The New York City Triathlon. A "gotta do it once" kind of race, as I was told. I agree with that sentiment, but am not sure that it's a "gotta do it twice" kind of race. Maybe because it ended up being a very tough race, or maybe because it's just so damn big, or maybe because we were running around like crazy the day before; whatever the reason, it's not a "must-do" for me next year...unless a friend wants to race with me. Then I'm all in.
The day began with a 4:30am wake-up call. A quick shower to get the body ready (I've showered just about every other morning of my life, why should this be any different?), and then I was out the door. Our hotel wasn't far from transition, so I was able to throw my bag on my back and head on over. It was raining a bit. Drizzling, really. Still dark outside, and NYC was actually kind of quiet. Well, except for the surprising amount of taxis roaming around. I figured that the cabs were full of people that we just about finishing their Saturday nights. After all, some bars stay open until 5am, so there was still some drinking to be done.
The rain was a bit of a concern, since with it brought the chance of thunderstorms. There had been talk at the expo the day before that the swim portion would be cancelled if the threat of thunderstorms persisted through the night (the race directors had altered the chip pick-up process to account for that: they typically give chips out at the swim start, but they gave them out at bike check-in, in case the swim was cancelled. Oh right, since the NYC Tri is so large and logistically painful, they have athletes check their bikes in the day before the race. Smart move, I think.) As I walked closer and closer to transition, more and more athletes came from other areas, and we were soon a good size group walking through the boat basin over to transition.
With each passing minute, I figured that chances improved that the swim hadn't been cancelled. News like that travels quickly, so not hearing anything probably meant that the swim was still on. I was hopeful.
It was still dark getting to transition. I got to my spot (as I mentioned earlier, I had dropped off the bike the day before, and used a Clif Bar poster on the fence to identify which row was mine. I'd need to remember that for later. I began unloading my stuff, sucking down water and eating Nature Valley Granola bars. There was some questionable pop music (Justin Bieber, Katy Perry; like I said, questionable) blaring over the loudspeakers, interrupted about every 3 minutes by the announcer giving us a time-check, letting us know that the swim was not cancelled, and that the water was 76 degrees: wetsuit legal. I thought about not wearing a wetsuit, and really had a tough time deciding. I knew I'd be warm in a wetsuit, as I've swam in similarly temperate water without a wetsuit, and been perfectly fine. But I had been planning on wearing a wetsuit, and I didn't want to throw myself a curveball. I thought about it some more.
I finished setting up, and headed for the swim start. Since this was a point-to-point swim, we had to walk about a mile up the Hudson River Park to the swim start. It was a quiet march of triathletes. Not quite solemn, but surprisingly quiet given that there were 3000 people moseying up to the start. Most people had their wetsuits on their shoulders (and the occasional rookie had it on already). I decided to bring mine, still unsure of my decision.
On the way up, we all heard that the race was delayed due to a car accident on Hudson River Drive, which was the bike course for the race. I got to the swim start area and wandered around. Went to the bathroom (it was a urinator's (while I couldn't find the correct spelling of the word that means: 'a person that urinates', I was able to find this. That can't be real, right?) paradise, as there were plenty o' port o' potties and virtually no lines). I wandered some more and found a place to sit down. I quickly got bored and since the race was delayed, I decided to walk along the river to maybe see if I could find Maggie, Terri and Gavin (they were going to be watching the race somewhere in the vicinity).
After not finding them, I headed back up to the swim start. As the pro/elite groups started, I was able to get a good view of their swimming. They were fast, and the current was making them even faster. This was going to be a quick swim.
The first major wave finished their start (since the race is so large, they split the entire field into two main groups: yellow and red), and the 20 minute "intermission" began (just to space things out and keep a level of sanity for the race in general). I was still just relaxing on the grass, making sure not to stand too much, and certainly keep my wetsuit off. It was too warm and muggy to have that thing on longer than was necessary.
They announced the beginning of the red group and I moseyed over to the river. The first waves in the red group were the paratriathletes. Absolutely astounding. There was an Afghanistan veteran who was a triple amputee that I saw swimming down the Hudson. His name was Rajesh Durbal and he was truly inspiring. Can you imagine swimming down the choppy, murky Hudson River with only one fully-functional limb? Unbelievable.
The corrals finally started moving, so it was only a short matter of time before we'd be off and swimming (I had thrown my wetsuit one by this point, but had held off for as long as possible). This year, the NYC Tri was going to be doing time trial starts for the swim portion, which meant that instead of having waves start at certain times, they'd be starting at certain time intervals. Once the first set of triathletes began swiming (about 20 or so at at a time), a new set of athletes would start every 15 seconds until everyone was in the water. Really an interesting thing to see. And it moved quickly. Once it began, it seemed like only minutes before we were on the barge, getting ready to swim. Yes, the swim start was on a barge. Not a huge trash barge like anything you see in the movies, but it was still a barge.
On to the race.
I had only recently fully zipped up my wetsuit, but was already warm. We filed onto the barge and fell in line behind a short queue of athletes about 20-wide and 3 deep, awaiting our turn. The guy next to me dry heaved a bit and hung his head over the backside of the barge. I guess he was nervous. I was feeling good. I had energy, and felt pretty well-prepared for the race. And I was looking forward to swimming in the mighty Hudson. Raw sewage be damned.
We toed the line/timing mats, the horn sounded, and we hopped in (dive starts were prohibited due to 'tidal shifts', but I think that was kinda BS. They just wanted people to be safe. One less thing to worry about, which is smart. I don't think a dive is going to make or break a winning time for any age grouper). The water was warm. Very warm. Warm enough to make the wetsuit unnecessary. In any case, it felt good to finally be racing. Because of the time trial start, it wasn't a hectic beginning. Everyone had plenty of room. I still started off fast, just to get some good initial motion. I was able to quickly settle into a good pace and got into the zone. I was very controlled, but still felt fast. That current was definitely helping. I was sighting well, thanks to they many things that could be used for sighting (the seawall to my left, the occasional sailboat to my right, and the buoys). Since it was still overcast, it was tough to use an object in the distance for sighting. I relied on the objects closer to me, which ended up being fine. Much more of a lateral sighting course than a fixed-point course.
The swim was feeling good. I bumped into a few people who had slowed from the previous wave and were doing non-freestyle strokes. I was able to avoid them for the most part, though. I picked my head up to breathe out of my left side, and noticed the 750M sign on the seawall. It popped up out of nowhere, but it was good to see. I was trying to gauge how far I had gone. I was a little surprised to find that I was only halfway there, but I was still feeling strong, and this was a great point to help me get my pace stable. Soon enough, I passed the 1000M and 1250M signs. They went by quickly. And then I could see the swim exit. I knew I could start to pick up the pace to make a strong finish. I zoned into the dock (which was surpisingly small, maybe 3 or 4 people could exit at a time), and swam strongly. I got to the edge of the exit, which had a very steep steel grate that we had to latch onto with our feet. There were some volunteers helping us out, which was great since it was such a steep incline. I hurried out, and began tugging my wetsuit off. I passed a few guys on the ~300 yard run to transition. I was feeling good, and didn't want my transition to be slow.
I made it into transition, and quickly texted Maggie that I was out of the water (she typically can see me come out of the water, but they weren't allowing spectators at transition areas, so she had to be somewhere else. I had pre-written a message, so it was a matter of clicking 3 buttons to fire the message off. Shoes on. Shirt on. Belt on. Helmet on. Grabbed the bike and headed out. For some reason, I decided to quickly check my tires. Damn: my back tire was flat. I hadn't run far, so I put the bike back on the rack, grabbed the extra tube I had purchased at the Expo the day before, and proceeded to change the tire.
Now, the reason I had to purchase a tube at the Expo was because I had used my previous back-up tube fixing the flat I had gotten on the car ride down to NYC. When I loaded the bike up in Boston, the tires were fine. When we got to NYC, the back tire was flat. I didn't think much of it, and just fixed the flat. I had noticed that the puncture was on the inside of the tube, indicating that there was some imperfection on the inside of the wheel that caused the flat. I had noticed earlier in the season that there was a hole in my bike tape (which sits in between the inner part of the wheel and the tube and whose main purpose is to be a smooth surface for the tube, rather than let the tube sit directly on the spoke holes on the inner wheel), but I had ridden many many miles with that hole, and never had a problem. I didn't have any bike tape, so I just replaced the tube and thought nothing of it. After all, I had ridden a little bit with the new tube the day before the race and it was fine, so I thought I was in the clear. That was my mistake.
Back to changing the flat. I unhinged the wheel, and in a flustered state (I had just swam 1.5k, remember?), worked quickly to change the tire. I was able to get the tire off, the old tube out, the new tube in and the tire back on relatively efficiently. Now I just need to pump the tire up. Uh oh, this was a short-stem valve tube. Tubes typically have valves that come in two flavors: short-stem and long-stem. Long-stem valve tubes are necessary for wheels that are deep-rimmed. A deep-rimmed wheel is one of those wheels that has a thick outline when you're looking at them from the side. Think of a CD compared to a rubber band. The deeper-rimmed the wheel, the longer the valve needs to be to poke through the rim. The valve poked through the rim, but not enough for my pump to properly latch onto it to be able to pump air into the tube. I got worried. Was I going to have to repeat the entire tube-changing process? I did have a backup backup tube that had a proper valve on it. I decided to check to see if my hand pump (which was mounted on my bike) could possibly pump the tube up. My hand pump is smaller, and fortunately was able to catch enough of the valve to be able to pump it up. I wouldn't get it fully pumped to 120psi, but I'd be able to get enough air in there to complete the ride. I hoped.
