A mere 366 days since signing up, and Ironman Pocono Mountains 70.3 had arrived.
Well, not quite.
The almost-record-breaking rainy months of August and September had left Stroudsburg Pennsylvania highly saturated, making the behavior of the Delaware River quite volatile. The days leading up to the race were proving to be equally as wet, rocketing the height of the river up almost 10 feet in a short amount of time. The currents became faster, and the amount of debris floating down the river increased.
Plus, it was a nasty shade of brown.
The race directors and National Park Service "jointly decided to cancel the swim", which made the overall distance of the race 69.1 miles. The 1.2 mile swim was no more. For those keeping track, that turned the race into a 56 mile bike, and a 13.1 mile run.
They cancelled the swim a couple of days in advance, so it gave the athletes plenty of time to process the news and release any frustration before race day. We (my buddy Colin and I) were bummed, but still very much wanted to race. We headed over to the event expo to register and pick up our race packets. The packet contained all of the things we'd need to be official participants in the race: race bib, race numbers for the bike and helmet, timing chip, etc. Additionally, we would have to check in our racing gear the day before the race. This was something that was new to us.
Typically, a triathlon will have a single 'transition area' which, after each leg of the race, the athlete will return to: swim; grab bike from transition area; ride; grab shoes from transition area; run; finish. The finish is also usually very close to the transition area. It's very convenient. Everything is in one spot.
However, the geography of Stroudsburg and surrounding areas pretty much dictated that the transition areas be in separate spots. The swim-to-bike transition (T1) was 8 miles from the bike-to-run transition (T2), which was 1 mile from the finish line. Logistically, it's a pain in the ass. Which is why the athletes needed to hustle around the day before the race to check in all of their gear.
We checked in all of our gear, which gave us an opportunity to scope out some of the race course. The road we drove down to get to the T1 would be the same road we'd have to ride up during the bike portion.
We got a little worried.
The road had some pretty intimidating hills. They weren't the worst we had ever seen, but they were going to be challenging. They were near the beginning of the bike course, so they'd really play a part in setting the tone for the rest of the ride.
We returned to the hotel, and got ready for a 4:30am wake up. Not surprisingly, we were both up at 4:15am; no alarm needed. We grabbed our gear and headed to T2 to grab a shuttle (read: big yellow school bus) to T1. The geography of the area wouldn't allow for all athletes to drive down to T1: There simply wasn't enough room. As a result, athletes had to be shuttled to T1.
It was a quiet 30 minute ride to T1. Almost quiet. While most athletes were silently sitting, thinking about the race, one woman was chatting away to a complete stranger about anything and everything she could think about. I think it was nerves; she must've had a lot of nervous energy and that's how she was calming herself down.
We arrived at T1 at 5:45am. To the bathroom! Invariably, there are never enough port-a-potties available at these races, so it's always a good idea to get in line early: by the time you get to the front of the line, you'll have to go to the bathroom.
We headed into T1, and finished setting up our gear (load up the water bottles, pump up the tires, eat some food, eye up the competition). Now we had some time to kill. We wandered over to what would've been the swim exit to take a look at the river. It was still high, and it was still moving fast. There was no way that anyone would be able to swim against the current (which is what part of the swim course required). We hated to admit it, but cancelling the swim was the absolute correct decision. We moseyed back up to T1 and looked at our watches. We had some more time to kill.
To the bathroom!
Better to wait in line early than not have enough time to go to the bathroom when it really matters.
It wasn't long before the pros were called to the starting line to begin the race. The race directors decided to make the beginning of the race a Time Trial start. That simply means that athletes would cross the start line one at a time, at a specific time interval. The interval for the pros would be 30 seconds. The interval for everyone else would be 3 seconds. So every 3 seconds, another athlete is beginning the race. Race number would determine order. I was 398 and Colin was 1944, so we weren't going to start anywhere near each other, and we most likely wouldn't see each other on the bike course.
I unracked my bike, and awaited my turn to cross the starting line. "Ready. Set. Go. Ready. Set. Go. Ready. Set. Go". The race director said over and over and over as the athletes in front of me crossed the line and headed out on the course. Finally, I was the person to whom he was saying, "Ready. Set. Go". I ran across the timing mat with my bike towards the bike mount line, roughly 20 yards away. I crossed the mount line, hopped on my bike, and got moving.
I was ready.
It was a quick left turn out of the park area onto the first main road. I was moving at a good pace, and was feeling strong. I decided to push it a little bit to get out of the congestion that comes when 398 people are on the course, spread out by only 15 minutes.
