. I knew whether I swam 59 or 61 minutes, it wasn't going to be a deciding factor in my race. I wasn't too far off my target and much more importantly I felt fresh and ready to do damage on the bike.
Time: 01:00:06, Total Time: 01:00:06
T1
I wasn't sure where the timing mat was and didn't press lap until I was nearly back into transition. The same way I ignored heart rate spikes at the start of the swim, I ignored them once more and was happy to run fast. There were places to be made and I was going to be sitting down and recovering in less than a minute anyway. I grabbed my bike bag and I stopped at a railing just before the changing tent to finish getting out of my wetsuit. My legs didn't slip out as easily as they did in Kenmare and I lost 2/3 seconds here. Probably not usually decisive in an Ironman, but having only missed Kona by 9 seconds last year, every second lost could potentially be very costly.
After this, I found a spot on one of the benches and started readying myself for the cycle. I wasn't thinking clearly and despite all week visualising myself putting on my helmet and race belt as I ran to my bike, I put both on as I was sitting down. Again not a huge amount of time was spent doing either, but as I said, my fate last year was decided by mere seconds and I uttered a sigh of exasperation. I was wearing cycling shoes today and decided to put them on in transition. This made for a very slow run to my bike and although I was prepared for this, I did wonder at the time if I should have invested in a good pair of triathlon shoes to have them clipped into my pedals.
Time: 00:05:07, Total Time: 01:05:13
Cycle
90km Done, 90km to Do
Straight away the advantage of putting on my shoes in transition told. I hit speed right away and passed large numbers of people in the initial stages of the bike. Even after a few kilometres of cycling, some of the cyclists were still fiddling with their shoes as I powered past. It doesn't necessarily mean my approach was right, but I was glad both figuratively and literally, I wasn't in their shoes.
The roads were dry, but the skies didn't hold much promise that they would remain so for the entire day. The early stages of this year's route were different to last year, so I wasn't as familiar with the roads as I might have been. There were no technical parts though, so I didn't feel like I was at any disadvantage.
At this stage, I got into a bit of a duel with an Italian named Marco. He had the cut of a track cyclist and he'd get away from me on the flat. On even the slightest incline though, the advantage was with me. He was a powerful cyclist, but I was always able to keep within striking distance of him. I didn't think this course was going to suit to him and whether I was right or wrong about his prowess on the bike, I was certain he wouldn't be any threat to me on the run.
Marco went by me for probably the third time in 20 minutes and five to six people had formed a train behind him. Some of them back the required distance, but others didn't seem so concerned. It was either allow them go and let Marco open up a 100m lead on me, or attack and pass them all. I never worry too much about going into the red in a race. It's bound to happen now and again, and I think I'm well enough trained to deal with it. So needless to say, I chose the latter option and rode past the whole lot of them.
I led this bunch into the town of Muro, (which according to Google translates to 'wall'). It has one short, but steep cnut of hill, so the name is most apt. In advance of the race, I'd warned anybody who asked not to get caught in the big ring here. We were just after sweeping down a fast descent and I was carrying a lot of speed into a sharp right hand turn. I found myself going up the hill, off my tri bars, and in my hardest gear. Unable to switch down, I was fncked and ground to a halt only 10m up.
I had to unclip and get off the bike to change into an easier gear. I did this as quickly as I could, but it was still too hard to generate any momentum. So I had to unclip a second time and try again. I finally got going, but without even taking into account the momentum I had lost, it cost me the 30-40 seconds for which I was stood stationery on the road. Marco and the rest of the train pulled away. Knowing the climb that was ahead of us, I was pretty sure Marco at least wouldn't be able to stay away from me forever. It was nearly another 50km before I caught him though and it makes me wonder how much combined time the mistake in Muro had cost.
After this happened, I was left completely on my own. Not having to pass and stay away from a large group of cyclists meant was there wasn't so much variation in my effort. By the time I got to the base of the longest climb, about 110km into the cycle, I was pretty sure I had caught most of the by now fragmented train. The gradient steadily increased, but I did my best to keep the effort up. I passed a good few at the very start. After this, there were two or three others with whom I was regularly swapping positions.
My tactic was to keep working on this climb, as no matter how I cycled going down the other side, I knew the descent was going to be an opportunity to recover. One of the guys I was trading places with was a Frenchman named Cedric. We were approaching the crest of a hill, when I saw him take out a bar. I never eat solids in a race, but I think it is extra stupid to do so when climbing. From my two trips here this year, I knew exactly what was coming up. I just thought 'Bon appetite, Cedric!', attacked and got over the hill before him. It was a straight and very fast stretch of road after this and getting to the front gave me the initiative.