I finally made my way out of transition, a little bloodied from scraping my arm on the bike's casette and derailleur, but I was out. I was out of tubes ( I didn't pack my backup backup tube onto my bike), so if I got a flat again. I'd be screwed. I made my way up some tricky little hills to the West Side Highway and got moving. I was half-flustered, since I knew I had lost about 15 minutes fixing the flat. So I really wanted to crank it on the bike. I pushed hard, not even realizing that I had slightly bent my front derailleur, so it was grinding against my chain with every turn of the crank...it didn't make things easier.
I was really pushing hard on the bike, then looked down at my watch to notice that I had only been riding for 10 minutes. I needed to settle into a good pace without killing myself. I just didn't feel like I was going fast enough. I passed a good amount of people initially. This is a large enough race with such a varied range of talent that it's not surprising to pass a lot of people. I was feeling okay, but every time someone blew by me (it wasn't too often in the beginning) I felt the need to speed up again. They were mostly aerobar/point helmet guys, but still. The West Side Highway was smooth in some parts, rough in others, and was not without puddles from the previous night's rain. Caution had to be taken so that you didn't accidentally ride over a puddle that was hiding a particularly nasty hole/divot.
For some reason, I thought the ride would be fairly flat. I had briefly studied the bike course, and noted the elevation (which I remember thinking was a bit high), but it apparently didn't make enough of an impression on me. It wasn't mountainous, but there were some climbs that weren't exactly pleasant. My legs weren't as prepared as I had thought they were. And I wasn't going as fast as I wanted to be going on the flat parts. (I think it was partially due to the under-inflated back tire, and the grinding chain, but I'm not here to make excuses).
Overall, the bike portion was fairly uneventful. Some fast guys (jerks) passed very aggressively, one of them very unexpectedly on the right (I was not in the left, I was about center at that point. He was being jerky because he was fast). I did notice quite a few people with flat tires by the side of the road. Some people were actively fixing their flats, while others were waiting it out, probably because they had no more tubes left (or never had any to begin with). I silently hoped I wouldn't be one of those people. I reached the turnaround a little slower than I had wanted to (~32minutes), especially because it wasn't the true halfway point: The course heads north from transition until you reach the turnaround and head back; however, the course then extends south of the transition area for about a mile before turning around back towards transition. I wasn't totally unhappy with the time at that point, but knew I had to really push to make the time for which I was aiming. I did some quick math and figured I could still make my goal time.
The ride back to transition seemed lonely at times. The field was spread out, most people having settled into a pace. Additionally, I was closer to the back of the pack since my wave was one the last to start and my 15 minutes mishap put me pretty far behind. That loneliness can get to you in both good ways and bad. At times, I'd be riding, very able to focus and just zone into my ride. Other times, I thought that I was the only person out there, and that everyone else was finished the bike and onto the run. That makes you push harder, but it also messes with your head a little bit.
I took note of some of the exit ramp signs on the course. 123rd St. I knew transition was at 79th, and that each city block is about 1/20th of a mile, so I was able to do some simple math to figure out that I was slowly slipping further and further behind my goal time. I was 2 miles away (and then some more after that) and I didn't have much time to get there, according to my watch. The good news was that the math allowed me to focus on something other than any pain in my legs.
I made it to the 2nd turnaround, and really tried to pick it up for the final mile or so. There were more people around (spectators and cyclists), which energized me a little bit. I made it back to transition which went pretty smoothly. I was able to dismount and get my bike to my rack easily. Right around when I dismounted, I became very aware of my dehydration. I knew I had not had nearly enough water during the bike portion. It was very humid and had been getting increasingly hotter and I was very very thirsty. Almost automatically I took one of my water bottles from my bike cage, and brought it along with me on the run. It was like I had been planning it all along. My body and brain knew that I needed to find a way to get lots of water back. The first water station was right outside of transition and I basically filled the water bottle up to the top, grabbing cup after cup and pouring it in as I ran by. One last cup of water on my head, and I was off. My back was a little tight from the ride (I tried to stretch it a number of times on the bike), and my quads were thinking about cramping up towards the end of the ride, but fortunately they were feeling okay for the run.
I was moving slowly, but still felt okay. There was an initial climb out of the park to 72nd street which seemed borderline sadistic and definitely slowed me down. It wasn't until I got out onto 72nd street, though, that the heat really got to me. It was unshaded and hot on the 72nd street blacktop. I had water, but I could tell it was going to be a long run. I was moving, just not quickly. It was about a mile to Central Park, and then I'd get some relief from the trees, I thought to myself.
I made it to mile 1, and glanced at my watch: 9:30. Terrible. I hadn't run that slowly since the Philadelphia Triathlon over a year before (where it was equally hot and humid). I was a little upset, because I thought I was in much better shape and much more prepared for this race. I really think my failure to hydrate and eat on the bike hurt my performance (and I generally struggle in the heat. And, let's face it, my cycling miles were not as nearly as high as I had wanted them to be. Struggling on the bike leads to struggling on the run).
There was water at mile 1. I grabbed a few cups to throw into my water bottle and threw a cup on my head (A habit that would soon become tradition for the rest of the race). Colin found me shortly after and jogged alongside me. He was as excited as ever, holding a big "Marky Mark" poster for me. He was saying I looked good, but I knew I was slow. Still, he's a never-ending source of energy and excitement, and it certainly helped. We chatted for a bit and then he let me continue on my way through Central Park.
One thing I learned: Central Park is hilly. I don't know why I assumed it'd be flat. Maybe because NYC seems so flat. Maybe because Boston Common (my backyard common city garden area) is relatively flat. Maybe because I'm in denial. Regardless of the reason, I wasn't prepared for it. It's not terribly hilly, but hilly enough to make the run a little more painful. Also, it seemed like there was no wind in the park. Only sun. There were a few notable gusts of wind which were very welcomed (by me), but generally no wind was available to cool me off.
At each water station (roughly each mile), I made sure to grab water for my water bottle and throw some more water over my head. I drank Cytomax (the new Gatorade?), and dipped my head in the spray misters they had set up. I needed all the help I could get. The surprising thing was that while dumping the cool water on my head was rejuvenating and cooled me a bit, it seemed to slow me down (slower than the shuffle that my run had devolved into). It was almost as if when my head cooled, my body thought it was finished racing and now had permission to slow down and stop. I ended up slowing down quite a bit, but never stopped to walk. In hindsight, it might've been good to walk, but I just wanted to keep moving.
I finally made it around the bend, close to mile 6 where the crowds were starting to pick up. I was slightly energized, but was barely able to pick up my pace. I wanted to finish strong, but it was tough. It was less a matter of being energized than it was a matter of wanting to simply finish strong. Usually, the end of the race gives you a little more energy, and the running becomes easier, but the running was harder. My body did not want to go any faster than it needed to.
I finished and felt horrible. The medical tent was immediately after the finish line, and I thought about it for a second, but I needed to minute to decide exactly how bad I felt. I just wanted to keep moving. It was hot and crowded, and I just wanted to be in the shade and away from people. I grabbed a cold towel, chugged a water bottle, and kept walking. Still crowded. I got my finisher's medal and walked. I grabbed two more water bottles, drank one, poured the other on my head and walked. It was still crowded. I grabbed some ice, threw it in my water bottle and poured that on my head. That felt like heaven. That's when I started to feel a little better. I made my way through the crowds and found a shaded area where I could sit and drink and eventually eat. I made a slow recovery.
Afterwards, my chest/side/back muscles were very tight. I couldn't breathe heavily or laugh without feeling a lot of soreness in my chest/back area. It was not fun. I survived, but could've done a lot more to prepare better:
1. Investigate all tire punctures seriously. Don't assume it's a one-time thing
2. Drink more on the bike
3. Eat more on the bike
4. Buy the right tubes
5. Take flat tires in stride. Try to stay calm while fixing them
That said, I did some things correctly:
1. Stay calm, hydrated and cool before the race
2. Listen to your body and get water any way you can. Take a second or two to think about things and do them correctly rather than just rush through everything
Final Results:
Swim: 18:43
T1: 16:21
Bike: 1:18:17
T2: 1:41
Run: 1:01:49
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Volunteering at races
And, if you're lucky, you'll play a small role in the victory of an elite athlete. Whether it's pointing on the course, handing out water, clearing the course when they approach, or something else, you can have an effect.
Volunteering day started at 4:15am, since the race started at 7am, and I was 2 hours away, according to Google. After a quick few minutes waking up, I was out the door and on my way. I got to the remote parking lot around 6:20. Enough time to get on the shuttle and run down to make it for the swim start.
This race was enormous: 2741 athletes. It was so big and had so many waves that even as the Pros started in the water, some of the other athletes were calm and relaxed, well over 200 yards away, just hanging out around the transition area.
He dominated the swim, and ran off quickly to get on his bike. He was off riding the bike course before the 2nd guy was even out of the water. A few more pro men came through the swim exit, but it wasn't long before Chrissie Wellington was on shore, peeling her wetsuit off.
