I had not done an Ironman or run a marathon since 2010, and while I would generally not advise (in a coaching capacity) someone to run a marathon in training for an Ironman, in some cases it makes sense, and I would say that would be when you are in your late 50's, as I now am. Or at least I feel like I was missing some leg toughness that you can only get by subjecting yourself to that either through an open marathon or Ironman. In 2010, I did Goofy Challenge in preparation for Ultraman Canada, and the 3 prior years I did an IM plus a NothingMan, so this hiatus left me lacking in leg strength.
Regardless, I had no clue how my body would be working for this race, with all the gyrations I'd been through with my thyroid. I have never felt so out of touch with what/how much fuel my body needs as I have for the last 15 or so months. I had had all that dialed in with a fair degree of precision. Not that I tracked everything I ate and drank, as I haven't done that for years, but being able to tell at the end of the day whether I had taken in enough calories to support training. Then I had that little episode with sodium which led me to believe that not only was my body misbehaving calorie-wise, but in many other aspects as well. So, as should always be the case for an Ironman, goal #1 was to just finish.
One of the things that guides me in feeding myself on a daily basis as well as during a race is the degree to which I am experiencing hunger, specifically mechanical and chemical hunger (read this excellent piece which describes the types of hunger). Needless to say, I have a pretty good amount of control over aesthetic hunger (except for beer and candy LOL), which is where I think most people get into trouble in their diets. From fall 2012 through even now as I sit here writing this, I haven't felt that I've been dialed into mechanical and chemical hunger feelings as much as in the past. Perhaps it is just being out of practice, but I honestly think it has to do with my thyroid hoops. That is the one thing I am looking forward to getting "fixed," because when you are trying to do something as metabolically demanding as long course triathlon training, it's pretty much priority #1. In fact, I would say that when athletes err on the calorie intake side, it's because they have never really been in touch with mechanical and chemical hunger as much as they should be.
Sure, I practiced all my sports nutrition as best I could, only because that is job #1--take in Ultrafuel for training sessions of 4+ hours, use Infinit for any 3+ hours otherwise Gatorade, drink Endurox every day after the first workout on a day when training 1.5+ hours (pretty much daily). So that is what comprised my sports nutrition plan, and that takes up quite a bit of calories. I did not have to think about it--I just did it--because I know that is the baseline. Then "regular food" fills in for the rest--to make up for whatever calories I'd burned plus what I need on a daily basis just to exist. But I never felt like I knew whether either the sports nutrition or regular food was enough, too much, or whatever.
Now, you might say that I would know depending on whether I was losing, maintaining or gaining weight. I went through a number of weight fluctuations during the year, too, sometimes seemingly justified, other times puzzling. That's the thing with a wacky thyroid (and wacky drugs, in my case!)--you are constantly experimenting.
Well enough on that. Let's just say that all during the race, I never had the sense of I have it right or not, could not sense fullness or full hydration or lack of it or a need for more or less calories. It fucked with my head and I knew it would fuck with my body, and that played a big part in my inability to run, I think.
So, anyway, I did enjoy the race! The race was really well run with my only complaint being not enough porta-potties on the run course. Other than that, it was superbly run. Young children manned most of the aid stations, and they were so enthusiastic and helpful it was crazy. And almost all of them looked to be in good physical condition--I can't recall any that weren't on the thin side. Many of them knew English, but a lot of my Spanish came back to me while I was down there, so whenever possible, I tried to go with their native tongue.
Race morning: I had set my alarm for 3:15, and had told my compadres, Brad (the young man I coached to a 1+ hour PR!) and his mother in law, Melinda (who is in my age group and also racing) that I was NOT GOING TO WAKE THEM UP. But we'd agreed that we would leave for the start at 4:45, so a little after 3:30, I began knocking on bedroom doors, and probably said WAKE THE FUCK UP!
It's annoying that I have to take the thyroid meds and then wait 1/2 hour to eat anything, although I was used to it during training. On a race morning, it sucks, because you want to start getting calories down, and it was like I was pacing waiting for 30 minutes to pass, but it did, and I had my usual Power Bar Triple Threat, then at 4AM I drank 400 calories of Ultrafuel. I felt full-ish, and had a bottle of Gatorade to sip on until the start. I tried to be social and not flip out, but the truth was that I was nervous as could be, only because I felt like I was stepping into the great abyss. You'd think that with all the races and such I've done that I wouldn't feel like that, but I just didn't have a sense of this going one way or the other.
