IM Louisville 2013: Fate Catches Up

Everyone who races knows that, eventually, they will have a day when the body refuses to play along. It is inevitable. If we are lucky, it happens at a smaller, less significant event. If we are not, it happens at our "A" race, the one we've been training for all year.

Such was my fate at Ironman Louisville 2013.

After a very easy (and slow) swim, I got out of the water feeling fabulous and full of energy for the bike ride and run ahead. I was actually looking forward to getting out there on the bike, and eager to start the run. The helpful volunteer in the changing tent helped me get all my stuff sorted out, opened my lube for me, and handed me things as I needed them. I drank my Shakeology, which topped off a filling breakfast of two Core Powers and a protein drink made with almond milk and a peach, and I was out of there in a quick 10:45. While five minutes faster than the last time I did this race, it felt very relaxed and calm, and I was looking forward to the rest of my day.

Got deluxe service with two more volunteers slathering me from head to toe in sunscreen, found my bike, waved goodbye to Paula and Shirley, and took off. It was a beautiful day, just starting to heat up into the low 70's.

Things went well. As I expected, the first 22 miles were the fastest. This was the flattest part of the course, with only two big hills. The next 25 or so miles I slowed down about as much as I had expected, knowing it was going to be non-stop hills for another 40 miles or so. It was getting warmer, but I wasn't feeling particularly uncomfortable, and I was on schedule with my fluids and fuel. I made sure to sip on my carb/protein mix on a regular basis, and had stopped a couple of times to take water and some electrolyte drink, and stand up to stretch the legs a bit. Was passing lots of people on the hills without killing myself. So far so good. Gonna be a great day!

At mile 50 or so, the freight train hit. I felt like I wanted to puke. My legs lost all strength. I was consumed with an overwhelming fatigue. I started fantasizing about stopping, laying down in the grass by the road, and taking a 3-hour nap. What is going on? I sure hope this passes. I've NEVER felt that bad during any kind of physical event. I've felt mildly nauseas for maybe five minutes at a time when it's been particularly hot, but nothing that compares to this fatigue. I definitely wasn't bonking; I'd been taking in good calories all day. I wasn't trying anything new. All my nutrition was stuff I'd been using all summer. Did I start out too fast and flame out? No, I had kept a very reasonable and comfortable-feeling pace up to this point. Am I getting sick with something and it's just now hitting me? All I could do was keep going and hope it passed. But I had a dark feeling it wouldn't.

Around mile 56 (or maybe 58?), I pulled into an aid station and knew I had to sit down before I fell down. A wonderful volunteer brought me a baggie of ice, and I put that on my neck. Drank a full bottle of water and felt a little better. Got up and realized I probably should lay down for a few minutes. Laying in the grass, I put the ice on my side, and that helped quite a bit. Was finally feeling good enough to get up, go to the bathroom (well I guess that rules out dehydration, no?), and get moving again. By now, my focus was on making it to my food at special needs, which was mile 65.

I struggled more than normal to get up the hills, and tried to go as fast as I could going down. By now I was starting to get a little woozy, which was frightening when coasting down a hill at something like 35mph (I haven't checked my Garmin yet to verify). Going down one hill, I realized that the walls were indeed closing in, and it was all I could do to focus on the pavement immediately in front of me and holding a stable form, so as not to crash. I was very aware of making a conscious effort not to let the attention stray and do something stupid that would cause me to lose control of the bike.

Finally got to special needs. Called out my number, and yet another outstanding volunteer found me a chair and brought my bag of goodies. I drank another Shakeology, hoping the protein would at least alleviate this agony enough to get the brain back in gear. The volunteer was a man about my age, and he was feeling my pain. That poor guy tried his best to buck me up and get me pumped about doing the remaining 47 miles. If I had been feeling normally, I would have been thrilled to only have 47 miles left. In my current condition, I could only groan and thank him for trying. After I-don't-know-how-long, I got back on the bike and left, very slowly. Walking wasn't the problem, pedaling was. If I could just get myself back to transition, I could WALK the marathon if need be. If I can just get back on the bike.

But the legs continued to get weaker and weaker. It got to the point where I could barely pedal even on the flat sections. Since when is it hard to get 13mph on my bike?? What is going on here?

The nausea never really went away; instead it proceeded to get worse and worse, as did the struggle to focus. Finally, around mile 72 or 73, I stopped, laid the bike down, and sat down next to it, hoping to wait out the nausea. Some other cyclists came by (also going fairly slowly but obviously not feeling as awful as I was) and asked if I needed anything. I told them I was done and asked if they could please mention me at the next aid station. They promised they would and continued on.

I laid down in the grass by the road and promptly lost everything I had just put in my stomach. Several times. Damn. Is this ever going to stop? It finally did, and I sat up. Realized that I actually felt a lot better after puking. Maybe I can get a few more miles in and see how it goes?

At 75 miles, the legs totally gave out and refused to move the pedals any more. Well, crap. Whatever this is, it's bad. And it's not letting up. In fact, it's getting worse. There's no possible way I can do another 37 miles, even if it's flat, and it isn't. Found some shade, leaned the bike up against someone's mailbox out in the middle of nowhere, and sat down. Pretty soon a Sheriff's vehicle came by, and I let him know I wasn't needing EMS, I just needed a ride back to Louisville. Waited maybe ten minutes, and a race SAG van showed up.

[Side note: Another rider came up while I was getting into the van. She was going to hitch a ride because she didn't think she was going to make the bike cutoff. I told her she had plenty of time if she kept going, and it came out that she thought the cutoff was 5:30pm. She was very happy when I told her no, it was either 6:20 or 6:30, so she could definitely make the 37 miles by then. It was probably 3pm or so by this time, so she still had around three hours to play with. She left, smiling. I really hope she made it. I was too out of it to look at her number, much less remember it, so I can't look her up in the results.]