Maybe the uncertainty, the solitude, is more of a motivator. Without knowing where they are, I guess Andy and Chrissie can only assume, "They're catching me. They're going faster than I am, because they want to catch up." And so no matter how fast they go, they can only figure that they're slowly being gained upon. That can be dangerous, since it might push a less-focused athlete too hard, causing them to falter on the run. But I imagine that Andy and Chrissie are able to couple their fear of being caught with their confidence in their abilities, allowing them to push themselves hard enough to keep a lead, but not so hard that they end up bonking.
Well, now I'll contradict myself, because Chrissie grabbed water coming off the bike. And you can't argue with Chrissie's choices, since she won the women's division, and detroyed plenty of men in the process. I guess it really just comes down to personal choice. So she grabbed some water. Or rather, she grabbed Gatorade, took one look at it and saw the nuclear yellow hue, and tossed it out. She wanted water, and only water. It wasn't just on a whim that she decided she wanted a drink. She knew exactly what she wanted; what she needed.
I continued handing out water to parched athletes. The fellow volunteers and I tried to devise the perfect plan for handing out water and Gatorade. Water on the left and Gatorade on the right. No! Water at the start of the aid station, and Gatorade at the end of it. No! Just call out loudly whatever drink you're holding. What about the oranges? and the coke? Where do we put them? Obviously, we had plenty of time to think.
Finally, one of the girls had a brilliant idea to make signs that we could wear to identify what types of drinks we had. I gladly donned the "Water" sign, and she wore the "Gatorade" sign. Turns out, though, athletes don't like to take a few seconds to read while they're running. I should've figured as much. I certainly don't pay attention to signs when I'm competing. So the rest of the day consisted of me wearing the sign, but still yelling "Water!" as people ran by. Sometimes I yelled "Vodka!" or "Beer!", when I thought someone needed a pick-me-up.
About 30 minutes into my duties I realized that every athlete's bib, in addition to their number, had their first name printed on it. I quickly took it upon myself to be friends with everyone, and yell their name as they ran by, to give a little more motivation. Not sure if people were a startled by it, but I like to think it helped shave a few seconds off their times.
Did I mention that the run course was a 2 loops? Yep. That meant that the pros would be circling around, and I'd have the opportunity to hand out water to them again. A stupid thing to get excited about, but hey, I'm easily pleased.
I can't remember if Andy grabbed water the 2nd time around. I think he did. And he was still cruising, putting more time between him and the competition. After a few more men passed by, Chrissie came into our sights. She was really moving (and making a lot of guys look bad). I figured that she didn't want Gatorade, since she tossed it the first time, so I grabbed some water and held it out. She grabbed it, and flew away. It's funny how different it is to hand water to a pro as opposed to a slower athlete. The pros are moving at such a fast pace that the grabbing of the water is such an abrupt movement. It's not graceful, as much as you try to lead them.
Soon enough, we were on the cramped school bus, waiting to get back to our cars. We arrived shortly afterwards, and I began my journey home. Another 2 hours in the car.
I was exhausted by the time I got home, but it was one of my best triathlon experiences. And I didn't even race!
Monday, October 11, 2010
Moving too quickly?
One drawback that I've encountered with training is a diminished ability to focus outside of training. I either want to be moving at a fast pace, doing as many things as possible, or I want to be stopped and resting, not doing anything. I'm not sure if this is something that only I've come to experience, though it seems like a natural by-product of ramping up your body's metabolism.
I haven't completely lost the ability to find that middle ground, but I'm pretty sure that my attention span has waned a bit since jumping into a fairly consistent training schedule. Admittedly, I wasn't particularly wonderful at this level of focus prior, but still, I've noticed a difference.
In any case, there is definitely an imbalance occurring, and typically, imbalances are not good. So the question quickly becomes: "How can I balance myself out?"
I think the answer lies in the ability to find creative outlets. Creativity is something that, by nature, demands a relaxed pace, yet not a stagnant one. Not to say that creativity is something that comes without hard, intense work (it's as much a discipline as anything else), but it is something that manifests itself when the mind is in a state that lets it wander freely, yet still able to maintain a level of focus. It lets your brain get into that middle ground, between absolute rest, and intense movement.
Which is why, I believe, it is very important for athletes to find their creative side. Whether it is playing music, drawing, reading or anything else, it's absolutely necessary. Otherwise, we just become directionless masochists, who can't sit down long enough to figure out a training schedule, or take a step back to realize that sometimes our body needs a break. And that will undoubtedly lead to burnout.
I don't think it's coincidence that there aren't too many people who are extremely athletic and extremely artistic. It's usually one or the other (taking into consideration, of course, that being extremely good at anything usually requires all of one's time). I guess what I'm saying is that these things aren't tangential to each other. They don't feed into each other. Or, they rarely do. Running and swimming, by comparison, are tangential to each other. Swimming helps one focus on controlled breathing during running, and running helps one gain volume for swimming.
The best athletes aren't the ones who are just incredible workhorses and will obey a coach's every demand, but the ones who have the ability to occasionally take a step back, and consciously process all of the things that are occurring. It is creativity, I believe, that can help to cultivate this ability.
What this translates to is the potential to gain a competitive advantage. If you, as an athlete, can successfully tap into your creative side, you've done something that only a small number of athletes are able to do, and this will certainly help you on race day.
So pick up that guitar/paintbrush/book, and start training!
I haven't completely lost the ability to find that middle ground, but I'm pretty sure that my attention span has waned a bit since jumping into a fairly consistent training schedule. Admittedly, I wasn't particularly wonderful at this level of focus prior, but still, I've noticed a difference.
In any case, there is definitely an imbalance occurring, and typically, imbalances are not good. So the question quickly becomes: "How can I balance myself out?"
I think the answer lies in the ability to find creative outlets. Creativity is something that, by nature, demands a relaxed pace, yet not a stagnant one. Not to say that creativity is something that comes without hard, intense work (it's as much a discipline as anything else), but it is something that manifests itself when the mind is in a state that lets it wander freely, yet still able to maintain a level of focus. It lets your brain get into that middle ground, between absolute rest, and intense movement.
Which is why, I believe, it is very important for athletes to find their creative side. Whether it is playing music, drawing, reading or anything else, it's absolutely necessary. Otherwise, we just become directionless masochists, who can't sit down long enough to figure out a training schedule, or take a step back to realize that sometimes our body needs a break. And that will undoubtedly lead to burnout.
I don't think it's coincidence that there aren't too many people who are extremely athletic and extremely artistic. It's usually one or the other (taking into consideration, of course, that being extremely good at anything usually requires all of one's time). I guess what I'm saying is that these things aren't tangential to each other. They don't feed into each other. Or, they rarely do. Running and swimming, by comparison, are tangential to each other. Swimming helps one focus on controlled breathing during running, and running helps one gain volume for swimming.
The best athletes aren't the ones who are just incredible workhorses and will obey a coach's every demand, but the ones who have the ability to occasionally take a step back, and consciously process all of the things that are occurring. It is creativity, I believe, that can help to cultivate this ability.
What this translates to is the potential to gain a competitive advantage. If you, as an athlete, can successfully tap into your creative side, you've done something that only a small number of athletes are able to do, and this will certainly help you on race day.
So pick up that guitar/paintbrush/book, and start training!
slow!
I believe the key to getting faster is something quite counter-intuitive: going slow.
Common sense tells us that the path to cycling, running and swimming at a higher cadence during a race is to train at or above these high cadences. Need to comfortably hit 100 rpm on the bike? Spin at 110 rpm or higher. Training is, at least partially, about increased ability through repetition. The more we train at higher cadences, the more naturally it will feel come race day.
While speed work is certainly an important part of training, a crucial piece to increasing the body's ability to move quickly is through slow and deliberate movements.
The natural reaction to this is: "How can I expect to go fast by training slowly?" This certainly holds a fair amount of merit. A classic pitfall of endurance training is having too much of a focus on building volume with long distances. "If you train slow, you'll get really good at going slow", is a quote that comes to mind for most triathletes. And so there seems to be this distinct separation between volume training and speed training.
The problem, as I see it, is that these things end up becoming mutually exclusive. Volume workouts end up being done solely to improve volume, and speed workouts end up being done solely to improve speed. What are the results of this? Essentially, proper form becomes an afterthought:
1.) There is rarely a focus on the mechanics of our form when doing long distance training sessions - We find "the zone" and shut off our brains. We buy indoor trainers for our bikes, which let us watch TV while we ride, and not even worry about staying balanced.
2.) Slow and deliberate movements aren't practiced when speed training - We try to go as fast as we can, paying no attention to our form. We don't employ the things we learned from our volume training to speed train with efficient, effective form.
In order to overcome this, I try to reverse my natural reaction to slow training:
"How can I expect to go fast if I can't go slowly, properly?"
Uttering these words during training sessions forces me to regain focus. I try to focus in on my form in the middle of long runs/rides. I try to step outside of my body and evaluate my gait to see if I'm letting my arms/legs/torso just sort of flop around. I try to maintain as much control as possible when I'm doing speed workouts. It's so easy to just explode with all of your energy to gain a little more speed, but the cost at which it's done is really not worth it. Sure, there are some times where you need to just empty the tank, and push yourself as hard as you can for as long as you can, but that is separate from speed workout.