The road climbed up again, down again and back up again once more. It got a little bit technical on a final short downhill section just right before the highest point on the course. A couple of people had passed me on this stretch, but eased off once the road began to climb. Again I knew what was coming and thought the more people I got in front of before the descent started, the better. I attacked again and crossed the timing mat here before any of the others around me.
The tricky part of the course was upon me now. How the next 7.5km went, was going to determine if my two trips here earlier this year and the €600 I spent on them were worth it. Most of the group I had just passed, caught me swiftly enough. I definitely wasn't getting down this mountain as fast as these guys were, but one thing the two trips gave me was an in depth knowledge of the course. I knew exactly when the hairpin bends were and despite overshooting some of them, I wasn't overly anxious or nervous at any point.
I wasn't dong a fantastic job on this descent, but it was okay. I caught up with a Spaniard, who appeared to have the same anxieties as I did. He was regularly looking over his shoulder, no doubt expecting me to pass. It wouldn't have been too risky to do so, but I was happy where I was and just stayed behind him following his line.
It didn't take long for a German to come bombing past the two of us, demonstrating to us both how much time we were wasting. Not long after this, the trickiest part of the descent was over and we came into the small town of Caimari. According to Strava, today's descent was three seconds quicker than my fastest descent last April, which I would have settled for before the race.
The streets in Caimari were narrow and I was carrying a lot of speed into the village. It was nerve wracking cycling through the town and I couldn't take advantage of the momentum I had built up coming down the mountain. Even after passing through this and another couple of small villages, I never felt like I was properly motoring again until the course took us back onto a straight stretch of highway.
Once here, we had to outward leg to complete during which we could see the cyclists ahead of us on the opposite side of the road. There were more cyclists than I would have liked and to make matters worse, there was a big gap between me and the tail end of those immediately in front of me.
I reached the turnaround point and it was case of head down, push hard and try to catch as many as possible before the end of the cycle. It took a while, but I eventually caught up with the guys ahead. I hadn't shaken off the guy behind me, so I wasn't sure if I had made contact because I was cycling fast or the guys I caught had faded.
There was about 30km to go at this stage and with the climb and the technical parts of the course behind me, I was certain of completing the bike in well under 5 hours. Whether I could hit my target of sub 4:50 was not so clear cut though. The dark clouds which had been ominously overhead for a while, eventually broke, and it made for wet and dangerous roads for the last 20km.
I did my best to stay focussed and although there were some hairy moments on some of the bends, I thanked my lucky stars it had been dry coming down to Caimari. Cedric was back in my sights and just ahead of me at this point. On one particular severe bend, his back wheel slipped several inches both left and right. I was certain he was going to hit the deck, but he somehow managed to stay upright. Although nothing like the wobble he had to deal with, my rear wheel started to go from under me as well. I managed to right it, but it put the absolute sh!ts up me. I rode very conservatively from here, but nothing like Cedric, who was ultra cautious after his episode and after I passed him, he never came near me again.
A female pro passed us both. On any straight stretch of road, I would start closing on her. Even though I knew I was stronger, I didn't want to overtake, as she was doing an excellent job of going round the numerous bends. She was competent enough to take them on her tri bars, whereas I'd sit up and follow her line. This was working out well for me. Looking at the pro doing such a masterful job, gave me the confidence not to touch my brakes and although staying behind her on the straights, might have cost me some time, it was being more than made up for on the bends.
Eventually, I decided it was safe enough to pass and I went by her easily enough. We were soon back in Alcudia and with a couple of turns and several roundabouts still to negotiate, I was as nervous as fnck. I didn't fully trust all the people lining the road, not to attempt to cross at the worst possible moment. I had been planning a flying dismount all week, but given the conditions and my state of mind, I just wanted to get off the bike without falling.
I cycled right up to dismount line with my feet still in the shoes, unclipped and got both feet on the ground. I was hoping to do a faster cycle, but at the same time I was hugely relieved that no major misfortune had befallen me and aware that having gotten to the end of the cycle in just a minute over 6 hours, I wasn't doing too badly at all.
Time: 04:55:49, Total Time: 06:01:02
T2
The first thing I noticed upon running was how fresh my legs felt. 12 months ago, my legs simply didn't want to cooperate in T2. I felt nothing like this today and my legs honestly felt no different than they might do in a sprint triathlon.
The second thing that I noticed, and it was almost as equally surprising, was how few bikes there were in transition. It was the strongest indication yet, that I was having a good race.
That was end of my happy thoughts though, as it was a dreadfully slow transition. The carpet we had to run on was soaking wet and trying to run along it in cleats felt extremely dangerous. I thought once I got off the bike, any chance I had of falling was gone. Right now, I was worried my feet were going to go from under me and I practically slowed to a walk.