I climbed in the back, thinking I might lie down, and we headed for the next person to pick up. It was blissfully cool inside. Uh oh. I think I'm gonna puke again, and the windows back here don't open. Ack! Climbed up into the front seat and hung my head out the window. Is this misery ever going to end? The driver took my chip, wrote my number down, and called it in. Damn. I'm really going to DNF. I N-E-V-E-R DNF. Especially not at my one major race, especially not an Ironman! But I couldn't do a thing about it. This was not a matter of will power or mental strength. It simply wasn't happening today.

We picked up two more people who were having mechanical issues, and passed a third who was going back in an ambulance. I had to ask the driver to pull over once on the highway, but didn't get sick. I rode the rest of the way back with my head hanging out the window like a dog, wondering if I should have chosen the ambulance instead. Dear god, what is wrong with me?

Got back to transition, walked straight to the medical tent and laid down. Baggies of ice in the armpits and under the neck felt great. Answered a few questions (no not dehydrated, just peed an hour ago, yes BP is always that low, no a pulse of 60 when I'm not moving is not unusual, yes had plenty of fuel onboard until I puked). They watched me for a few minutes and as we chatted, it was obvious I was not in IV territory or worse. The nurse called Paula and told her where I was, and within a few minutes, she and Shirley rounded the corner. They had been waiting nearby, watching my splits get slower and slower, and they knew something was going on. Paula had even turned her phone up super-loud so she'd be sure to hear it, and was ready to answer any unknown phone numbers that called. We retrieved all my stuff from transition and walked back to the hotel. Stopped in the Starbucks in the lobby and got a vanilla frappacino, which was a little bit of bliss after feeling so awful for so long.

Showered, went to dinner, came back and napped until 10:30pm, then went back downstairs to watch the last hour of finishers. The last hour is the most exciting, as people push hard to get in under the 17-hour cutoff. I was happy to see a few people that had been in the back-forty with me on the bike successfully finish their race, and I'm sure I missed a few. It was good to see that they managed to get back in time, even though they were struggling for a while.

Felt fine after a decent night's sleep, and two days later feel completely normal. Looking back, I think I must have been on the verge of heat exhaustion or something like that. We've had a very mild summer in Indianapolis, and I've lost my hot-weather conditioning. (I was more prepared for heat in June.) One of the medics told me that the heat index had spiked right about the time I started tanking, and he wasn't surprised. I was caught completely off-guard, though. I did everything right: training, nutrition, fluids, pacing. I've done over 60 triathlons, almost 60 half-marathons, 15 marathons, and a slew of other distances, and have never felt anything like this. It took me totally by surprise. I'll be happy if I get another 10-year run of mishap-free racing, now that I've got this spectacular bonk (or whatever it was) out of the way.

Sadly, there are no more iron-distance opportunities this year that are not sold out, save one. It's $575 and in a state that I've already raced in...sigh. I'd love to do it, but hate to spend the money, again. However, I'm mapping out the rest of the tri/half-marathon/marathon season, figuring out which states to hit, and am grateful to be injury-free and able to plan more races.

And hey, no recovery time to speak of! All I did was an easy two-hour swim and five-hour bike -- didn't beat myself up on the run, so I'm ready to go work out tomorrow. Ha!

Who Needs Sleep?

I've concluded that loud country music is more painful than the crotch pain from 120 miles on a bike. After running a trail half-marathon. All on two hours of sleep.

So Ironman Louisville is in four weeks (now two). This meant I had two weekends' worth of hard training before having to taper. What better way to spend this one than beating myself to a pulp? As it happened, Planet Adventure put together the perfect hard training weekend and I was able to take advantage of it. Paula and I were scheduled to work timing for a 24-hour bike ride at the Subaru test track (how many times can you ride the two-mile loop in 24 hours?), which didn't start until noon. This meant we could also participate in the Planet Adventure trail run that morning before heading up to Subaru.

Saturday's alarm went off at 5:45am, giving us plenty of time to have a good breakfast, make sure the car was loaded up, stop at Starbucks for some caffeine, and get to the race site in time to relax and get ready to run. The Eagle Creek trail half- and full-marathon is a much-anticipated race, and drew a sold-out crowd. I planned on doing the half, and Paula signed on for the quarter-marathon (~ 6.5 miles). The course is more challenging than many, with lots of ups and downs and a fair number of fallen limbs to step over.

The day was perfect for running, with cloud cover that kept the temperatures down and the humidity high. No one minded the humidity, since we were having outrageously cool temps for August. Paula won her age group and I placed second in mine (out of seven). Surprising since I had an unusually slow day (2:49:01), but I guess everyone in the female 50-54 group was feeling laid-back that day.

Paula finished up, then rode with James (of Planet Adventure) up to the Subaru test track at Lafayette, to start getting the timing set up for the 24-hour bike ride. After I finished running, I headed directly there and helped them finish getting ready. The count-down clock was turned on at noon, and all the riders took off.

After making sure everyone's chip was reading and recording properly, Paula and I signed up to ride in the "solo female" division. This event is primarily made up of teams who ride the full 24-hours, taking turns. There was only one woman signed up for the female solo category, so we were both guaranteed to place in the top three. I like those odds! Around 1pm I took off and did a few laps, and got my legs under me.