For me, it's not just about going fast. It's about going fast deliberately. No movement should be left to chance. Every foot placement, every down-pedal, every flutter kick should be done because you decided to do it, not because momentum helped to move things along.
Once form has been mastered at low cadences, speed can slowly be added. This way, you'll ensure that when you are training fast, you're training correctly. You've left nothing to chance. Every move you make is deliberate.
An interesting drill to do is to train in slow motion. How slowly can you move and maintain a proper, fluid form? It's a lot tougher than it seems.
Common sense tells us that the path to cycling, running and swimming at a higher cadence during a race is to train at or above these high cadences. Need to comfortably hit 100 rpm on the bike? Spin at 110 rpm or higher. Training is, at least partially, about increased ability through repetition. The more we train at higher cadences, the more naturally it will feel come race day.
While speed work is certainly an important part of training, a crucial piece to increasing the body's ability to move quickly is through slow and deliberate movements.
The natural reaction to this is: "How can I expect to go fast by training slowly?" This certainly holds a fair amount of merit. A classic pitfall of endurance training is having too much of a focus on building volume with long distances. "If you train slow, you'll get really good at going slow", is a quote that comes to mind for most triathletes. And so there seems to be this distinct separation between volume training and speed training.
The problem, as I see it, is that these things end up becoming mutually exclusive. Volume workouts end up being done solely to improve volume, and speed workouts end up being done solely to improve speed. What are the results of this? Essentially, proper form becomes an afterthought:
1.) There is rarely a focus on the mechanics of our form when doing long distance training sessions - We find "the zone" and shut off our brains. We buy indoor trainers for our bikes, which let us watch TV while we ride, and not even worry about staying balanced.
2.) Slow and deliberate movements aren't practiced when speed training - We try to go as fast as we can, paying no attention to our form. We don't employ the things we learned from our volume training to speed train with efficient, effective form.
In order to overcome this, I try to reverse my natural reaction to slow training:
"How can I expect to go fast if I can't go slowly, properly?"
Uttering these words during training sessions forces me to regain focus. I try to focus in on my form in the middle of long runs/rides. I try to step outside of my body and evaluate my gait to see if I'm letting my arms/legs/torso just sort of flop around. I try to maintain as much control as possible when I'm doing speed workouts. It's so easy to just explode with all of your energy to gain a little more speed, but the cost at which it's done is really not worth it. Sure, there are some times where you need to just empty the tank, and push yourself as hard as you can for as long as you can, but that is separate from speed workout.
For me, it's not just about going fast. It's about going fast deliberately. No movement should be left to chance. Every foot placement, every down-pedal, every flutter kick should be done because you decided to do it, not because momentum helped to move things along.
Once form has been mastered at low cadences, speed can slowly be added. This way, you'll ensure that when you are training fast, you're training correctly. You've left nothing to chance. Every move you make is deliberate.
An interesting drill to do is to train in slow motion. How slowly can you move and maintain a proper, fluid form? It's a lot tougher than it seems.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Recovery Week
Wow. I don't think there's anything better than a workout two days after a race. If all went well, you killed yourself during the race and managed to chug through the rest of the day on all of the nerves and excitement that are now present in your body, thanks to the multisport kickstart you had earlier.
If all continues to go well, the nerves eventually die down, the exhaustion settles in, and you crash for that night. You are out quicker than you ever have been before. You get a good night's sleep and in the morning awake, your whole body sore. But it's the good kind of sore. Proof that you put your body through a little bit of torture the day before. And now you get to rest. Of course, you have to go to work and do all of the normal daily things that you do, but, with the race being over, you get to relax, since nothing is on the horizon for a little bit. And, quite possibly best of all, you don't have a workout waiting for you when you get home at night. You've now got a couple hours of found time, and they are yours to do with what you please. Although this is a rest day, you can't help but find something semi-active to fill the void of working out. It's not a sit-and-watch-2-hours-of-tv 2 hours, but rather, a do-something-I-haven't-been-able-to-do-in-a-while-due-to-lack-of-time 2 hours. And it's glorious.
Sadly, before you realize it, the day is all but over. But if you're lucky, another good night's sleep awaits. Then it's back to the workout grind. Well, sort of. This is recovery week. You can start working out again, but it needs to be light. More of a maintenance period. This is time that's used to recharge the batteries; to settle back into relative normalcy before you start climbing that hill again.
And so you await your first workout of recovery week. Interestingly, you are actually looking forward to it. That day off really made a difference. But it gets better when you actually start the workout. It's an odd feeling; you're in a place which, by now, you've mentally associated with pain and hard work, but there's no pressure today. Today you get to go at your own pace. You get to do what feels comfortable. And so you begin to remember how much fun it is to swim. To run. To bike. Just out there. No pressure. No looming deadline. You're riding/running/swimming simply for the sake of it. No other reason.
And that's when you realize possibly the greatest reason as to why you bust your butt day in and day out: For fun. If you feel like it, you can go and do a nice light workout, with no pressure. You own the road, the trails, the water. The world just flows by with ease, and you're out there, experiencing and loving every second of it. It's pure recreation. While other people are struggling a bit as they swim/bike/run, you're simply playing effortlessly. As some other people training whiz by, your instinct kicks in, and you pick it up for a second. And then you slow back down. You remember that this is your time. It's not race time. Not yet. At some points, you can't help but diagnose your form, your cadence, your position. You are surprised at how relaxed your body is, and how, in hindsight, you realize how tense your body has been for the past several weeks of training.
It really is eye-opening, and you hope you can maintain this level of levity throughout the rest of recovery week. Sure, you've already scheduled some medium tough workouts, but you can shirk them if you want to. You even have enough wherewithall to say that you're going to take it even easier tomorrow. Which may prove tough, but then again, it may come naturally.
Tough training seems so far away. And with such a relaxing workout tonight, you feel that the next few days are almost unnecessary. You've centered yourself mentally and physically. But you know that you'll stick to the plan. Recover this week. There will be plenty of time for hard workouts before the next race.
Everything's moving at a slower pace, and you 0nly hope that things can stay this way as long as possible, before the next inevitability of life pops up.
But for now...Recover.
If all continues to go well, the nerves eventually die down, the exhaustion settles in, and you crash for that night. You are out quicker than you ever have been before. You get a good night's sleep and in the morning awake, your whole body sore. But it's the good kind of sore. Proof that you put your body through a little bit of torture the day before. And now you get to rest. Of course, you have to go to work and do all of the normal daily things that you do, but, with the race being over, you get to relax, since nothing is on the horizon for a little bit. And, quite possibly best of all, you don't have a workout waiting for you when you get home at night. You've now got a couple hours of found time, and they are yours to do with what you please. Although this is a rest day, you can't help but find something semi-active to fill the void of working out. It's not a sit-and-watch-2-hours-of-tv 2 hours, but rather, a do-something-I-haven't-been-able-to-do-in-a-while-due-to-lack-of-time 2 hours. And it's glorious.
Sadly, before you realize it, the day is all but over. But if you're lucky, another good night's sleep awaits. Then it's back to the workout grind. Well, sort of. This is recovery week. You can start working out again, but it needs to be light. More of a maintenance period. This is time that's used to recharge the batteries; to settle back into relative normalcy before you start climbing that hill again.
And so you await your first workout of recovery week. Interestingly, you are actually looking forward to it. That day off really made a difference. But it gets better when you actually start the workout. It's an odd feeling; you're in a place which, by now, you've mentally associated with pain and hard work, but there's no pressure today. Today you get to go at your own pace. You get to do what feels comfortable. And so you begin to remember how much fun it is to swim. To run. To bike. Just out there. No pressure. No looming deadline. You're riding/running/swimming simply for the sake of it. No other reason.
And that's when you realize possibly the greatest reason as to why you bust your butt day in and day out: For fun. If you feel like it, you can go and do a nice light workout, with no pressure. You own the road, the trails, the water. The world just flows by with ease, and you're out there, experiencing and loving every second of it. It's pure recreation. While other people are struggling a bit as they swim/bike/run, you're simply playing effortlessly. As some other people training whiz by, your instinct kicks in, and you pick it up for a second. And then you slow back down. You remember that this is your time. It's not race time. Not yet. At some points, you can't help but diagnose your form, your cadence, your position. You are surprised at how relaxed your body is, and how, in hindsight, you realize how tense your body has been for the past several weeks of training.
It really is eye-opening, and you hope you can maintain this level of levity throughout the rest of recovery week. Sure, you've already scheduled some medium tough workouts, but you can shirk them if you want to. You even have enough wherewithall to say that you're going to take it even easier tomorrow. Which may prove tough, but then again, it may come naturally.
Tough training seems so far away. And with such a relaxing workout tonight, you feel that the next few days are almost unnecessary. You've centered yourself mentally and physically. But you know that you'll stick to the plan. Recover this week. There will be plenty of time for hard workouts before the next race.
Everything's moving at a slower pace, and you 0nly hope that things can stay this way as long as possible, before the next inevitability of life pops up.
But for now...Recover.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Urban Epic
The Boston Urban Epic. 2nd Annual. I'm not sure what I was doing last year on August 8th, but I sure as hell had no idea that there was an inaugural triathlon going on in, what is essentially, my backyard. If backyards can be 3 miles away.