I reached the first turnaround, and there was still a lot of congestion. The road was narrow, making the 180 degree turn even tougher. The roads were in decent shape. They were wet, but they were smooth and not too filled with debris. I hit the 5 mile mark and looked down at my watch: 14:28. I thought something was wrong. That was too fast. But then I realized that I was probably averaging a little above 20mph, and the math made sense. I just didn't think I was going that fast.
I hit the first challenging hill. Some people were off their bikes, walking up it. Wow, already claiming casualties. I was surprised. It was a tough little hill, but it wasn't the one that I had made a mental note of when we were driving down the day before. It wasn't long before I arrived at the foot of the climb. It was steeper and longer than the first one. This was it; the badass hill that we were worried about. I dropped into a lower gear and start chugging along. It was tough, but it was early enough in the race that my legs were fresh, so I was able to crest the top pretty quickly. I was out of breath, but feeling strong. I cranked back into a higher gear and was off again.
The course took a sharp left onto Hidden Lake Road (I never found the lake, it's pretty hidden I guess), which was slightly more gravelly than desired. It seemed freshly paved, but more resembled one of those black rubber gravel tracks. I think it was an emergency paving job to get it into a good enough state to ride on.
The next 15 or so miles were pretty uneventful. I rode strong, passed some people, got passed by some people, and generally felt good. I had an energy bar around mile 15, as I had planned, and gulped down gatorade when I got the chance. It seemed that every time I took my water bottle out of the cage, another small hill appeared in front of me. I had to scramble to get it back in the cage so I could focus on the hill.
There was some great scenery along the way, along with some not-so-great road conditions. Rustic barns and potholed roads made for an interesting middle-course ride. It was at about this point that the course took on an interesting characteristic: several very fast descents followed quickly by quick, unexpected turns. If there had only been one, I wouldn't have thought anything of it, but it happened 3 separate times, which led me to believe that the course designer may or may not have done it on purpose. I was equally aggravated but appreciative. Sure, I would've liked to coast for as long as gravity would allow, but I like that there was never an opportunity to slack off for too long. This course was all business. And poo. Around mile 33 there was a nice steaming pile on the road. Most likely not from a fellow competitor. I guess you never know, though.
I was getting into a stride through miles 30-40, and then, as I should've expected, the course hit me (and all of us) with a nice surprise climb. It was a short, but fairly steep hill that seemed to come out of nowhere, so there was no way to cheat and let momentum help you up the hill. It was right around Mile 42, which, as far as I can tell, is about where the mythical "wall" is hit for athletes on a 56-mile course. It was that point where you are beginning to tire and are hoping that the remaining 14 miles will be an easy ride. I was slowed to a very very slow pace. I was not pleased with myself
It was in the middle of that hill that an old rowing teammate passed me. Until earlier that morning, I had no idea that he was in the race. I thought I had seen someone at the expo the day before that looked like him, but passed it off as my brain playing tricks on me. It wasn't until I noticed him in the transition area that I was fairly certain that it was him. And even then, I wasn't 100% sure. Plus, I was trying to focus on the impending race start, so I was trying not to distract myself.
But as he passed me, I could tell it was definitely my old buddy Matt. I motored up the hill and caught up to him to chat with him briefly. We talked a bit about our racing schedules (he had done a couple Ironmans and was planning on doing Lake Placid), and a little of our old rowing days, and then it was back to business. He took off again, but I was determined to stick with him for as long as I could. After all, it had taken him 42 miles to catch me (he started a few minutes behind me), so we were somewhat evenly paced. He pulled far ahead, and I was able to make up some ground, but then he pulled ahead some more and just kept going. He was moving.
That brief encounter gave me a little bit of energy, and I was able to hammer it for the next 8 or so miles. There was a nice tough uphill which I was able to get up to hit the 50 mile marker at around 2:37. I was happy with that. 6 more miles at a hopeful 3 minutes/mile and I'd be at T2 in under 3 hours.
I made some final turns in the town of Stroudsburg where some crowds had gathered so I knew I was getting close. I started to recognize the area, and before I knew it, I was heading into T2. I actually got there around 2:49, so either the 50-mile marker was incorrect, it wasn't a full 56 mile course, or I'm just a freaking beast. I doubt it's the last one.
I dismounted and headed into the transition area. Definitely got a little choked up. Not sure why, but was just feeling really good, and was so grateful for all of the volunteers that were there to donate their time to make sure things went well for us.
I racked my bike, threw my sneakers on, grabbed some energy, and then just stood there for a second. Was it time to go? Yea, I guess it was. I ran out...but then quickly doubled back to grab some water. I knew I needed it. I felt a little cramped running out of transition, but overall was feeling pretty strong...surprisingly strong. Made a few quick turns out of the track area and through the parking lot, where I ran past Maggie and Eileen. They cheered me on, and asked how I felt, to which I responded "not feeling like running 13 miles", but I said it with a smile and was feeling really good. In all honesty, at that point, I was looking forward to the next 13 miles.