Another Planet Adventure staffer showed up and relieved James, and Brian was there with us until midnight. The track was dimly lit, and cyclists had to have some sort of headlamp and tail-light, but it was pretty easy to see everyone. By the time it got dark, riders were spread out with only a couple clumps. The wind finally died down and made for some very pleasant riding. Paula and I took turns, and I managed to rack up 36 laps before calling it quits around 11pm. At this point the other solo female had 43 laps, but she had called it day and turned in her chip. Cool! I should win this thing, since my goal was to complete 50 laps. The way she had cranked out those 43 laps had convinced me she was going to leave me in her dust, so I was happy to find out she'd done all she was going to do.

At midnight, Brian went to join his family at a local hotel and get some sleep, and I crawled into the back of the car and slept until 2am. When I relieved Paula, she filled me in on some issues that were going on, then she went to get some rest. There were a couple of chips that were going completely wonky, registering laps that didn't exist and ridiculously fast laps. I had to pay close attention and make sure everyone's chip was registering as they crossed the start line, and delete all of the extraneous entries being generated by the wonky chips. I actually didn't mind, as this forced me to stay awake and alert.

Working 24-hour events is very interesting. The dynamics change as the hours go by, and people get more and more relaxed. Even the hyper-competitive types start to mellow out by 3am. Everyone was camped out in the infield of the track, and teams had tents and congregating areas set up. Some riders didn't even show up to the track until midnight or later, whenever their shifts began. The event was a fundraiser for CASA, an Indiana organization that helps abused and neglected children, and Subaru is a major supporter of that group. The organizers did a wonderful job keeping riders fed, with a food tent that never closed and always had plenty of good things to eat and drink. They catered dinner, breakfast, and lunch from local restaurants, and it was great to have real food to eat.

Overnight was quiet, with a steady stream of riders switching out with teammates, and three very determined male solo riders going non-stop. Those guys would crank out 30-40 miles, take a 30-minute break, then go right back and do another 30-40 miles. Crazy. Many people were sleeping, but that didn't dampen the enthusiasm of those who were up and riding or supporting the riders.

Paula relieved me around 5:30am, and I was back out on the track by 5:45. It was great to ride at sunrise, free of the crazy winds that had blown us around Saturday afternoon. I clinched my victory (did the eight laps needed to get me to 44 laps), then Paula took a turn. Finally, around 7:30am, I reached my goal of 50 laps. Hmmm, Ironman is 56 laps (112 miles), surely I can get that? Reached that goal with a little over two hours to go, then took a break. Decided I wanted to get 60 laps under my belt before calling it quits, so went out and did my last four. By now the sun had fully risen and the wind was picking up. I was extremely tired even though I felt great, and got sick of fighting the wind all the way down the first half of the track. I had hoped to possibly break 60 by at least a couple of laps, but was just too tired to keep working against the wind. My legs felt good but heavy, and mentally I was very happy with my 60 and ready to call it good.

The countdown clock finally hit zero, there was a quick awards ceremony, and I was presented with a nice plaque for first place solo female. The winning solo male had some crazy number like 150 laps, and the winning teams were in the 365 mile range. We then got busy packing up all our gear. Down came the start/finish line, the clock got put away, all our timing stuff packed up and stowed, all the cables coiled, speakers put away, trailer loaded. By 1:30pm, the track was clear of tents, mobile homes, and riders, and looking very quiet. We were grateful for the relatively short ride home (< 1 hour), and decided to stop at Texas Roadhouse for takeout steak...

...and were bombarded with outrageously loud bad country music. "I love my truck and my ex ran over my dog" kind of country music. Loud enough we had to use our outside voices to order our food. And it was loud outside too, with nowhere to go to get away from it. After an excruciating 15-minute wait, our food was finally ready. I asked the employee how she listened to that all day without shooting anybody. She laughed and said she got used to it. I gave her my condolences.

And yes, loud country music truly is more miserable than any amount of bike-riding-induced crotch pain and sleep deprivation.

Ironman Muncie 70.3 2013: Successful Day

This past weekend was the Ironman Muncie 70.3, and I had a far better day than expected. I went into this one unconcerned about time. My race-day plan was not to really race, but to view it as a good, long training day, do what I felt like doing, let the day come to me, and see how that played out. No pressure. I fiddle-faddled through the transitions, stopped twice on the bike to stand up, and took plenty of walk breaks on the run. Yet I was completely surprised to see the clock when I finished, handily beating my projected 7:10-7:15 time.

For the first time in several years, the weather was perfect. It seems like the last few years have either brought crazy-wild thunderstorms (my attempt #1 at the distance), torrential downpours (my first successful attempt at the distance), or record heat that resulted in shortening the course. This year was a gift from the weather gods, and everyone was quite excited. The water temp was 76, just barely wetsuit legal, but legal all the same, so most of us decided to go ahead and wear the thing for its buoyancy benefits.

The swim was my usual pathetic pace, but felt better than any this season. Though slow, it was much more a swim than a flounder, so even though the time was a bit disappointing, my day got off to a good start. It was wonderful to get out of the water and hear my name being called by a friend who was there spectating with her boyfriend. (Why aren't you racing, Jen? You're waaaaay more than ready.) Nice to see their smiling faces!

Swim: 52:46

T1 was a long walk from the beach to the transition area, and I took my time. Stopped in a porta-potty to take care of business and wipe sand off myself. After exiting the water, I had flopped to let the wetsuit strippers do their work, and came up covered with sand/dirt. That would drive me crazy all day if I didn't wipe it off. So I took some extra time to clean up before getting ready to bike for 3+ hours. Thought about getting a massage while I was there, but decided that could wait.

T1: 7:27

The bike was on a (mostly) nice course with good roads. However, there had been a course change to alleviate some permitting issues, and it resulted in some oddness. Around mile 20 was a section of road that was a no-passing zone, about 3/4-mile long. In addition to a not-so-great surface, it was narrow, so race officials made it a no-passing zone, but relaxed the drafting rules a bit. I was lucky enough not to get behind anyone going painfully slow, so I didn't mind the break, but apparently some people were not so lucky and got frustrated. It was only 3/4 of a mile, so most took advantage of the time to drink something and relax for a few minutes. The bad part was coming up.