What better place to run, bike and swim than in Southie. The same Southie made famous in movies like Good Will Hunting, Boondock Saints, The Departed, and plenty of others (well, maybe...I can't think of any others). This would be the first triathlon where I wouldn't wake up unnecessarily early just to hop in a car and drive over to the race course. I get to sleep in 'til 6am this time. A nice little bike ride over, with my transition bag on my back, and I'd be ready to go.
I woke up before my alarm, unsurprisingly, and felt pretty awake. I didn't have trouble falling asleep the night before. I wasn't completely riddled with nerves, so I was able to fall asleep easily. I got up, checked my checklist, ate some breakfast, and got ready to go. Everything seemed to be in order, so I headed out, just about on time.
I took a nice stroll through Southie to get to transition area. Pretty pleasant at 6:30am. Nice and easy was the pace. I showed up to a less-than-full registration and transition area, and found my way around the area. I quickly ran into Colin who had just gotten his packet, and we both chatted about how great it was to finally be here. After all, our first swim practice together was only months prior, at the same beach where we'd be soon swimming the first leg of the race. We got ourselves together, got bodymarked, and headed into transition. We had plenty of time and were able to calmly get our things in order. We chatted a bit with some of the guys next to us, though not deep, involved conversation, and let it all sink in. Colin wanted to go for a quick ride to get a nice warm up. I passed, having already ridden a few miles, and being nicely warm already.
I adjusted all of my gear, and got everything in the right order, and decided to start drinking some of my caffeine/water mix. I had been off of caffeine for 6 days now, and was hoping it'd give me a nice little boost for the race. I also wanted to find some more water, just to make sure I was well hydrated before the race (especially with the caffeine dehydrating me). One problem: There was no water near the transition area. There was a water station which was for the run portion, and they were beginning to pour water, but the cups were the size of shot glasses (quite literally, the size of shot glasses. Something you'd use to make jello shots). I would've had to down quite a few of them to get enough water. I had heard that there was water at the race start, so I figured I could load up there.
Colin got back from his ride, and we chatted a little bit, and started to get ready to go over to the swim start. I began to put my wetsuit on, but Colin pointed out that the race start was still more than 30 minutes away, and that we'd be pretty sweaty walking over with the wetsuits on and just waiting. Good call. I took it off. The good news is that the shitty stitching job that I did on a rip in my wetsuit held up pretty well. It's right around the right ankle, and I managed to to rip it wide open again while putting on/taking off the suit.
I took a couple puffs on my inhaler, and we headed out to the swim start. We took notice of the swim exit, and walked calmly over to the swim area. As soon as we got there, I headed to the water fountain to get some water. I felt a little better, knowing that I was getting some extra water in. We both threw on our wetsuits to get a nice pre-race swim in. That's probably the best thing that we could've done. Jumping into that water cooled us off nicely, and was really very relaxing. We got to burn off some energy as well, so it was definitely a good move. We took some practice strokes, and one thing I noticed right away was that the turn buoy out in the distance was very hard to sight through goggles. It was a little hazy, and the sun was right above the buoy, making it very hard to see. Good to know. It just meant that I'd have to put a little more focus on sighting for the first part of the swim. I took some more strokes back towards land, and bumped into a fellow triathlete. She laughed with her friends, noting that I need to work on my "spotting" as she called it.
Having finished our warm-up (or was it a cool off?), we got out of the water. I went to the bathroom quickly. Or as quickly as you can go to the bathroom when you're covered in tight-fitting rubber. I guess that's one of the downfalls to the wetsuit. You can't just pee in the ocean, because there's nowhere for the urine to go. It stays between you and your wetsuit. Not that I would ever pee in the ocean anyway, but just pointing that out for people who might be incline to pee in large bodies of water.
They gathered us together for the pre-race meeting. The guys at Tri-Maine seem like really cool people. They had the right attitude, and seemed to know how to put a race together. Will walked us through the course, just to give everyone a mental refresher of the things they'd be doing during the race. I think this is much more important than it seems. I like to visualize the race, so when I encounter each portion, it looks somewhat familiar. But to have it explained by a person who knows every little detail of the course locks it all into place. Plus, I'm sure its very helpful for people that maybe haven't envisioned the race course just yet.
Shortly after the meeting, they called the elites and our wave (pink caps again!) into the corral. They bunched us in tightly so they'd be able to fit another wave into the corral, making things go a little more smoothly once the starting gun (airhorn) was fired.
They had us pause for the playing of the National Anthem. Only problem. I didn't see a flag anywhere. And I don't think anyone else did either. Everyone still managed to orient themselves in the same direction. Given, it was in the direction of the speakers, but still, I found it a little funny that we were all just staring in a single direction, at nothing, yet imagining a flag waving in the wind.
After the anthem, they squeezed us in even tighter with the elites. They really wanted to corral as many waves as possible. We asked the starting line volunteer how shortly after the elites we would be going off. He wasn't sure, but the concensus was 3 minutes. That number had been thrown around, and a few of us confirmed it from reading the website, or having overheard it from someone else. But then the official word came in: We'd be leaving 1 minute after the elites. As if we might be able to catch them. ha.
The elites went off, and we shimmied up to the start line. Colin and I managed to get a front row view of the coming race course. They counted us down and we were off. I sprinted towards the water, took a few high steps over the ankle deep stuff, and dove right in. Boy was it crowded, even though it was a fairly small wave. It a was a fever pace, and it was all about getting a good 100 meters in to separate from the pack and then settle into a zone.
Only problem is, this is something I've rarely practiced. Funny, it's something I should've expected, but it didn't even cross my mind to train for a swim start. It's not an unfamiliar thing; we employed the same strategy in rowing during sprint races. High cadence for the first 250 meters to really get the boat moving, and then settle into a race pace. But it's something I totally glossed over. And many times. This was my 4th triathlon, you think I would've learned by now. Oh well. Now I know.
I felt good for those first 100-or-so meters. Breathing bi-laterally, every third stroke. Staying long in the water. But my inexperience quickly showed itself. Before I knew it, my form was struggling, and I was breathing every other stroke, unable to find that every-third-stroke rhythm. And something I realized after the race, was that breathing every other stroke is more damaging than you realize. For me, I'm still not used to breathing every third stroke, at least not for a long time at an intense pace. It's too much time in between breaths. So this forces me to drop to breathing every other stroke, which is not enough time in between breaths. Doing this forces your breathing into an unnaturally quick rhythm. You're not inhaling and exhaling at full capacity. This can really put a strain on your chest/diaphragm. And so by the time you exit the water, you're not only tight, but you're breathing is much more labored than it should be. It feels like its borderline hyperventilation. Very very uncomfortable sensation. I guess that's why they invented the run from swim exit to transition. You can really use this time to regain your focus, and hopefully relax those damn breathing muscles.
But anyway, back to the swim...
Sighting in general went pretty well. I was able to see the guide buoy and stay pretty tight to it. My sighting isn't perfect yet, but I'm generally pleased with my abilities. I sighted the turn buoy, and realized that the glaring sun wasn't making it tough to see. That's good news. I swam to it, made a tight turn and headed to the other turn buoy. It was going to be a short distance, and then we'd get to head back home.
After the turn, it was really tough to see the swim exit. I tried a few times, but couldn't find the arch. For some reason I though there was an inflatable arch for the swim exit, but I couldn't find it. After a couple failures of sighting, I focused on the guide buoy, which, as they explained, did not need to be passed on the left, but was purely for guidance. I had noticed earlier, while on land, that the guide buoy wasn't in line with the quickest route to the swim exit, so I begrudgingly used it as guidance. It's all I had. I feel like I zig-zagged a bit, on my way to the buoy, along with another competitor. We must've crossed paths 3 times. I think we were both equally bad at sighting.
Finally, after passing the guide buoy, I could see the exit. I was feeling a little more relaxed, and managed to focus on my form to finish strong. Kind of funny, considering about a minute earlier, I was cursing the fact that I would have to bike and then run after this dreaded swim was over. It's not the first time I've said to myself, "I can't believe I have to bike and run after I get out of the water. I don't wanna do that." The good news is that it passes quickly. While it's a little disturbing, it's something that I'm able to beat, mentally.
The swim exit was fast approaching. I followed a small piece of advice that I had read somewhere about determining when to get up to run out of the water. Or, I guess I adapted it. The advice was something about when you see the ground is getting close, take a stroked and straighten your arm down. If you feel sand, get up. I saw the ground, felt the sand, and decided to take 2 more strokes to be sure, and then got up. It may have been a little premature, I'm not sure. I felt myself picking my legs up very high to get moving out of the water. Oh well. Soon enough I was up and out and running to transition. I wasn't moving as fast as I had wanted, due to my short breathing fits that I explained above. I still managed to pull of my goggles and cap, and secure them in the wetsuit sleeve as I pulled it off of my torso (I just let go of my goggles as I was pulling out of the wetsuit...neat little trick I read somewhere). I made it to transition and headed to my bike rack.
Oops. wrong rack. I ducked in one rack early, and was on the wrong side for grabbing my stuff. I ran around, and got to my bike.
Weird thing about transition (with a wetsuit on), is that trying to move too fast will impede your transition. I was trying to frantically to get my wetsuit off, and I needed to take a deep breath to focus on getting it off. Once I did that, I was ready to go. Only needed to throw my helmet on and I was off and running.