I made my way to Main St. in Stroudsburg and got energized by the groups of people that had gathered. I turned left onto a side street to follow the course, and almost ran into Colin's parents. They were making their way to Main St. to find a good viewing spot, and I just happened to see them. Such good people, it was a big boost to see them and say a few words.
Some more running to the first aid station where they were all dressed in pink. I guess they wanted to have a theme. Some costumes, a tutu, a cape, a helmet...all pink. I think I took some water, but can't remember exactly. I must've. I wouldn't pass up an opportunity for water.
I headed up a slight incline, and started cramping up in my hamstring. I thought I could stride it out, but it didn't go away, so I decided to reach down and see if I could massage it while still running. That was a mistake. As soon as I touched my hamstring, it scrunched into a ball and I was in full cramp mode. I had to stop running to stretch it out. Someone asked if I was okay. "Yea, just cramps".
I got going again, having only lost about 30 seconds. I hit mile 2 under 17:00, so even with the stop, I was moving at a decent pace. I got to the next aid station, where they...had....bananas! Just what I needed to prevent cramping. Actually, I'm not certain that potassium after the fact helps, but I was going to as many bananas as I could. Help is on the way, boys!
I got into a good stride again, but some guys were passing me. They were trucking. The professional men were making their way back already. wow. I yelled out at them, but I doubt they needed the inspiration
At around Mile 4, there was a decent uphill. My legs started to get more and more cramped. Now it was both hamstrings and my quads as well. Near the top of the hill, it got so bad that I had to stop. I tried to stretch out my quad, which was a terrible idea. My hamstring tightened right up and I was frozen. The cramps prevented me from moving my legs in either direction. I was able to scuttle over to a downed tree branch to sit on it. I tried to massage my legs, but it didn't seem to be helping. Some motorcycle cops stopped and asked how I was doing. I told them I was fine and that I just had cramps. A woman ran by at right then and yelled out, "ya gotta walk it out". So I tried to get up to walk it out. Maybe it was the break, maybe it was the bananas, but my legs started to feel better. I walked a bit, and then quickly got to running again. There was a bit of a downhill, so I could move a little more freely. I had clearly lost some time. I got to the 5 mile marker at around 45:00, so I was now averaging 9 minute miles. Mile 6.5 was supposed to be the turnaround, and I could feel that I was getting closer. I hit another aid station and grabbed some water, some gatorade, and of course, a banana.
I reached Mile 6, and my old rowing buddy hadn't yet passed me. He really wasn't that far ahead. The aid station people said that there was still about a mile to go, so maybe the turnaround wasn't as close as I had thought. Finally, we crossed paths and gave each other some encouragement. He looked pretty strong. I think I looked alright.
I reached the turnaround at around 1:01:30, which put me under 9:00/mile pace. I was feeling strong and was more than halfway home. The trip back was strong, but uneventful. I was a little slow up the hills, but still felt good. I grabbed some water, soda and bananas to keep me going.
I passed by Colin around mile 8.5. He looked good. We slapped hands amid the crowd of runners. The guy in front of him thought that I was trying to slap his hand. weird.
I got to mile 10, and just started thinking about beer. I just wanted a beer. That's all. I wanted to sit at the bar, and drink a beer. I knew I only had a 5k to run. A run around the river in Boston. I'd done that run a million times. I was there. And as I got out of my beer haze, I hit mile 11. I was golden. Some pesky uphills got me out of breath, but my cramps were gone, and I was feeling good.
Around mile 11, there were some guys that must've read my mind, they had a table full of beer. Oh, but it was Rolling Rock. boo. I asked if they had any Yuengling, but no luck. I ran on.
I was starting to recognize the area as very close to Main St. I passed by the pink station again, and I knew I was home free. I felt really strong for the final two miles. The fact that I had ridden 56 miles and run 11 seemed to have 0 effect on me. I just felt like I was out for a nice 2 mile run.
A few quick turns, and then I was on Main St. It was a long chute to the finish, but there were so many people there, it was amazing. I happened to be the only person running down the street at that point in time, so there was no mistake that those people were cheering for me. And I couldn't help but get choked up. I know they hadn't come to see me, and were probably just waiting for their loved ones, but for about 10 seconds, these complete strangers were yelling for me. It was a pretty great feeling. I decided to take a breath and focus and pick up the pace to finish strong. I was hurting by the end, but I finished in good form. The announcer yelled my name, and I crossed the finishing mat. I was done
I grabbed some water and gatorade, and a volunteer took my timing chip. I got my medal and obligatory foil sheet (it was kind of chilly, after all). And I was officially done. Snapped a photo in front of the stand, found Maggie, Colin's parents, Eileen and started recounting the story.