Let me back up a few days. On the day we arrived (except for Morgan, Brad's wife, who arrived on Thursday), Wednesday, the winds were kicked up pretty good, making for some challenging surf conditions. No small craft were allowed to leave the harbors until Saturday.
The Three Amigos went for a :30 run on Thursday morning, since we couldn't pick up our bikes until later that day. Along the way, we saw 4 penises spray painted on the sidewalk alongside the ocean--2 were pointing north, and 2 were pointing east. We don't know the significance of them, but they certainly made us laugh!
By the time we shlepped around Thursday (we didn't yet have our fabulous cat piss jeep) and collected our bikes, I didn't ride that day, but Brad and Melinda did get in a short ride. Our condo was about 1.5 miles from the expo/bike to run transition, and maybe 6 from the swim start. We all walked a lot, but Brad won the prize for walking that day. He tried to secure a rental car on Thursday, but he ended up walking all the way to the Cozumel airport to pick up Morgan and ended up with no car. I secretly think his 6+ mile walk was the reason he did so well in the race ;)
Brad and I did another :30 run on Friday morning, once again laughing about the sidewalk penises, and the Three Amigos went for a 1 hour-ish ride after that. We had an amazing tail wind going south and then a good headwind back north to our condo. Here's the view from our condo:
The winds were still really hefty on Friday, and at the race meeting the officials (Michael Lovato and I can't remember the other guy's name--some Aussie) were confident they would die down and we would still have a swim on Sunday, but it sure as hell didn't look good on Friday.
We all got tired of walking so much so on Friday we also became hell bent on getting a car. We (or I should say Brad as he acted as the negotiator) tried several different places, but it was tough with all the cruise ship traffic and it seemed we might be out of luck. Finally, though, this guy Victor guaranteed we'd have one at 5PM. We placed bets on whether it would actually materialize, and were pleasantly surprised when there was actually a vehicle waiting for us not even a block from our condo! It was a deep green jeep of some sort with many charms--a little string to help close the driver's door, missing snaps and such to secure the "hood," and the whole thing smelled like cat piss. Oh well, at least we had something!
We were able to drive down to the pasta dinner, where we met up with Brad's parents, Darcy and Jim, and his sister, Caitlin. It was like a big family reunion, even for me, since I feel like I'm part of their family now. The dinner itself was nothing to write home about (and there was no dessert, WTF?), and while I'd expected some sort of local dancing extravaganza like they'd done in Brazil, there was just a video about a physically challenged athlete, which was still cool. We said our goodbyes, knowing we'd meet up with the rest of the family again soon enough.
Saturday morning all we'd planned was to check in our bikes. They'd told us at the pre-race meeting that we could drop our T2 bags at the same place, and then the race people would transport them to T2, but when we got there, we were told that no, we had to take our T2 bags there ourselves. Whatever, we were getting used to "Mexican time" pretty well by now. At least we had a car, and Morgan met us after we dropped our bikes, then we made a trip to drop our T2 bags, and then we decided to go for a drive to see the other side of the island, aka the rest of the bike course.
Here we are somewhere in our fabulous jeep contraption:
I was glad I got in the water, and this lessened my jitters about the open water swim with currents. We went and had dinner just a short walk from our condo at the same place we'd gone on Thursday night. Here's what we had on Thursday:
I had the fish sandwich on Saturday. It was huge. I felt like I got in enough calories and was full, but in retrospect, maybe not. Who knows? We talked to some folks at the next table while there. 2 guys were doing their first IMs, and were self-proclaimed "bike gods." One guy predicted a 9:35 finish (he came in at 10:3x, still pretty good), and the other was going to blast the bike course and then walk the marathon because he had a bum ankle. He put on this skinsuit for the ride that looks like a woman wearing a bikini. I saw it and got a kick out of it. Turns out Brad beat his bike split (way to go!), and the dude gave up on the marathon because he just didn't see the point in continuing. I think it was because he didn't meet his objective of crushing the bike course.