This would be the 2nd time I attempted a running mount with my bike shoes already on the bike. The first time had gone pretty well, and I had practiced the day before. However, the practice hadn't gone all that smoothly. For whatever reason, I wasn't able to focus on a smooth mount, and was screwing up all over the place. Fortunately, the mount during the race went pretty well. No major issues. By the time I was out of the parking lot and onto the main drag, I was secured, and moving. My running mount had made up time on the guy in front of me, and I quickly passed him.
I was able to get some good speed going, but was still breathing pretty heavily from the swim. There was salt water dripping from my nose. Presumably, it was one of many drops of water that I managed to accidentally get in my mouth/nose while swimming erratically.
I knew that I would need to start hydrating immediately. Only 10 miles on the bike to get some liquids in, and it would be over quickly. I grabbed some gatorade, and then kept on moving. I knew that Colin was ahead of me, but I wasn't sure how far ahead he was. It was a pretty uneventful ride up to the turnaround. I was feeling good, because every second that I didn't see Colin meant I was that much closer to him. I got pretty close to the turnaround before I saw him. Maybe I was a minute behind?
After the turnaround, I realized why those first miles felt so good: I had some help. There was a pain-in-the-ass headwind smacking my face that had been an ever-so-nice tailwind just a few minutes ago. I tried to maintain a high cadence, even in the wind. Another uneventful set of miles back to transition, where we'd turnaround again. I got very close before I saw Colin again. Maybe 45 seconds behind? I made up some ground on a competitor at the turnaround. For the first loop, you had to stay left, and the guy in front of me faltered for a second. I was able to overtake him since he slowed to correct his minor mistake. Then it was back out on that flat, fast course for one more loop. By this point, other waves had finished the swim and were moving out onto the bike course. There were no problems with merging, but there were a bunch of people on the course now. Not a problem. I stayed left, and just cranked, and passed a bunch of people.
I got passed the original point where I saw Colin. I was definitely making up ground. And when I saw him this time, I managed to look at my watch so I could gauge how far behind I was. 30 seconds. Not bad, but I should really be catching him more quickly.
I hit that same headwind, and tried to push through. As I got closer to transition, I didn't see a ton of runners on the path, and knew that I was close to the front. Sure there was about 1/4 mile which didn't run along the bike course, but I was betting that there wasn't a huge pack of 50 runners just out of sight. Maybe a couple here and there, but not many.
I came in hot for the dismount, and did a nice rolling dismount, having unstrapped my shoes and stepped over and off my bike. I pretty much threw my bike back onto the rack and tossed off my helmet. Now just to put my shoes on. Oh, and the jellybeans.
I had decided to bring some jelly beans for energy during the run. I made sure to put them in my shoe so that I wouldn't forget to bring them along. I tossed the bag in my shirt pocket, threw my shoes on, and headed out. I didn't get a good look at how many bikes were back in the racks, but guessed that it wasn't that many.
I felt somewhat ready for the run. Those damn jelly beans, though. The bag was too big, and it was sloshing around way too much in the pocket. I decided to pour some out into the pocket, and then throw the rest away. I managed to do this within 20 feet of transition, where there was a trash can waiting for me. As I threw the bag out, I grabbed a handful of beans and tossed them in my mouth. No sense in waiting right?
My chest was tight again, probably because of dehydration, and was struggling to get moving. I was able to shake it off though, and settled into a good pace. I think a guy passed me after about half a mile. I hit the Mile 1 water station, and was running about 8:20 pace. I threw some water on my head, which felt great, and I was able to keep moving at what felt like a slightly faster pace. I had run the course before, so I had a good idea of what to expect.
I got close to the initial slight turn before the turnaround, and the elites were passing me. There was a USAT official clearing the right of the running lane (we shared the going and coming for a bit on Day Blvd.) A few guys blazed by me, and I kept on heading towards the first turnaround. I hit the turnaround, and was able to see a couple guys were right behind me. One guy came up on me shortly after and passed, but I was able to hold off the next guy for a while.
I headed down the walkway to the 2nd turnaround, and got a big boost. This walkway was basically a glorified jetty that reached out across the water, and connected to another piece of the walkway at a small "island" gazebo type structure. I mention this, because there was lots and lots of cooled air coming up off of the water, which really made the world feel like a good place, after all. Also it was blowing as a partial tailwind, so it was cooling me and giving me some free speed at the same time.
Maggie was stationed in no-mans land, by the 2nd turnaround, and she cheered me on, telling me that I was in the top 15 or so. I had recently crossed paths with Colin, and he was about 1 minute ahead of me. Only about 5 guys were in between us. He was moving nicely.
I threw some more jelly beans in (they were melted at this point), and kept moving. The then tailwind was now a headwind, and was slowing me down a bit. It was over quickly enough, and I was back onto Day Blvd, heading towards the end. One more guy passed me, and I worked on keeping up with him, which I did a decent job of.
I could see the cones for the turn onto the beach, and picked it up a little more.
I hit the beach (which, I believe is where the race actually ended, because the sensor mats were right at the point where you run onto the beach), and then had about 200 feet to the finish. It is a pain in the ass running in sneakers in the sand. I picked up my legs and was able to make a strong finish. Colin was able to cheer me on for the last 50 feet, having just finished.
We recovered, chatted, drank some water, and just generally felt good. One of the other competitors mentioned to Colin that he though Colin got 2nd place. Not too shabby.
We figured we'd pay a visit to Maggie, so we headed back up the course, cheering on some of the other competitors. We got to the walkway, and the cops were being kinda hardass-y about letting us walk up while the race was still going on. I can respect that. If I was racing (and, hey, I just was!) I wouldn't want to see people walking on the course, especially if they had already finished the race. So we decided to cut our losses, and head back to the beer tent.
We went into the beer tent, and each got a beer. I didn't get halfway through it, when I started to get a pounding headache. I guess I needed more water. I gave what was left to Colin, and told him that I needed to get some water and Gatorade. He went back to transition to grab his phone. Oh, but not before checking the results. He got 2nd and I got 3rd place! Yea! I'm honored to share the podium with that beast.
I continued to down lots of water and Gatorade, and stayed in the shade, under a Muscle Milk tent. I was not feeling good. I certainly wasn't feeling any better. Yep, it was getting worse. Maggie's post was finished, so I grabbed her, and we hung out by the tent, while I drank more.
They announced that they were going to have the awards ceremony soon, so we walked back over the party area. I still felt kinda bad, but thought that I was getting a little better. Colin made it back just in time to stand on the podium, and we celebrated. The podium felt good, but it was short-lived. I was really feeling bad, so I sat inside with some water, trying to gain myself.
I was getting nauseous, and headed to the bathroom. I was pacing a bit, getting pretty bad, and a volunteer walked in, saw how shitty I looked, and offered to call the Medics for me. I took him up on it, and walked out to the lobby of the building. I sat down, and shortly after a couple of lifeguards came in and helped me cool down. They had some ice, and told me to drink water slowly. I think the ice on the forehead really helped. They offered to call the medics, and this time I said yes, thinking that they'd be able to put in a quick IV line right there, and I'd be all set.
After about 15 minutes, they showed up, and asked me how I was. They ran through their battery of questions and tests, and offered to take me to the hospital. I was slowly feeling better, and since they had established that it wasn't anything life threatening, I decided to decline going to the hospital (which wouldve been hours and hours, I'm sure). They were very professional, and very courteous. And calm. they brought a very big sense of calm to the situation, which was refreshing.
During all of this, Colin had headed back to get his truck, since it probably wasn't safe for me to be riding in my condition. Right around the time he got back, I was feeling a lot better, and the lifeguards, who were also great people, headed out, having done their job. The one kid was a really cool guy who was one of the top 100 high school hockey players in America. We chatted for a bit about hockey, and how drafting works, and what colleges he was considering. You could tell he loved the sport (why else would you wake up at 4am every morning for most of the year), and he loved to talk about nothing more than he loved to talk about hockey. Remember the name Scott McKena, he'll be a great player someday.
I was recovered and ready to go home. Next time, let's not get dehydrated.
What better place to run, bike and swim than in Southie. The same Southie made famous in movies like Good Will Hunting, Boondock Saints, The Departed, and plenty of others (well, maybe...I can't think of any others). This would be the first triathlon where I wouldn't wake up unnecessarily early just to hop in a car and drive over to the race course. I get to sleep in 'til 6am this time. A nice little bike ride over, with my transition bag on my back, and I'd be ready to go.
I woke up before my alarm, unsurprisingly, and felt pretty awake. I didn't have trouble falling asleep the night before. I wasn't completely riddled with nerves, so I was able to fall asleep easily. I got up, checked my checklist, ate some breakfast, and got ready to go. Everything seemed to be in order, so I headed out, just about on time.
I took a nice stroll through Southie to get to transition area. Pretty pleasant at 6:30am. Nice and easy was the pace. I showed up to a less-than-full registration and transition area, and found my way around the area. I quickly ran into Colin who had just gotten his packet, and we both chatted about how great it was to finally be here. After all, our first swim practice together was only months prior, at the same beach where we'd be soon swimming the first leg of the race. We got ourselves together, got bodymarked, and headed into transition. We had plenty of time and were able to calmly get our things in order. We chatted a bit with some of the guys next to us, though not deep, involved conversation, and let it all sink in. Colin wanted to go for a quick ride to get a nice warm up. I passed, having already ridden a few miles, and being nicely warm already.