We took a left and headed for the turnaround point at mile 28. Unfortunately, this stretch of road was exceedingly crappy, full of very sloppy chip-seal and some good rollers. The hills were very manageable, but it's amazing how exhausting it is to constantly be bumpity-bumping over lousy road on a bike for 16 or so miles. Ugh. This stretch was also narrow, so even though passing was legal, if someone was passing from each direction at the same time, it got a bit tight. The bumping was also hard on the crotch, and got old quite quickly. I stopped once to stand up and give the nether regions a break.

Finally, around mile 36, we made a right turn back into the no-passing zone. Hurrah! The torture is almost over! There was a collective sigh of relief as riders got back on to nice, smooth road, and everyone sped up again. I decided I wanted to take another break when I got to the final aid station at mile 44, and pulled over. Got the left foot unclipped, and just then my right calf decided it was going to have The Mother Of All Charlie Horses. You can't coordinate the foot well enough to unclip when the calf is one seized-up spasming knot, so over I went. Damn. Didn't hurt myself, but had to lay there under the bike a minute with the right foot still clipped in, waiting for the calf to stop seizing. Finally it loosened up just enough to give me back control of my foot and ankle. I unclipped, climbed out from under the bike, stood up and stretched a minute, then got on my way. The rest of the ride was uneventful, and I was happy to pull back into transition after three hours and 17 minutes, with an average of 17.05 mph. Faster than it felt like, so a successful ride.

Bike: 3:17:03
First 28 miles: 1:38:56
Second 28 miles: 1:38:07. Negative split!

T2 was slightly more efficient than T1. I walked it, chatted with my rackmate while we both got changed for the run, sucked down another gel, stopped at the table by the exit to cover my arms/neck with sunscreen, and headed out. Felt good, just wasn't feeling the need to kill myself rushing.

T2: 4:20

The run was entirely uneventful. I did my usual walk/trudge/run thing, and was pleased at the prospect of hitting the turnaround pretty close to an hour and ten minutes. The volunteers at the aid stations were terrific, full of energy and quite helpful. There was cold water and electrolyte drink at every stop, and most had cups of ice as well. The first station was armed with garden hoses and water guns, and sprayed us down. Boy did that feel good at the beginning and end of the run! It really wasn't that hot, low 80's and not grossly humid, but the cold liquids made a big difference. The enthusiasm of the volunteers made it easy to keep moving, and the 13.1 miles passed rather painlessly.

With maybe 1/4-mile to go, I again heard my name being yelled, this time by some fellow tri-nuts that were there spectating. It was great to see them and they helped motivate me to finally put the hammer down and run it in. I was able to all-out sprint the last 1/10-mile down the finish chute, catching and passing a couple of guys who were ahead of me, and was pleasantly stunned to see the clock at the finish. It was under seven hours! Anything under seven hours is a gift, and the time on the clock didn't account for the fact that my swim wave started a few minutes later than the official race start time. Wow!

Run: 2:24:40
First half: 1:13:05
Second half: 1:11:35. Another negative split! AND my best time ever for the run in a 70.3 race! How did that happen?

Total time: 6:46:16

I have some thoughts about my unexpected success, but I'll save those for another blog post. This one is already long enough!

Rev3 Williamsburg Half Tri

I violated the "never do an inaugural event" rule, and while there were some hiccups, overall the day was a success. There are always things learned during any race, but inaugural ones can be quite challenging for participants and race directors alike.

The Road Trip

Our drive from Indianapolis was uneventful until we tried to get out of Charlston, WV. We made it two exits past our hotel before being caught in a major traffic jam. There had just been some sort of accident that looked like a simple fender-bender when we finally drove by it almost an hour later. It was a nice morning, though, so we got out and wandered the highway, making friends with the locals who were using their smart phones to find out what was going on. One was originally from L.A., and we laughed at the lack of road rage.

The detour along part of the Blue Ridge Parkway was a nice break from interstates. We took the time to stop and look around, and enjoy the beautiful afternoon.

Pre-Race

This was a two-transition race, which always complicates things. What this means is that you get out of the water and start the bike at one location, then come back to a totally different location to rack the bike and start the run. Logistically, the set-up is a pain. You have to check the bike into T1 (transition 1) the day before the race, then go back to it race morning to put your fluids and nutrition on it, and set up with the helmet/bike shoes/towel/etc. Saturday, we checked our bikes, then spent the rest of the day at Colonial Williamsburg.

Race morning we got to the finish area/T2 and got parked. Paula was doing the Olympic distance tri that was happening simultaneously, and we both got our run stuff set up and ready to go. Then we got in line for the shuttles to T1...and encountered the first "new race" issue: not nearly enough buses. They were allowing both the half and olympic participants to board, along with spectators and family, which would have been great had there been enough buses. (My race started 30 minutes before Paula's.) The longer we stood in line, the higher everyone's stress level got. Transition was supposed to close in less than half an hour, and the line was around the corner and down the block. Finally they moved all of us doing the half to another line and got us on the next couple of buses, then brought everyone else.

As it turned out, Paula and Shirley got there right behind me. I had just finished getting set up with my fluids on the bike, shoes, helmet, and race belt. My race was about to start, and I was relieved to hear they were delaying the start a few minutes, so I had time to hit a port-a-john. Thank goodness. I still haven't mastered the art of peeing while swimming, so waiting wasn't an option.

The Swim

I've done 60+ triathlons, and this was by far the most frustrating swim I have ever experienced.