I failed to check my email that night which would have told me that they were shortening the swim course and making it point to point all with the current, but we found out right away on race morning, as they kept announcing it over and over again. This, of course, made me feel even better about the swim, but part of me was disappointed in not getting the full challenge of the course. I heard several repeaters remark that in normal years, IMCOZ is the most challenging swim of all the IM races, and I can believe it.
The swim course was going to be 3.1k, or 1.9 miles, in a bracket shape, and they bused us just a ways north to get to the start. The Three Amigos should have been the last people let onto the bus we took, but then 2 more guys snuck in, one of them saying they HAD to get on the bus. I turned and said, "What, are you pros?" Yep. One of them was Peter Kotland, and it took a few minutes for my brain to kick in and recall that I'd met him at IMFL in 2008, when he was training for Ultraman Hawaii and pulled out after the 1/2 marathon. Here we are back then:
Peter said he remembered this, but who really knows? I told him that I went on to do Ultraman Canada, and I had a lot of fun chatting with him, and I think some people around me were like WTF she knows this pro dude.
We got off the buses and walked in our bare feet down to the swim start area. It was a tiny little bay, and I couldn't imagine how all 2800 or however many there were of us, would fit in there. I hope eventually there are pics posted from that, because it was really cool! I chatted up a Canadian guy, and we waded out to near the start line and just floated, talked, and treaded water. He asked me how long I thought my swim would take, and I pulled 1 hour out my ass. Turns out I was dead on! Anyway, we'd watched the pros start, and then we were waiting our turn, when my watch said it was nearly 7AM and somehow all those other bodies got into the water, and then I don't remember hearing a cannon or anything, but it looked like people were going, so I just started swimming.
The water temperature was awesome--maybe 80--and clear as shit. Also very salty, but that didn't bother me. I just swam and swam and swam. Most of the athletes were quite polite--only one guy grabbed the middle of my calf a few times and the last time I shook him off and stopped and said, "GET THE FUCK OFF ME!" Everyone else was good. I saw divers on the bottom waving up at us, and that was cool. Some fish, but I really wasn't looking at fish. Somehow I could just tell how far we'd gone, and when it had been about an hour, and I looked up, and we were making the turn for shore!
I'd heard it could be tough to swim back in, but there was such a pull from the hundreds of people around me it was no big deal. I got to the stairs that went into the water about shoulder high (for me, anyway), and grabbed on and waited a few seconds to get my slot up onto them and I was out. I looked at my watch, and 1 hour on the nose! I was good with that, as I am the world's crappiest swimmer. Still, with all the people getting out with me, I couldn't have done that badly. Here I am coming out:
I got changed fairly quickly and we had to take our T1 bags with us to our bikes and leave them there. That turned out to be a great idea, as there really wasn't room near the tents to collect them, and that way, the volunteers could grab them in numerical order for transport down to the finish.
I got on the bike all soaked with salt water, and of course, I wanted fresh water, but I needed to wait. I just started pedaling, and there were so many bikes around me, but I tried to stay to the right. There was an aid station quickly enough so I could grab a water bottle, and right away, I was like, I want to keep one of these! I managed to keep 2 of them, and gave one to Melinda, since she hadn't saved any.
Anyway, I'm pedaling and have a slight tailwind and life is good until we make the turn around Punta Sur (South Point) and get on the east side of the island. Right away the winds were kicked up we had a good headwind and there is also a slight elevation gain over there, just enough that combined with the headwind makes you go hmmm...maybe I should dial back a little. So I just went into my small chainring and spun, even letting my watts dip lower than I might otherwise, so all was good.
I got caught up in a drafting pack and was like WTF none of us are winning anything and was conflicted as to what to do. I almost needed to come to a full stop to let them pass, but it didn't take very long for me to just kind of shut things down and let them go by. I saw a number of blatant drafters--people wearing the same kit riding side by side ("drafting buddies") and groups of 3-10. I didn't get pissed about it, since none of us were going to be winning the race. There were penalty tents, and there was always at least one person in there. It was tough to distinguish a race official from a bike support guy, as everyone was on scooters, so you just had to be careful, and I was. Still, there were some times along this stretch where I would just go ahead and pass the person in front of me as they were struggling.