I adjusted all of my gear, and got everything in the right order, and decided to start drinking some of my caffeine/water mix. I had been off of caffeine for 6 days now, and was hoping it'd give me a nice little boost for the race. I also wanted to find some more water, just to make sure I was well hydrated before the race (especially with the caffeine dehydrating me). One problem: There was no water near the transition area. There was a water station which was for the run portion, and they were beginning to pour water, but the cups were the size of shot glasses (quite literally, the size of shot glasses. Something you'd use to make jello shots). I would've had to down quite a few of them to get enough water. I had heard that there was water at the race start, so I figured I could load up there.
Colin got back from his ride, and we chatted a little bit, and started to get ready to go over to the swim start. I began to put my wetsuit on, but Colin pointed out that the race start was still more than 30 minutes away, and that we'd be pretty sweaty walking over with the wetsuits on and just waiting. Good call. I took it off. The good news is that the shitty stitching job that I did on a rip in my wetsuit held up pretty well. It's right around the right ankle, and I managed to to rip it wide open again while putting on/taking off the suit.
I took a couple puffs on my inhaler, and we headed out to the swim start. We took notice of the swim exit, and walked calmly over to the swim area. As soon as we got there, I headed to the water fountain to get some water. I felt a little better, knowing that I was getting some extra water in. We both threw on our wetsuits to get a nice pre-race swim in. That's probably the best thing that we could've done. Jumping into that water cooled us off nicely, and was really very relaxing. We got to burn off some energy as well, so it was definitely a good move. We took some practice strokes, and one thing I noticed right away was that the turn buoy out in the distance was very hard to sight through goggles. It was a little hazy, and the sun was right above the buoy, making it very hard to see. Good to know. It just meant that I'd have to put a little more focus on sighting for the first part of the swim. I took some more strokes back towards land, and bumped into a fellow triathlete. She laughed with her friends, noting that I need to work on my "spotting" as she called it.
Having finished our warm-up (or was it a cool off?), we got out of the water. I went to the bathroom quickly. Or as quickly as you can go to the bathroom when you're covered in tight-fitting rubber. I guess that's one of the downfalls to the wetsuit. You can't just pee in the ocean, because there's nowhere for the urine to go. It stays between you and your wetsuit. Not that I would ever pee in the ocean anyway, but just pointing that out for people who might be incline to pee in large bodies of water.
They gathered us together for the pre-race meeting. The guys at Tri-Maine seem like really cool people. They had the right attitude, and seemed to know how to put a race together. Will walked us through the course, just to give everyone a mental refresher of the things they'd be doing during the race. I think this is much more important than it seems. I like to visualize the race, so when I encounter each portion, it looks somewhat familiar. But to have it explained by a person who knows every little detail of the course locks it all into place. Plus, I'm sure its very helpful for people that maybe haven't envisioned the race course just yet.
Shortly after the meeting, they called the elites and our wave (pink caps again!) into the corral. They bunched us in tightly so they'd be able to fit another wave into the corral, making things go a little more smoothly once the starting gun (airhorn) was fired.
They had us pause for the playing of the National Anthem. Only problem. I didn't see a flag anywhere. And I don't think anyone else did either. Everyone still managed to orient themselves in the same direction. Given, it was in the direction of the speakers, but still, I found it a little funny that we were all just staring in a single direction, at nothing, yet imagining a flag waving in the wind.
After the anthem, they squeezed us in even tighter with the elites. They really wanted to corral as many waves as possible. We asked the starting line volunteer how shortly after the elites we would be going off. He wasn't sure, but the concensus was 3 minutes. That number had been thrown around, and a few of us confirmed it from reading the website, or having overheard it from someone else. But then the official word came in: We'd be leaving 1 minute after the elites. As if we might be able to catch them. ha.
The elites went off, and we shimmied up to the start line. Colin and I managed to get a front row view of the coming race course. They counted us down and we were off. I sprinted towards the water, took a few high steps over the ankle deep stuff, and dove right in. Boy was it crowded, even though it was a fairly small wave. It a was a fever pace, and it was all about getting a good 100 meters in to separate from the pack and then settle into a zone.
Only problem is, this is something I've rarely practiced. Funny, it's something I should've expected, but it didn't even cross my mind to train for a swim start. It's not an unfamiliar thing; we employed the same strategy in rowing during sprint races. High cadence for the first 250 meters to really get the boat moving, and then settle into a race pace. But it's something I totally glossed over. And many times. This was my 4th triathlon, you think I would've learned by now. Oh well. Now I know.
I felt good for those first 100-or-so meters. Breathing bi-laterally, every third stroke. Staying long in the water. But my inexperience quickly showed itself. Before I knew it, my form was struggling, and I was breathing every other stroke, unable to find that every-third-stroke rhythm. And something I realized after the race, was that breathing every other stroke is more damaging than you realize. For me, I'm still not used to breathing every third stroke, at least not for a long time at an intense pace. It's too much time in between breaths. So this forces me to drop to breathing every other stroke, which is not enough time in between breaths. Doing this forces your breathing into an unnaturally quick rhythm. You're not inhaling and exhaling at full capacity. This can really put a strain on your chest/diaphragm. And so by the time you exit the water, you're not only tight, but you're breathing is much more labored than it should be. It feels like its borderline hyperventilation. Very very uncomfortable sensation. I guess that's why they invented the run from swim exit to transition. You can really use this time to regain your focus, and hopefully relax those damn breathing muscles.
But anyway, back to the swim...
Sighting in general went pretty well. I was able to see the guide buoy and stay pretty tight to it. My sighting isn't perfect yet, but I'm generally pleased with my abilities. I sighted the turn buoy, and realized that the glaring sun wasn't making it tough to see. That's good news. I swam to it, made a tight turn and headed to the other turn buoy. It was going to be a short distance, and then we'd get to head back home.
After the turn, it was really tough to see the swim exit. I tried a few times, but couldn't find the arch. For some reason I though there was an inflatable arch for the swim exit, but I couldn't find it. After a couple failures of sighting, I focused on the guide buoy, which, as they explained, did not need to be passed on the left, but was purely for guidance. I had noticed earlier, while on land, that the guide buoy wasn't in line with the quickest route to the swim exit, so I begrudgingly used it as guidance. It's all I had. I feel like I zig-zagged a bit, on my way to the buoy, along with another competitor. We must've crossed paths 3 times. I think we were both equally bad at sighting.
Finally, after passing the guide buoy, I could see the exit. I was feeling a little more relaxed, and managed to focus on my form to finish strong. Kind of funny, considering about a minute earlier, I was cursing the fact that I would have to bike and then run after this dreaded swim was over. It's not the first time I've said to myself, "I can't believe I have to bike and run after I get out of the water. I don't wanna do that." The good news is that it passes quickly. While it's a little disturbing, it's something that I'm able to beat, mentally.
The swim exit was fast approaching. I followed a small piece of advice that I had read somewhere about determining when to get up to run out of the water. Or, I guess I adapted it. The advice was something about when you see the ground is getting close, take a stroked and straighten your arm down. If you feel sand, get up. I saw the ground, felt the sand, and decided to take 2 more strokes to be sure, and then got up. It may have been a little premature, I'm not sure. I felt myself picking my legs up very high to get moving out of the water. Oh well. Soon enough I was up and out and running to transition. I wasn't moving as fast as I had wanted, due to my short breathing fits that I explained above. I still managed to pull of my goggles and cap, and secure them in the wetsuit sleeve as I pulled it off of my torso (I just let go of my goggles as I was pulling out of the wetsuit...neat little trick I read somewhere). I made it to transition and headed to my bike rack.
Oops. wrong rack. I ducked in one rack early, and was on the wrong side for grabbing my stuff. I ran around, and got to my bike.
Weird thing about transition (with a wetsuit on), is that trying to move too fast will impede your transition. I was trying to frantically to get my wetsuit off, and I needed to take a deep breath to focus on getting it off. Once I did that, I was ready to go. Only needed to throw my helmet on and I was off and running.
This would be the 2nd time I attempted a running mount with my bike shoes already on the bike. The first time had gone pretty well, and I had practiced the day before. However, the practice hadn't gone all that smoothly. For whatever reason, I wasn't able to focus on a smooth mount, and was screwing up all over the place. Fortunately, the mount during the race went pretty well. No major issues. By the time I was out of the parking lot and onto the main drag, I was secured, and moving. My running mount had made up time on the guy in front of me, and I quickly passed him.
I was able to get some good speed going, but was still breathing pretty heavily from the swim. There was salt water dripping from my nose. Presumably, it was one of many drops of water that I managed to accidentally get in my mouth/nose while swimming erratically.
I knew that I would need to start hydrating immediately. Only 10 miles on the bike to get some liquids in, and it would be over quickly. I grabbed some gatorade, and then kept on moving. I knew that Colin was ahead of me, but I wasn't sure how far ahead he was. It was a pretty uneventful ride up to the turnaround. I was feeling good, because every second that I didn't see Colin meant I was that much closer to him. I got pretty close to the turnaround before I saw him. Maybe I was a minute behind?