The swim was in the James River, which is a tidal river. Apparently it can get very squirrely when weather comes through, and we had a rainstorm come through overnight Saturday. The course was a giant triangle, making two right turns around two red buoys. Paula's swim was a smaller triangle inside of mine, with two orange/yellow buoys marking her turns. There were yellow buoys guiding the way to the turns. Seemed clear enough from the shore.

The swim start was in waves, with the pros starting first, then younger folks, then older folks. I watched the first few waves start, and immediately was confused. People were WALKING most of the way to the first yellow buoy. Whaaaaa? A few were dolphin-diving, trying to make some headway, but the vast majority were walking. Very odd. My wave started, and a few people tried to swim/dolphin dive, but there were too many people walking to get any swimming space. I trudged out along with the rest of them.

The swim was ok for the first two or three yellow buoys, but we clearly were getting pushed around. I couldn't really see the red buoy, but was in a crowd of swimmers, so was hopeful some of them could see it. However, as we approached the orange/yellow buoy for the Olympic turn, it became clear that we were off course. Um, ok, now to figure out where we were supposed to be. A kayaker came through and pointed out the red buoy, waaaaaaay over there, about 90 degrees from our swim direction. Oh great. I couldn't figure out how the yellow buoys were in any way guiding people over there...maybe some had drifted? I don't know. There were probably at least 50 of us in that group. Sigh. Ok, I'll start heading out to the red buoy.

Only I didn't get anywhere. I swam and swam and swam, and every time I looked up, that damned orange/yellow buoy was the same distance off my shoulder. WTF. I was hit with a serious bout of frustration, and struggled to shake it off. A woman swam over to a nearby kayak and appeared to be quitting (she took off her swim cap and goggles and hung on). That's when I made the conscious decision to cut the course and simply try to get back to the line of swimmers that were on course. Apparently that's what most of us did, judging by the number of violet-colored swim caps I saw right there with me.

I swam for what felt like forever, finally spotted the second red buoy, and thought perhaps this hell was almost over. I made decent, if slow, progress, but at least I wasn't looking at that effing orange buoy anymore. I felt another intense wave of frustration, as I realized how pitifully slow my progress really was, then got pissed, then decided, "Oh what the hell, this'll be good endurance practice for Ironman. And besides, I paid $250 for this punishment, and drove 750 miles to get here. And I really want to ride my new bike. Suck it up."

Swam and swam and swam and...finally made it within maybe 50 yards of the second red buoy, then totally stalled out. Wasn't getting anywhere. After another few minutes of swimming, I confirmed this by looking at my Garmin. Finally, I checked the distance again, and had gone .84 miles. Hmmm. Ok. If I cut the course again (along with lots of fellow swimmers), I'll end up doing the full 1.2 miles anyway, and I'll get out of here sometime before noon. I've never ever cut a course before, but this time it really had become a matter of survival. The fact that not one of the kayakers was trying to herd us back on course was significant. Clearly the swim had devolved into such a cluster that they really just wanted people out of the water.

Imagine my surprise when I finally had the finish in sight, still a good 100 yards away, and I saw the backsides of people standing! How odd. Normally you swim until your hands are brushing the bottom, as that is much faster than walking in waist-deep water. Wow. Looks like everyone else was as beat up and tired of swimming as I was! Ok, I'll start walking too. It gave me time to pull the wetsuit down to my waist, and I can pee while walking, just not while swimming. Hooray! I joined the mass of walking, peeing swimmers, and happily made my way to shore.

Paula's swim started 30 minutes after mine, so I expected her to finish maybe 15 minutes after I did. I was concerned about her the entire swim, because these were unusually horrid conditions, and she's not used to that kind of challenge. Shirley met me at the shore, and I mentioned to her that I was worried. It was a quarter of a mile to transition, and once again it was clear this had been a tough one, not part of my imagination. Ordinarily in a race, people are running to get to their bikes and get out on the road. Not this time. Almost no one was bothering to run; they were walking and taking their time. One woman said, "I've done an Ironman, and that was the hardest thing I've ever done." Another normally swam that distance in 36 minutes, yet here she was getting out of the water with me after an hour and four minutes. Yikes. I normally take about 45 minutes.

Swim time: 1:04:14 [15-20 minutes slower than usual]

T1

Just as I was about to leave on the bike, Paula came up and told me she had been pulled. She was in good company. There were two people with her on the boat who had completed multiple Ironmans, and they were calling it a day. While disappointed for her, I wasn't surprised (it was THAT bad), and was able to relax, knowing she was ok. [She later told me that between the late start and the currents, people were out there longer than expected - no surprise. However, the ferry was coming, and they were worried people might get pulled under, so they hauled swimmers out of the water until it passed. They were given the option to get back in the water and continue, but most packed it in for the day.] Between the very long trek back to the bike and chatting with Paula to make sure she was ok, I had the world's longest T1 time, over ten minutes. Oh well, really not going to matter when I hit the finish line. Time to enjoy the bike.

The Bike

This was the third time I had ridden my new bike, but I felt comfortable that it would be fine, since I'd done 64 miles on it the previous weekend. Still, I wasn't completely sure how I'd feel in a race situation by mile 56. As it happened, I thoroughly enjoyed the bike course. It was beautiful, green, mostly good roads, some nice winding sections, and rollers that were just enough to make it challenging but not particularly hard. While not especially fast, I fell in love with the bike as I was passing people going up hills...and wasn't exhausting myself. Since the day had already started with a slow swim and slow transition, I decided to experiment and see how I felt if I didn't stop until the last aid station at mile 38. At that point I stopped long enough to stand up, take some water, and transfer the last of my protein/carb drink to the front bottle on the bike, where it's easy to access. Felt ok, but probably should stop and stand up every 20 miles or so. I think I wouldn't slow down quite as much near the end and would make up for any rest time.

