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SRRC Race Reports

Eagleman Iron Man 70.3 Triathlon , Columbia, MD —Sunday, June 14, 2009
by Scott Smith

This was my “A” race, and I had put forth major training efforts all season long leading up to this day. I wasn’t sure in January where the training would lead me. I followed the plan to the letter and kept seeing dramatic results. As race week approached my calculations of potential times on scraps of paper increased, as well as clicks to weather.com. Eagleman is notorious for wild weather, rough water, high winds, and heat pop up any time. The forecast called for partly sunny in the low 80s— ideal. Bike racking is done Saturday, so covering it with a tarp and bungee cords to tie it down was a good call since it rained that night. I worried about wind, though, because I had left my bib, helmet, chip, and shoes.

Race day was a beautiful overcast morning—no wind and cool. It was a long walk to the transition area from the road, so I was glad I had a large hiking backpack/daypack to carry gear. The grass was wet, so I unclipped my bike shoes and covered the clips with tape to prevent mud from getting in them. (I planned to run in shoes rather than socks to the bike mount to keep socks from getting soaked, a waste of effort I concluded. Feet get wet anyway, so next time I'll just run in the socks.) After setting up my gear, I took a nice warm-up run, followed by panic as I heard announcements about my wave queuing up. Shortly after, I heard the horn notifying us that the first wave had left! My wave was to start at 7:00am, and I wondered, "Did they go early?" I scrambled with the Pam and wetsuit, dashed to the water, but my wave was just walking to the beach. What a relief!. It would’ve thrown the entire day out of sync had I missed the start!

The water was mildly warm as I moved to the front of the start area, trying to figure out the buoy layout. The start was a flurry of arms and feet and kicking and climbing over other swimmers while other swimmers climbed over me. Getting to the first buoy was a lot of work. I wore clear goggles to make seeing buoys easier. I swam stroke for stroke with somebody for a while and think I got a jelly fish tentacle on the face a couple of times. (I suspected this because there was some burning going on). Add one kick in the face, too. Visibility was less than an arm’s length. After the first turn, I got into a slight groove, but it sure seemed like a long swim to the next turn. After that one there was another turn. Ugh. I did some breaststrokes along the way, and toward the end was I counting my strokes, 19 for 25 yards.

Out of the water and ready to ride . . .

Coming out of the water I was tired, and my heart was pumping a lot harder than I wanted. I hurried to take off wetsuit, it took a lot longer than usual. I was in a rush and not thinking clearly. I put sweatbands on my ankles to try to prevent major drippage; my socks tend to get soaked on the run. Running my bike out I my bib fell. I had forgotten to put it on, so I dropped the bike to get it, then hustled out, pulled the tape off of my cleats, and leapt onto the bike. My heart rate was way too high, so I stayed in easy gears to get it back down. It took almost 3 miles for me to stabilize, time that I knew was crucial to my plan. The swim, at 31minutes, a long transition, and an in-race recovery had all gotten me off to a slow start.

I had committed to staying consistent and in my zone and to not watching my speed . I finally found my groove five miles into the ride and got with a couple of guys at about the same pace. We broke the rules once and rode side by side to chat. It was flat, flat, flat the entire way, making for a steady pace and heart rate. Every now and then I’d sneak a look at my speed, and average, and after 10 miles I was up over 22mph, but my average remained below 20 thanks to having to cool down at the beginning. The wave ahead was the 50+ group, and it was fun to see them all pushing hard, and I encouraged them as I passed .

I eventually got my average up over 22mph, but then along the backside two things worked against me. First, we were bunched together, which creates drafting penalty problems. I was near the back of a large group when I heard the purr of a motorcycle, so I broke out of my spot to start passing to avoid a penalty. I alerted everyone along the way of the race official, and pulled in safely at the head of the pack, with plenty of distance behind another guy. Soon after, another guy passed, and I heard the official approaching, too. He pulled in barely in front of me; fearing the official was writing my number down for a penalty, I looked at him and raised my hand as if “did you see that” to the guy who landed on my front wheel. The official proceeded to converse with the biker, who slowed down to talk, so we all had to slow down; and they did not penalize anyone, but time was lost.

Free of the bike, it's time to run . . .

We picked it up again, almost pace lining at a good rate, the same guy dropping in repeatedly to various people, even after the warning; I yelled at the guy, and increased my heart rate—bad use of energy. Then the wind picked up. It was going to be either speed or heart rate, and I chose to maintain the latter. I knew anything over a 21mph average would give me time on the run to break 5hrs, so I didn’t want to risk overexerting myself here. Eight miles from the end, the leaders of the wave behind me caught up and passed me, but a straggler from the pack rode up beside me but did not pass. Again fearing penalty, I passed the entire pack, settled in at the lead, and then they took off in unison and pace lined past me. In training I had done several short speed bursts in the middle of rides, and I had already done several in this race and knew that doing this too often would waste energy. There was no sense in me trying to keep up with that group! I kept my pace nice and steady, dropping into easier gears to flush out my legs as the final mile approached. I moved my inhaler and chews into my suit pockets. Just as I had practiced, I loosened my shoes on the final half-mile, then pulled my foot half-way out, and braked to an abrupt stop at the dismount line for a perfect shift into T2.