After the turnaround, I realized why those first miles felt so good: I had some help. There was a pain-in-the-ass headwind smacking my face that had been an ever-so-nice tailwind just a few minutes ago. I tried to maintain a high cadence, even in the wind. Another uneventful set of miles back to transition, where we'd turnaround again. I got very close before I saw Colin again. Maybe 45 seconds behind? I made up some ground on a competitor at the turnaround. For the first loop, you had to stay left, and the guy in front of me faltered for a second. I was able to overtake him since he slowed to correct his minor mistake. Then it was back out on that flat, fast course for one more loop. By this point, other waves had finished the swim and were moving out onto the bike course. There were no problems with merging, but there were a bunch of people on the course now. Not a problem. I stayed left, and just cranked, and passed a bunch of people.
I got passed the original point where I saw Colin. I was definitely making up ground. And when I saw him this time, I managed to look at my watch so I could gauge how far behind I was. 30 seconds. Not bad, but I should really be catching him more quickly.
I hit that same headwind, and tried to push through. As I got closer to transition, I didn't see a ton of runners on the path, and knew that I was close to the front. Sure there was about 1/4 mile which didn't run along the bike course, but I was betting that there wasn't a huge pack of 50 runners just out of sight. Maybe a couple here and there, but not many.
I came in hot for the dismount, and did a nice rolling dismount, having unstrapped my shoes and stepped over and off my bike. I pretty much threw my bike back onto the rack and tossed off my helmet. Now just to put my shoes on. Oh, and the jellybeans.
I had decided to bring some jelly beans for energy during the run. I made sure to put them in my shoe so that I wouldn't forget to bring them along. I tossed the bag in my shirt pocket, threw my shoes on, and headed out. I didn't get a good look at how many bikes were back in the racks, but guessed that it wasn't that many.
I felt somewhat ready for the run. Those damn jelly beans, though. The bag was too big, and it was sloshing around way too much in the pocket. I decided to pour some out into the pocket, and then throw the rest away. I managed to do this within 20 feet of transition, where there was a trash can waiting for me. As I threw the bag out, I grabbed a handful of beans and tossed them in my mouth. No sense in waiting right?
My chest was tight again, probably because of dehydration, and was struggling to get moving. I was able to shake it off though, and settled into a good pace. I think a guy passed me after about half a mile. I hit the Mile 1 water station, and was running about 8:20 pace. I threw some water on my head, which felt great, and I was able to keep moving at what felt like a slightly faster pace. I had run the course before, so I had a good idea of what to expect.
I got close to the initial slight turn before the turnaround, and the elites were passing me. There was a USAT official clearing the right of the running lane (we shared the going and coming for a bit on Day Blvd.) A few guys blazed by me, and I kept on heading towards the first turnaround. I hit the turnaround, and was able to see a couple guys were right behind me. One guy came up on me shortly after and passed, but I was able to hold off the next guy for a while.
I headed down the walkway to the 2nd turnaround, and got a big boost. This walkway was basically a glorified jetty that reached out across the water, and connected to another piece of the walkway at a small "island" gazebo type structure. I mention this, because there was lots and lots of cooled air coming up off of the water, which really made the world feel like a good place, after all. Also it was blowing as a partial tailwind, so it was cooling me and giving me some free speed at the same time.
Maggie was stationed in no-mans land, by the 2nd turnaround, and she cheered me on, telling me that I was in the top 15 or so. I had recently crossed paths with Colin, and he was about 1 minute ahead of me. Only about 5 guys were in between us. He was moving nicely.
I threw some more jelly beans in (they were melted at this point), and kept moving. The then tailwind was now a headwind, and was slowing me down a bit. It was over quickly enough, and I was back onto Day Blvd, heading towards the end. One more guy passed me, and I worked on keeping up with him, which I did a decent job of.
I could see the cones for the turn onto the beach, and picked it up a little more.
I hit the beach (which, I believe is where the race actually ended, because the sensor mats were right at the point where you run onto the beach), and then had about 200 feet to the finish. It is a pain in the ass running in sneakers in the sand. I picked up my legs and was able to make a strong finish. Colin was able to cheer me on for the last 50 feet, having just finished.
We recovered, chatted, drank some water, and just generally felt good. One of the other competitors mentioned to Colin that he though Colin got 2nd place. Not too shabby.
We figured we'd pay a visit to Maggie, so we headed back up the course, cheering on some of the other competitors. We got to the walkway, and the cops were being kinda hardass-y about letting us walk up while the race was still going on. I can respect that. If I was racing (and, hey, I just was!) I wouldn't want to see people walking on the course, especially if they had already finished the race. So we decided to cut our losses, and head back to the beer tent.
We went into the beer tent, and each got a beer. I didn't get halfway through it, when I started to get a pounding headache. I guess I needed more water. I gave what was left to Colin, and told him that I needed to get some water and Gatorade. He went back to transition to grab his phone. Oh, but not before checking the results. He got 2nd and I got 3rd place! Yea! I'm honored to share the podium with that beast.
I continued to down lots of water and Gatorade, and stayed in the shade, under a Muscle Milk tent. I was not feeling good. I certainly wasn't feeling any better. Yep, it was getting worse. Maggie's post was finished, so I grabbed her, and we hung out by the tent, while I drank more.
They announced that they were going to have the awards ceremony soon, so we walked back over the party area. I still felt kinda bad, but thought that I was getting a little better. Colin made it back just in time to stand on the podium, and we celebrated. The podium felt good, but it was short-lived. I was really feeling bad, so I sat inside with some water, trying to gain myself.
I was getting nauseous, and headed to the bathroom. I was pacing a bit, getting pretty bad, and a volunteer walked in, saw how shitty I looked, and offered to call the Medics for me. I took him up on it, and walked out to the lobby of the building. I sat down, and shortly after a couple of lifeguards came in and helped me cool down. They had some ice, and told me to drink water slowly. I think the ice on the forehead really helped. They offered to call the medics, and this time I said yes, thinking that they'd be able to put in a quick IV line right there, and I'd be all set.
After about 15 minutes, they showed up, and asked me how I was. They ran through their battery of questions and tests, and offered to take me to the hospital. I was slowly feeling better, and since they had established that it wasn't anything life threatening, I decided to decline going to the hospital (which wouldve been hours and hours, I'm sure). They were very professional, and very courteous. And calm. they brought a very big sense of calm to the situation, which was refreshing.
During all of this, Colin had headed back to get his truck, since it probably wasn't safe for me to be riding in my condition. Right around the time he got back, I was feeling a lot better, and the lifeguards, who were also great people, headed out, having done their job. The one kid was a really cool guy who was one of the top 100 high school hockey players in America. We chatted for a bit about hockey, and how drafting works, and what colleges he was considering. You could tell he loved the sport (why else would you wake up at 4am every morning for most of the year), and he loved to talk about nothing more than he loved to talk about hockey. Remember the name Scott McKena, he'll be a great player someday.
I was recovered and ready to go home. Next time, let's not get dehydrated.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Pre-Urban Epic
So I stopped drinking coffee about 5 days ago, in preparation for the Boston Urban Epic Triathlon (aside from 2 sips at Charlie's on Saturday along with breakfast...you can't not order coffee at Charlies). I figure I'll have a little pre-race caffeine boost, and see how that works out. Last time I overloaded on caffeine, I feel like I really bonked on the run, but I think that was due mostly to the heat, and the fact that I didn't really control my caffeine intake. This time around, it'll be a quick shot before the race. Not an overdose, but enough for my body to remember it's old friend Mr. Caffeine, and put me into a good place for the race.
I think I've trained well since the Philly Tri. I had a nice little practice Tri in New Bedford, where I was generally happy with my performance. I always could've trained harder, longer, smarter, but I've been very consistent with training for 6 months now, and am feeling pretty good.
Had a nice day off on Friday, which is prescribed (the day before the day before). My legs were itching to do some sort of workout, ready to crank out a nice ride, but I managed to do very little. I did a decent amount of walking around Boston Friday night, finding a place to sit down and eat after my packet pick-up, but overall, a light day.
Saturday included some light transition practice, with some quick bike sprints around the block, followed by a run to the gym to swim some laps...and then the run back to the apartment. All done at a generally relaxed pace, but enough for my body to know it was getting the juices flowing.
I rode/ran the race course the week before, so I have a pretty good idea of what's in store. Although they changed the course a bit from last year, it's still essentially the same. The swim portion was the biggest change, and I need to just do some mental prep on that one.
Here we go...
I think I've trained well since the Philly Tri. I had a nice little practice Tri in New Bedford, where I was generally happy with my performance. I always could've trained harder, longer, smarter, but I've been very consistent with training for 6 months now, and am feeling pretty good.
Had a nice day off on Friday, which is prescribed (the day before the day before). My legs were itching to do some sort of workout, ready to crank out a nice ride, but I managed to do very little. I did a decent amount of walking around Boston Friday night, finding a place to sit down and eat after my packet pick-up, but overall, a light day.
Saturday included some light transition practice, with some quick bike sprints around the block, followed by a run to the gym to swim some laps...and then the run back to the apartment. All done at a generally relaxed pace, but enough for my body to know it was getting the juices flowing.
I rode/ran the race course the week before, so I have a pretty good idea of what's in store. Although they changed the course a bit from last year, it's still essentially the same. The swim portion was the biggest change, and I need to just do some mental prep on that one.
Here we go...
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