The best part of the bike was around mile 50, when I passed some younger guy (wearing an uber-expensive aero helmet and using expensive wheels), going up a hill. And didn't see him again. Hehehe all that expensive gear didn't prevent him from being chicked by someone close to 20 years older. That made the last six miles fly by. Happily got off the bike after 56 miles, and left for the run.

Bike time: 3:26:24 [about the same as usual, maybe +10 minutes]

The Run

Ah, the joy of being a BOP-er (back of the packer)...start the run in the heat of the day. Nothing new there, I'm used to that. The run was hillier than advertised, but was fine. Thankfully there weren't too many stretches without shade, and the support was phenomenal. Wet sponges at some stations, ice and gels at most, and very supportive and enthusiastic volunteers at all of them. It was a two-loop course that made it easy to find your peeps near the end, and it was nice to see Paula and Shirley as I came through both times. I stopped and chatted with Paula for a minute, making sure she was ok with how her day had ended. She was disappointed but ok, so I could relax again for the second loop. It was very spectator-friendly, and the finish was noisy and supportive. I did my usual walk/trudge combo, and was definitely slower due to the heat, but still managed to pass quite a few people along the way. One woman and I kept leap-frogging each other and laughing about it. I knew I liked her when she passed me at an aid station around mile 12, shook her head, and said, "Oh holy shit!", referring to the heat. My sentiments exactly.

Paula joined me at the entrance to the finisher chute, and ran with me to the finish. Was handed a nice cold wet towel and an enormous medal. What a nice way to finish a long hot day!

Run time: 2:38:37 [~10 minutes slower than usual]

Total race time: 7:22:18 [anything under 7:00 is a gift, so not bad]

Post-Race

Got cleaned up, had a lamb burger and a beer, then relaxed for a couple of hours. We did an evening "ghost walk" at Colonial Williamsburg that night and thoroughly enjoyed it. Monday we walked ourselves silly at Busch Gardens, and managed to ride almost every coaster there before the heat/stomachs made us stop. This was an excellent venue for a destination race, and I truly hope they can get the swim issues worked out. This has the potential to be a truly kick-butt event.

The Race That Almost Wasn't, Toughman Indiana 2013

My first half-iron of the season happened to fall the day after a massive line of tornadoes stormed across Oklahoma and Missouri. This same system was expected to hit Indiana right about race start-time. Driving to the race site that day, lightning was visible on the horizon at 5:30am. At 6:15am, radar was still showing a scary red line approaching. The race was due to start at 7am, and it was NOT looking promising. The best anyone was hoping for was that it would become a duathlon, with a short run replacing the swim leg. What most were expecting was complete cancellation.

At 6:30am, after everyone was set up in transition, a ten-minute torrential downpour had many of us thinking we likely weren't going to be doing the race at all. All night, the weather pattern had been torrential rain followed by truly nasty weather, including hail, lightning, and yes, tornadoes. Several of us were beginning to think we really were being stupid for contemplating being outside at all, simply for our own safety's sake.

The rain passed quickly, after leaving large puddles in the transition area, and the sky actually appeared to be...can it be...lighter! The scary dark clouds broke apart and moved away quickly, and it looked like it was just going to be a typical rainy day. The race was on! And we were going to swim!

The swim was in a small reservoir, basically down to one end and back. The water temp was 73, so wetsuit-legal but not numbingly cold. It turned out to be quite pleasant. The really fast people (who actually have a chance at winning this thing) went out in a mass start at 7:00am, then the rest of us lined up to go in one-by-one. It was self-seeding, so I put myself near the back in the "swim like a rock" group. I don't mind being last out of the water -- it means I don't get kicked or punched as much. And besides, someone's gotta be last.

I actually wasn't the last out, but pretty close. Given that I have been following the Happel-hardly-ever-do-a-serious-swim-workout plan, I did ok. I made it about halfway before the bum shoulder started complaining. It was tweaking, and explicitly letting me know that if I continued to reach and didn't remember to keep my elbow high, it would quite likely dislocate. This isn't a fun thing to have happen in water, and has the potential to really slow down the swim. Ok ok, I get it. Shorten the stroke on that side, pay more attention to the elbow. Got it. 1.2 miles in 47 minutes is typical, so I was satisfied with that.

It was easy to find my bike, since there were only three or four bikes left in transition. Took my time, wrung out my socks, and got ready for the next three hours. Was pleased to later find that my T1 time was 3:00. Felt like 5:00. I'll take it!

The bike course was very nice, not nearly has hilly as advertised. There were nice rollers that were just hard enough to make it challenging, but not a suckfest. The course was two loops, and around mile 45 (on the second loop), I discovered that bonus that often awaits us slower competitors: a ferocious headwind. This part of the course had not been windy the first time through, but this time...wow. It really slowed me down, even more than my world's-longest-ever-pee-stop in loop 1 (have you ever peed so long you got bored?). However, I was encouraged by the fact that I was actually able to catch and pass three people in the worst of the headwinds, and just kept plugging along. I finally passed #57 for the last time and managed to finish just slightly ahead of her. (We played leapfrog for the entire bike and run.) Finished the bike in 3:25:08, slower than I had hoped, but feeling strong.

T2 was uneventful but leisurely. Chatted with Paula while I changed (she had finished her sprint tri earlier that day), and headed out for the run. Once again I was surprised that I was only in there for 2:28. A long time, but not bad when you're not paying any particular attention to how fast you're moving! By now the streets had totally dried off, and the sun was starting to peek out. Quite a change from the dire predictions of a few hours earlier.