I dashed to the rack, quickly seeing the NCSU hat rather than looking for a number. My shoes were on quickly. I forgot to take off my sunglasses, so I ran back to toss them on my wetsuit and tarp. The earpiece had come partially undone so I had not worn it on the bike, and I don’t like to wear it on race day runs—more weight and fidgety distractions. Out of T2 I saw two good spectator friends who were shocked to see me so early, ahead of several friends who are lightening fast, but in waves behind me, and hot on the trail.

I couldn’t tell my pac. It felt too fast, so I slowed, then tried to slow some more. Before mile one, a really fast friend passed me in long stride. We were in the same wave, and he would finish 8 minutes ahead of me. I finished the first mile in, 7:58, though my target was 8:45—way too fast. My friend Shandra Richardson passed me and went on to win her age group. I tried to slow down, but mile two was faster. I felt great, as you always do for the first three miles, so I kept trying to slow, because I had learned that 15 seconds too fast early translates to 30 seconds too slow at the end. I finally settled into a couple of 8+ minute miles, and checking my heart rate and time, I knew I was going to be close to beating 5:00. The pro women came by and I cheered them on. I grabbed water at every aid station and ran through, asking if anybody had a RedBull and Vodka for me. The ice was good and chewable, and I stored cups of it in my suit pockets; I could feel it on my side, and the water trickling down was cool. One of Fenty’s friends passed me in full stride, and later another, whom I recognized from Lake Anna. It turned out that the DC mayor didn’t race this year.

After the turn-around, I missed the Gatorade, then the water, so I settled for a cup of ice, which I then discarded in favor of a snow-cone. Yum! Crushed ice and water, it was a nice treat to pick me up as I hit mile seven—time to check my time and pick up the pace for the home stretch: 8 minute miles to close out and break 5. I began to notice a burn on my heel, and a scrunch in my shoe. I was getting a blister. (Was my sock not pulled up?) The sun had come out, and the temperature was rising. I wondered if I had enough in me. I figured that if I could stay on pace until mile 11 or 12, I could run on emotions to the finish.

Mile eight—7:40—too fast. I didn’t want to burn out early, so I pulled back slightly, running with a woman at the same pace. Mile nine passed in 7:58. Into mile 10— checking the watch, checking the watch . . . mile marker must be approaching. I passed 8:00 and no mile marker in sight! I kept the pace, and a minute or so later decided that I missed it—maybe that water station? Now I just had to trust my pace to be steady at eight minutes. My arm went numb. Fortunately I had asked an elite (Olympic hopeful) runner about this phenomenon, and she said it is normal and okay. Tthe body can get to a point where oxygen is limited and it stops sending to extremities first. I just ignored it. Mile 11 came up—15:58 between the two, so I was still on target. At 4:42 into the race, I had 18 minutes to break 5 hours, That would be two nine-minute miles! Be cool. Be smart. Don’t cramp. Don’t stop. Stay steady. Shandra’s husband Rob finally caught me. I wondered if I could fend him off. (He won his age group at Lake Placid last year). There was a house party pumping music, I had danced a little on the way out, and on the way back asked for a cold beer, but nobody could get one to me, and I didn’t have time to stop. I thought back to training and track workouts, and my heart rate was approaching the upper limits at just the right time. Mile 12 was a comfortable 8:04. I saw the signs my kids had made: “Slow and Steady” and “Finish Strong”.

Plan the race; race the plan. Celebrating a personal record . . .

Last one best one—7:28—and then I coasted for the final tenth of a mile with time to spare. There were chairs beyond the finish line for a recovery drink, and they had brought a hose with a strong spray and cold water as well as and a massage- and stretch-tent. The post race food was good—rice and beans as well as the regular pasta and cookies, all made better by being able sit in the stands and cheer others finish at what had been my PR until today.

All the hard work “Paid Off”, which is funny because it didn’t “pay” anything. It cost a lot of time and effort, but it was such a pleasure to give my absolute best—which this was—and to see the tangible results. I looked over the splits on my watch, studying them, my times, my heart rate, and my bike speed. I did the entire race almost exactly as I had scripted it. I have a handful of second guesses about what I did, but it was as close to a perfect race as I could have asked for.

June 2009

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