It was with a sense of relief, I made it to the benches in the changing tent and was able to safely sit down. Putting on my runners, I started to feel the onset of cramp and I stood up with a jolt and a squeal of pain. A volunteer came over and advised I seek the help of the medics just outside the tent. The look of incredulity I gave her, let her know I had absolutely no intention of wasting even a second doing that, and she shrunk off to offer assistance to someone else.
I did a few stretches, sat back down, grabbed a visor from my run bag, got rid of my sunglasses, stuffed my helmet and cycling shoes in the bag, and took out two small bottles of flat Coke I had left in my run bag.
Like my first transition, I was by no means fast this time either. I think just getting your head right has a lot to do with fast transitions and on a dry day in Hawaii, I don't think my rivals will be putting so much time into me in T1 or T2.
Time: 00:03:32, Total Time: 06:04:34m
Run
Two Bottles of Coke & Grey Skies - Destiny Awaits
I'd given a lot of thought on how I was going to deal with fueling and hydration during the run. An analysis of my run last year, led me to the conclusion that walking the aid stations is what did for my sub 3 attempt. These walks became longer and longer and the more I slowed, the harder it was to pick the pace back up again. Walk/run strategy my arse, the only strategy I had this year was to never stop running.
Such a strategy wouldn't solve my fuel and drink issues though, which after 6 hours of racing, was essential to get right. After seeing how the 2015 AG winner in Kona ran with a Camelbak, I did seriously consider the same approach. But training runs I did with my own Camelbak taught me it wasn't going to work. Running with a fuel belt was another option. In the end though, I decided to take on fluids using small 330ml bottles that I'd just carry in my hand. I also had small bags containing salt tablets and Nurofen attached to the bottles. As I said already, I had two of these bottles in my run bag for the start of the marathon and I had arranged with a friend's wife to hand me out additional bottles on both the second and third lap.
I found this to be the best fueling strategy I've hit upon yet for the run leg of an Ironman. I had well over a litre of fluids between the four bottles. There's no way I'd have been able to drink this much from cups and having them in bottles meant I was able to drink on the go. I also grabbed the odd cup of water at some of the aid stations, but the only gels I consumed were two that were still stashed up the legs of my shorts from the cycle. I hadn't consumed nearly fuel as I had planned to on the bike, but it wasn't a wam day and I just didn't feel like shoving gels into me for the sake of it. I didn't really drink much on the bike either (3-4L would be my guess) and the one and only piss I took during the race was in the early stages of the marathon. I might not have gotten away with such little liquids had it been warmer, but once the rain came, it seriously curtailed the amount of fluids I might have lost through sweat.
Starting off carrying two bottles, I encountered a problem I hadn't anticipated. With both hands in use, I was I going to have a problem getting the tablets out of the bags. I shoved one of the bottles down the back of my top and popped both a salt tablet and a Nurofen into my mouth. I then opened the bottle of Coke, which unfortunately wasn't as flat as I thought it was. The Coke sprayed out of the bottle, but it was flat enough that I was able to drink and I swallowed the two aforementioned tablets as I happily gulped down half the bottle.
In previous years, I've held off on drinking Coke until late on in the marathon. This seems to be the perceived wisdom, but the more I thought about it, the more I thought 'What's the ****ing point?' I'd already drank and consumed a **** load of sugar and caffeine on the bike. Out of all the things handed out at the aid stations, Coke is the most easily absorbed. When I first drank Coke after 30km of running last year, I felt an instant hit and I couldn't understand why getting this hit two hours earlier would have been a bad thing.
But I digress, back to the actual race. I'd my Garmin set to auto lap every 2km and didn't have the current pace on display. My watch would beep and I would see the time flash up on the screen every 2km. As long as the time flashing was under 8:30, I knew I was on target for a sub 3 marathon. I was running on feel and the first time check I had told me I had ran the first 2km in 7:43. I had no idea I had been running so fast and straight away, I thought '****ing hell, Alan! You may dial this back a bit.'
I backed off, but I was still running faster than I needed to be. It wasn't until the two kilometres between 26 and 28, that I went outside my target pace. This was my slowest part of the race and although it took me another 6km to get my splits back under <4:15/km pace. It never came near the 3:52 pace I held for the opening two kilometres. I knew from a long way out, that I was well on course to break my sub 3 target and not having to stress about slowing down was a good feeling.
Assured of this much, I then started trying to figure out if a sub 9 Ironman was on. After nearly 8 hours and 40 minutes of racing, it wasn't easy to do the calculations, but it didn't seem likely and I reckoned I was going to be a minute or two outside the 9 hour mark.