The run was also a two-loop course, and most of it was quite pretty. I did my usual walk/jog combo, played leapfrog with #57 again until the final pass around mile 10 or 11, and managed to pass quite a few other people...always good for the confidence. Ran through the finish at 2:28:28, a decent time for me even without riding 56 miles first. Total race time was 6:46:17, which is quite good for me. I'm thrilled with anything under 7 hours. This was half-iron number 8-and-a-half (Muncie last year was shortened due to heat), and this was my third time to beat 7 hours -- a successful day!

Won my age group. Helps when I'm the only one in my age group. In the photo above, I'm asking why they gave me an empty pint glass...they forgot the beer.

Nutrition

This was an experiment in nutrition, and it worked.

• Breakfast was a 20g protein bar. I had brought some Greek yogurt/honey, but in the downpour/lightning/are-we-swimming? confusion, I forgot to eat it at the race site. I did eat a banana in the car while we were watching it rain.
• Sucked down a gel after the swim. It was nasty. I think it was Gu Roctane. Yuck.
• On the bike I had two water bottles with Infinit Go Far, a ready-made carb/protein mix that has more protein than the usual race fuel. I drank both bottles, and didn't take anything else at the aid stations.
• Had a gel before leaving on the run, and three more on the course. Took mostly Gatorade and poured the water over my head/shoulders.

Conclusion: I have successfully weaned myself off of being so dependent on the carb fuels, and can do ok even when I screw up and forget to eat something. Good information to know. I remembered the yogurt while I was on the bike. If I had eaten it pre-race, I probably would not have had quite so many gels on the run, but I didn't want to get behind on my fuel and bonk. Better safe than sorry. Overall I felt fine, and didn't feel anything other than the usual tiredness. Had gas in the tank, had a strong finish, felt fine afterwards, absolutely no soreness the next day. Works for me!

Prologue

Sunday we went for a fundraising bike ride, the Junebug Ride. My bike totally self-destructed at mile 15.87, thankfully while I was going fairly slow (~15mph) and on a quiet road with no traffic. I was going up a small incline, tried to shift up, and heard an awful grinding noise. Heard another grinding noise, and was stopped dead, struggling to get my feet free. Paula was in front of me and was completely confused at what she was hearing behind her (there were some choice words in addition to the grinding noises). Was fully prepared to fall over when I finally got one foot free...almost fell over before getting the other free, but managed to remain standing. Turned around to see what the heck was going on and was stunned. The rear derailleur sheared completely off the bike, massively fouled the chain, and jammed itself into my rear wheel, locking it up. It was quite impressive.

I was immediately overwhelmed with gratitude that this hadn't happened a mere 20 miles earlier, during Saturday's race. There were a couple of hills that I really bombed down, probably around 35mph, and if that had happened then, it could have been catastrophic. No helmet in the world would have helped me. I was incredibly fortunate it happened when and where it did.

Dropped the bike off at a local shop, where the mechanics gathered around to ooh and aaah at it. Apparently this happens, but not frequently. While I hadn't snapped any spokes, it did ruin the wheel for anything but for use on a trainer. It may still snap spokes, but at least I won't fall. Since the bike had other issues that I was living with, this was a perfect excuse to give up on it and replace it with a new one. Monday I went for a nice ride on the new one, and am anxious to ride it in a race!

One-Third of the Indiana Trail 50

I hate quitting. It makes me cringe to see "DNF" next to my name. But sometimes things get the better of me, and I have to quit. This time it was the epically bad conditions that proved to be tougher than I was.

The Indiana Trail 50/100 was both a 50- and 100-mile race, consisting of a 16.67-mile loop. Us 50-milers were to do it three times, the 100-milers six times. This was my first attempt at a 50-miler, and was advertised as a fast, relatively easy course. Perfect! My running partner, Jayne, had called several months ago, asking if I would run this with her. It was her first attempt as well. We are really good at pacing each other over longer distances, so this was an ideal way to tackle our first 50. She's good company too, and that really helps the time and miles pass quickly.

The race was on a Saturday. Wednesday, I was still feeling positive and optimistic about it, and was looking forward to finishing my first 50, despite several days' worth of rain. After all, it had been dry for a couple of days, the water was draining, and the race directors were still reporting reasonably decent course conditions. It was forecast to be sunny and cool-ish, with highs in the 40's. Some mud, but that's to be expected, especially in early spring in Indiana. Good conditions for an ultra.

Then Thursday came...with another several inches of rain, bringing the week's total to six inches. Uh oh. This could be an issue. At least it's going to be reasonably nice on Saturday, right?

Friday night we learned that the race directors had been out on the course all day, frantically trying to find detours around the worst of the flooding and filling in the smaller ponds and mud troughs with mulch. They had been doing this all week, after each rain. Their intent was to have a good trail run, not a mud fest. They did everything possible to try to mitigate truly awful conditions.

Saturday morning, we checked out of the motel and walked to our cars at 4:30am...in the middle of a snow storm. On April 20th. Are you serious?? And it was a lovely 33 degrees, with a stiff northerly wind. Got some coffee and oatmeal from McDonalds and headed to the race start, about 45 minutes away. We were both struggling to remain optimistic about completing the entire 50 miles, and acknowledged that we might only complete one 16.67-mile loop. This had definitely deteriorated into a long training run, just to see how far we could go. We were late to the start anyway, and crossed the timing mats at 13:15 after everyone else had already started. Oh well, it's a chip time, so it didn't matter.

Our strategy was to go slower than we thought we really needed to, to conserve energy. The only way to make it such a long distance is to back off from the start, and walk up any hills. We figured we could speed up later if we felt like we had the energy. Besides, we wanted to check out the course.