We made 3 loops around the island, and on each pass, the wind got worse on the east side. Oh well, it was the same for everyone. I did not pay attention to my speed, and just rode the appropriate effort/watts for the conditions. I came to refer to all the various points jutting out into the ocean on the east side as Punta Fuck-o. Every time I'd see one, I'd say in my head, "Yay, we're at Punta Fuck-o!" You have to find a way to make the ride festive, as it's otherwise just grinding away on the pedals. It got hotter on each lap, too, but I wasn't sure if I was guzzling water or what. I was on top of my Infinit consumption, and never felt hungry, but that is not normal. So either I need less calories than I think or my sense of hunger is fucked up. I'll take fucked up for $400, Alex.
Here I am coming back into town, I think this was the last lap. I always try to smile for the spectators and photogs no matter how crappy I feel:
Anyway, on each loop when we turned off the Punta Fuck-o road to head west back into town, it was cool because locals had line the road and were cheering their heads off for us! There was an aid station in this stretch that I chose for my 3 potty stops, one per loop. Of course the porta-potty was disgusting, but that's what happens in an IM. All I know is that on that last lap I was plenty ready to be done biking.
When I dismounted my bike, I could feel that my legs felt like someone had been pummeling them with a hammer. I have no idea whether I was dehydrated (probably to an extent), out of shape (probably to an extent) or I had just forgotten how bad this feels. I am going to say (a) and (b). I never felt like I was riding too hard, and my watts bear this out. They were pitifully low. Also, I ended up with 117 miles on the bike computer. Now some people say it was 113, others 114, but I did not think my computer was off. At any rate, the bike was long, and it more than made up for the shortened swim!
I did not change clothes, but I did change socks, and was glad I did. I didn't pee on myself on the bike, but it was still nice to change into fresh socks. My feet had felt like they were on fire on the bike for the last lap, and others commented the same thing, but I was glad that it was BOTH FEET for me, since I'd had trouble with my right foot on and off during training. I put on my run hat and sunglasses. I already had the number belt on since we had to wear it on the bike, so sadly, I wasn't able to wear my streamers. I'd wanted to, as it's been a tradition, but unlike some of the other recent IM races, we were required to wear the bib on the bike. My bike time was something like 6:44, which was slow for me, so maybe I am just slow now or maybe I paced right, or maybe I just suck.
In starting to run, I couldn't believe how trashed my quads were, more so than any other IM I've ever done. I still chalk this up to having taken a break from IM and marathons, and will never do that again! I know part of it was the constant pedaling on the bike, but still, I'd done plenty of that in training. Oh well, gotta do whatever I can now.
I saw Brad pretty early on as I started the run and he looked great. One of my secret goals for this race was for him to have the race he deserved, regardless of how I did, and that goal came to pass. I couldn't even hold 11:30 pace out of the gate, and I knew this "run" would be a struggle for me. The entire time, I just couldn't tell if I was on top of or behind on calories or hydration. In retrospect, while I liked the compression shorts I wore, I may never do that again, since I like having my belly free to roam and distend, which I think is helpful for sensing whether I need calories or water. I like the compression on my legs, but not on my belly, and even though it's less there, I think it might be too much for racing conditions. So I will do something different for my next IM. Also, it feels really good to fully change in T2, so I will go back to that mode again.
I was only able to run with Brad for a few blocks, and then I let him go. I felt good in knowing that he seemed to be on track for a very good race, and now I just needed to suck it up as best I could and get this thing done.
I forgot to mention that we did get rained on on the bike, and my bike was sprayed with sand and shit, so when I get it back I will need to clean it up in the house! I had no sense of my body temperature, and it wasn't until the third lap of the run that I decided to put ice down my top and what the fuck do you know, I was OVERHEATED because the ice felt great! So fucked up thermoregulation and sensing and calorie/hydration miscalculations. Oh well! Still, I tried not to revert to complete walking, and I ended up with a "run" split less than my bike split, so oh well, I'll take it. Here I am on the run looking WAY better than I felt:
My legs felt so rotten I couldn't even pick it up as I approached the finish line. Trust me, I tried! But then as I got close to it I saw they had put a ramp there, and I was like WTF??? You can see me saying this:
If you made it this far, congratulations! You just won nothing!