Sub 9 was only a secondary target though and I was optimistic that a 9:01 or 9:02 finish, would be good enough to seal the Kona ticket. A place on the podium would also have been nice and that was a possibility I had considered as well. Near the end of each lap, the lay out of the course, provided four opportunities to see who was less than one kilometre ahead. I couldn't see too many on my fourth and final lap and I took this as a sign I was doing well.
After passing through the chute to collect my fourth band, I thought of the 9 seconds I missed out by last year and was determined this wouldn't happen me again. I increased the effort and pushed on in the knowledge that with only 4km to go, it would be hard to **** things up from here. I stopped at the final aid station last year and that decision has haunted me ever since. It's very hard not to wonder did that stop cost me those 9 seconds. Today, I just ran straight through without even looking sideways.
The finishing line came into view and I saw some scrawny, lean f*cker head for the finish as well. I hadn't noticed on the cycle and definitely hadn't passed me on the run, so there was a good a chance he had began the swim before me. Nor had I any idea if he was in my age group, but I wasn't taking any chances. I sprinted after him and, not caring one little bit that I was going to ruin both our finishing photos. All I was thinking was 'Nine seconds, NINE ****ING SECONDS!'
Time: 02:57:30, Total Time: 09:02:30
Reflection
Kona Baby!
I still had no idea where I had finished overall or in my category, but from talking to some of the volunteers, they reckoned only 20-30 had crossed the line ahead of me. I'd passed all the pro women, and I figured with a 7 minute head start, 50% of those across the line were likely to be pro men. That would have meant 10-15 age groupers had crossed the line and I thought the law of averages were in my favour.
My phone was back in the apartment and I'd no way of knowing for sure. I asked some spectators if they had been tracking the race, but they said 'No.' They were complete strangers and I thought it would be a bit odd asking them could they go onto the Ironman tracker just for me. No matter how long it took me to find out, wherever I finished wasn't going to change, Knowing I had posted a time, that would have sufficed to qualify me 12 months ago, in worse conditions, I wasn't overly anxious about things. I knew I'd shortly find out for sure, so I just put it to the back of my mind and made sure I got into the massage tent before any sort of a queue formed.
I felt surprisingly fresh for just having done an Ironman. I've read reports from other Kona Qualifiers where they talk about it having been a dream race and where absolutely nothing went wrong. This wasn't that though. (Hopefully that'll be Kona 2017) I got what I wanted from the race and needles to say I'm very happy with it, but it wasn't the perfect race. I made a balls of dolphin diving, I made bad decisions in the swim on who and who not to draft. My Garmin file tells me I swam crooked. I wasn't ready for that hill in Murro. I have improved, but I still can't descend well. I was happy with how I did on that descent, but from looking at the Strava segment, I see the French guy Cedric gained 1 minute 15 seconds on me over this 7.5km. I lost time on bends. But all these are opportunities to improve before the biggest race of my life in Kona. It's been a long time coming and now that my first stated objective in this log has been achieved, I don't intend to mess up the rest of it.
To finish by saying, while Mallorca is a great location, I've enjoyed all my five trips there, and I'd highly recommend this race to anybody, I'm delighted to be finally done with the place. Since I registered, until I finally finding out my finishing position, I wondered had I made the right decision to come back here. I've laid the demons to rest and qualified from a race that all common sense would have told me to leave well enough alone. But after the monumental **** up that was 2014, and coming so close in 2015, I just couldn't let it go. This simply had to be my qualifying race! I'll go to Hawaii with a lot of belief having finally succeeded on this Spanish island.0 -
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Care to elaborate on this a bit? I'm surprised that someone who obviously loves the sport would consider giving it up?
"Look at us. Look at what they make you give."
Jason Bourne
I'll be 100% committed to the race in Kona, but I know there are more important things in life. It might not seem like I do, but I need to remind myself of that every so often. After racing Kona, I don't know for how long more I'll have the appetite to continue with 20hr+ training weeks, because that's what it will take to maintain my level of performance. I want to run a sub 2:30 marathon at some point in my thirties and I'll be able to do that off far less training hours.
I've made a lot of sacrifices to get to where I am in triathlon. I'm 36 in November, I'm single, very rarely socialise and outside of triathlon I've essentially given up all other hobbies and interests. It's not a conventional lifestyle to say the least. While I'm happy to make the necessary sacrifices and I enjoy the lifestyle right now, it's not something I ever saw myself doing forever.0 -
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I don't know what it is, but I feel like you're royalty. I'm over the moon for you. What an incredible accomplishment that you earned with your heart and soul. I'm in awe - I think you are the most focused, disciplined and determined person I have ever met. Oh, and you're a man of your word. Honest to god - listen up all you single ladies out there, mark your calendar for next October - zico may be on the market. I'd get in line if I were you, he's a man of pure class.
P.S. You were looking pretty buff in that ROKA wetsuit!!
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