A Tale of Two Tri’s – Part One

Happy finishers

Ironman Tremlant 70.3 – My First Tri

Where: Mont Tremblant, Quebec
Date: June 26, 2016
Swim (1.9k): 43:03 (2:16/100m)
Bike (90k): 2:54:41 (30.9 kmh)
Run (21.1k): 1:36:21 (4:34/km)
Transition: 12:02
Total time: 5:26:07

INTRODUCTION

My first adventure in Tri racing started back in the fall of 2015 with a sign-up cheered on by many encouraged friends, but especially my wife Melissa. What fresh kind of hell had I got myself into? Something new. A break from years of continual running and never ending training/injury cycles. I convinced myself this would be a good thing, not to mention the respect and cred earned from my tri pals.

Before my odyssey commenced I swam for self-preservation. Maybe a few laps in my backyard, mainly under water from end to end. The main point is I really didn’t swim much on top of the water. At least I could hold my breath.

I own a good race bike, barely ridden and never raced. I spent my teenaged years biking everywhere along Hamilton’s escarpment, searching for speed blasting down whatever steep I could find. Fearless I am still.

Of course there is the run. Got that part dialed in, right? We shall see.

I could rehash all I did to prepare. Rather, if you are interested in that, please read this report. I will summarize by saying I have never trained so much, nor felt like felt like I could have done so much more.

THE SWIM

My goal was to make 1.9 km in 47:30 or less (2:30/100m). Yes, I had to set the bar that low.

Watching my future wife walk down the aisle to me. Attending the birth of my first child. These are moments you remember for the rest of life, because as nervous as they may first be, they become very joyful memories.

The swim start at Tremblant was equally nerve-wracking. And also frightening. I stood at the very back of my wave and walked into the water while others ran. I could not believe how far away the first buoy was, and many more buoys followed the first out into the middle of the lake. I have never in my life swam out so far that I couldn’t see the bottom.

The bottom disappeared all too quickly. Panic tried to set in. I distracted myself by watching the fellow beside me. I became amused by some others. Could there actually be worse swimmers? Swimmers with seemingly no sense of coordination were passing by. Ugly kicks and strokes be damned, they were getting it done!

Ok, focus on that dude! Soon enough, we were stroke for stroke. The buoys floated past. The next wave of women caught up and swam over us with no mercy or regard. I started to kick randomly to protect my space. And I was pissed off. I didn’t know what I would do if another person swam over me or cut me off. Probably grab onto the nearest kayak, cry and call it a day.

Then I swam right into someone just floating in the water, blocking the way. I pulled my head up to give her an earful. But it was one of the safety rafts placed along the outer edge of the course. I laughed. I lightened up. Now I could see the swim exit in the distance; course corrections were needed! Off I went with new conviction, pulling, pulling, pulling. The words of my masters swim coach Patricia rang in my ears: “Reach! That isn’t reaching! Longer!” At last I stood up out of the water, terra firma under foot, and felt the joy. I was going to finish this race!

Did I ever have to pee. Note to self, should have done that before I got out of the water. At least hydration would not be a worry (yet).

Out of the water 207 of 258 for my age. I passed a few running the long red carpet to the bike corrals, then gave it all back in a port-a-potty. Lost plenty more with a tortoise paced transition.

THE BIKE

My goal was to finish the bike in under 3 hours, averaging 30 kph or better.

I was riding a decent carbon road bike, my only bike, a Trek Madone 5.9 with e-shifts. No aero bars. No race rims, just what came stock. I was told a road bike, with Tremblant’s hills, would be a good strategy. Then, as a lighter athlete, the hills would be to my advantage.

There were some huge power houses on the course. On the early flatter sections, more than a few big men blew by. We hit the first long downhill. I kept on the drops and tucked my chin right onto the cross bar. My downhill speed record sits at 73 kph. Fearless was not enough. I managed just 71 kph as I watched massive humans on TT bikes zip by.

Of course what goes down must come back up, and after the turn around we met the same long hill. Now I was the one on the left, passing bike after bike. It felt good, so why stop? I continued to attack and pass.

70k done and now the last out and back section. Not fair putting this challenging trick so near to the end. But when is Ironman nice? I had to save something for the run and dialed back.

Off the bike 132 for age.

Out on the run!

THE RUN

The goal was to break 1:30:00 (4:15/km), and if I was feeling great maybe have a go at 1:24:00. Seriously, what was I thinking? I can run as fast (if not faster) than Daniel Clarke, he of the top amateur ranking at Whistler, and current champion of the Montreal Esprit. That was his goal too!

Once off the bike, the heat and humidity hit. It was sizzling hot! Dazed and out of it, I floundered my way through transition frittering away valuable time. But it was necessary to take in the needed salt tabs and fluids, and to massage my always aching left hip/glute area.

Onto the run! But first, another long pee at the port-a-potty. My hydration was still great!

My brick work showed I could get up to speed quickly, but I was worried. A first km of 5:25 will do that.

This was going to be a battle of will power. The brutal steep hills chewed on my mangled legs. Just 1 km done and my quads begged for a walk break. I convinced myself to go one more. 4:45 later, I convinced myself just one more. The 4:15/k goal pace was where exactly? My race day was quickly becoming a potential walk off.

They don’t call this Ironman for nothing. The hills continued to chomp and shred. Yet a 4:36 split for km #3 was a glimmer of hope as we moved toward the flat former railroad part of the route. My legs screamed for a break. Okay then, 5k it would be.

I tucked ice under my cap. The melting water cooled my brain and body. A hard lesson I learned from that hot Boston of 2012, when all I had was a sweatband.

Good news at 5k, a 4:29 split. I could have a walk now but I might not ever return to this pace. So 10k became the target. The pain became tolerable and then magic. Runner after runner went by in my rearview. 10k came and left, still holding good pace, grinding onward as The Hurting returned. Yes, there were Tears and Fears today!

4k to go. The end of the race was nearing, and so returned the hills. The pain ran deep, but I feared stopping would hurt even more. Up was slow and bearable. Down was excruciating. I have never hurt so much. Ever.

The final stretch through the village was the most sinister and glorious end to a race that I have ever experienced. At first, too steep to even run up, then so steep downward that tears rolled down my eyes. The course had no mercy. I could not believe that my mangled legs were still running – that I had not walked even once. Yet, the opportunity to reel in one more contender before the finish line dangled like a carrot before a jackass, and I bit.

At last, the Great and Awful Pain was over! My first Tri was in the books, a PR just for finishing, and throw in some Iron too! With no regrets – I gave everything I had.

Ironman Tremblant 140.6 is this course done twice. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? No sir, no thank you!

Finished 39 for age.