We both were able to laugh when we hit the first mid-shin-deep large body of water around mile two. Oh joy. Slogged through it, thought, "This isn't as bad as I expected," and continued. We had a break for several miles, and in some spots the trail was actually quite nice. Enjoyed a nice sunrise and were grateful for shelter from the very bitter wind, until we came to a section that was higher up on a hill. Yikes that wind was cold! (I found out later that the wind chill was 20 degrees.) Got to the first aid station around mile 4.3 in 58 minutes, and were pleased with how things were going. The feet had dried out and were happy.

After discussing how far we might get before the fastest runners lapped us, we were shocked to actually catch up to some people. We'd both figured we'd be mostly alone all day, given our late start and our relatively slow pace. We steadily caught up to and passed folks for the rest of the loop, which helped boost morale (ours, anyway).

Things were tolerable until after mile 9 or so, after the second aid station. Even the mud hadn't been too awful...yet. For the next 5.5 miles we alternated between wading through frigid water, slogging through ankle-deep mud, and bushwhacking around yet more large bodies of water. We had been making good time until we hit a patch of several miles where it simply wasn't possible to run: the mud was sucking my shoes off my heels, the water was muddy and you couldn't see the bottom to know if it was flat or not, and there were thorny branches in the bushwhack detours. At times it was easier to just go through the water than to deal with the mud. As soon as the feet started to dry and warm up, there was another patch of water. Each ice bath made the toes hurt with cold, then they'd warm up after a few steps. The 10-yard long ponds weren't too bad, but the longer ones were downright painful. Got to the third aid station at mile 14, quickly grabbed some fig newtons and a mini-peanut-butter sandwich, and got going again.

Despite all this, we both still felt pretty good at mile 15, and I think we were both entertaining thoughts that we might actually complete this thing. Almost one loop done, two more to go. And we were on pace to finish it in daylight, averaging about 4-4.15 miles an hour. Great!

As we were going up another hill around mile 16, the cold finally caught up to both of us. The legs started feeling like lead, and it wasn't due to lack of food, it was from the cold. Jayne said what I was thinking, "Wonder how many people have already bailed?" Hmmmm. We were exposed to the cold wind again, our feet were wet (and would never be dry again until we finished), and we had to face that mess two more times.

After four hours and 15 minutes, we completed loop one and immediately headed for the aid tent and tried to warm up and decide what to do. We both agreed that we could do one more loop, but I just couldn't wrap my head around doing it twice more. I was able to fool myself that I wasn't really that cold while we were moving, but the instant I stopped, the chill set in. I was still willing to do a second loop until I made the mistake of standing in front of a high-powered heater. That's when I realized exactly how cold I really was. People were dropping out fairly regularly, and I overheard a few 100-mile runners talking about dropping down to the 50.

We debated some more. The first loop had taken us 4:15. We had burned another 30 minutes warming up...we were only going to slow down, not get faster. We agreed that if we could do two loops then we might as well try for the third, and each one would likely take us five hours. Then the medic said, "Well, you know, you lose your bodyheat 25% faster when you're wet." That nailed it. I just couldn't face the thought of being THAT cold for another ten hours. It also hit home when I saw a clearly very experienced 100-mile runner quit after two laps, with no regret.

So both of us are still looking to complete our first 50, preferably in better conditions. Would I try this race again? Absolutely. The weather was more freaky than anyone could have predicted. The race directors and the volunteers did everything they could to make it tolerable. They had to be miserable standing around in the cold waiting for runners to come through, but were always pleasant, smiling, and helpful. The course was beautiful, and on a normal April 20th would have been quite pleasant.

Some numbers:

• 77/90 50-mile finishers (unknown how many are 100-milers that dropped down to the 50)
• 57/152 100-mile finishers
• Air temp: 33
• Wind chill: 20
• Water: lots of it, deep, very cold
• Snow: yes
• Our time to complete 16.67 miles: 4 hours 15 minutes

Not Ready (or Interested) in Crossfit?

Do the warmup instead. It'll get your heart pumping and only takes 10 minutes or so.

• 50x mountain climbers
• 25x jumping jacks
• 10x burpees
• high knee hugs
• heel to butt
• inverted toe touch
• world's greatest
• 5x walkouts
• figure 4's
• side lunge pivot
• straight leg march
• sprint/back pedal

Workout area is 30 yards long. Do each drill half the distance, then trot the remaining 15 yards (except for the mountain climbers, jumping jacks, and burpees, of course).

mountain climbers	Start in plank position, with one foot up by hands. Switch feet by "running" in plank position.
burpees	Bend over and put hands on floor in front of feet. Kick feet back to plank position. Do a pushup. Kick feet back up to hands and stand.
high knee hugs	Bring knee up to chest and hug it, then release to take a step.
heel to butt	Jog and bring heel up high behind you, trying to touch your butt with your foot.
inverted toe touch	Stand on one leg. Pivot other leg straight back and bend to touch toes with opposite arm.
world's greatest	Combo move. High knee hug into a forward lunge, reach opposite hand to floor, extend other hand to ceiling. Stand up and repeat with other leg.
walkouts	Bend down and place hands on floor in front of toes. Walk hands out into plank position, do a pushup, then walk feet up to meet hands.
figure 4's	Standing on one leg, bring other foot up to cross your knee. With arms extended in front of you, do a partial squat with leg bent over the standing leg.
side lunge pivot	Do a side lunge. While still in the lunge, pivot to face forward and reach for ceiling. Stand up, take a step, repeat.
straight leg march	Walk bringing straight leg up to chest height, touch toes with opposite hand, then bring leg down and take a step.
sprint/back pedal	Sprint 30 yards, return running backwards.