I found my old rowing buddy and chatted with him a bit. He was a member of the Philly Tri Club, and was gearing up for bigger and better things.
I waited for Colin to come down the chute, he looked good finishing.
Final times for Me:
Bike - 2:49:22 - 19.8mph
Run - 1:54:59 - 8:47 pace
Colin:
Bike - 2:53:16 19.4mph
Run - 1:57:38 8:59 pace
All that was left was to have a Yuengling, watch the Eagles game, and have a DQ Blizzard, and I could call it a day.
Plenty to learn from this race. That'll have to be for another post.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Sunday, September 18, 2011
(Half) Ironman Poconos Pre-Race
I'm going to be racing in Ironman Pocono Mountains in two weeks, October 2nd, 2011. I guess 'racing' isn't the right word. I'm not an elite, so I won't be trying to reach the podium. I'll be performing though: doing all of the 70.3 miles.
I want to make sure things go smoothly, so I've been meaning to do a walkthrough of the race. What better way, then, to solidify this walkthrough than by writing it down.
One of the things I'm trying to focus in on is energy. Eating and drinking. I know I need to eat and drink more than I typically have been for previous races. Right now, my game plan is:
- Before the race: toast with jelly, lots of water, granola bars, apple, some gatorade, maybe some caffeine
- After the swim: 1 Odwalla bar and some swigs of gatorade
- During the bike: 4 water bottles with gatorade/water mix. 3 Odwalla bars spaced out evenly. maybe 4
- After the bike: more swigs of gatorade, 1 more Odwalla bar. maybe some Gu or other
- During the run: water and gatorade. some Gu or another Odwalla bar.
Bike and Run transition check-ins are mandatory for the day before (this race is a two-transition race, T1 is about 8 miles away from T2). So my bike transition will need to include:
- bike
- bike shoes
- helmet
- sunglasses
- extra gatorade
- bike shirt
- 4-5 Odwalla bars
- race belt
- pre-race food
- socks
- bike pump
- bike tools/accessories
And my run transition will need to include:
- sneakers
- Odwalla bar
- gatorade
I think that's about it. It looks like transition will be close enough to the swim start that we'll be able to hang out in transition before the race begins. Then we can mosey on over to the swim start.
Then, after the bike, we'll hit T2, and then be off for the run. I'm still looking to see where aid stations will be on the bike course. Looks like there will be 5 aid stations on the run, and since it's an up-and-back course, that means 10 chances for water/gatorade/etc.
I want to make sure things go smoothly, so I've been meaning to do a walkthrough of the race. What better way, then, to solidify this walkthrough than by writing it down.
One of the things I'm trying to focus in on is energy. Eating and drinking. I know I need to eat and drink more than I typically have been for previous races. Right now, my game plan is:
- Before the race: toast with jelly, lots of water, granola bars, apple, some gatorade, maybe some caffeine
- After the swim: 1 Odwalla bar and some swigs of gatorade
- During the bike: 4 water bottles with gatorade/water mix. 3 Odwalla bars spaced out evenly. maybe 4
- After the bike: more swigs of gatorade, 1 more Odwalla bar. maybe some Gu or other
- During the run: water and gatorade. some Gu or another Odwalla bar.
Bike and Run transition check-ins are mandatory for the day before (this race is a two-transition race, T1 is about 8 miles away from T2). So my bike transition will need to include:
- bike
- bike shoes
- helmet
- sunglasses
- extra gatorade
- bike shirt
- 4-5 Odwalla bars
- race belt
- pre-race food
- socks
- bike pump
- bike tools/accessories
And my run transition will need to include:
- sneakers
- Odwalla bar
- gatorade
I think that's about it. It looks like transition will be close enough to the swim start that we'll be able to hang out in transition before the race begins. Then we can mosey on over to the swim start.
Then, after the bike, we'll hit T2, and then be off for the run. I'm still looking to see where aid stations will be on the bike course. Looks like there will be 5 aid stations on the run, and since it's an up-and-back course, that means 10 chances for water/gatorade/etc.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Pine Barrens 2011
Precursor:
It surely helps to record what happened during a race shortly after you've finished it. I thought I wrote down my thoughts from the Pine Barrens Triathlon, but I can't seem to find any notes.
So, of course, my recollection is going to be pretty bare and without significant detail. I'll try to recall what I can, but it probably won't be very good...
This was the 2nd time doing the Pine Barrens Triathlon. I came back to do this race for many reasons: 1.) It was the first real triathlon I ever competed in, 2) It was a particularly fun course, 3) the attendance was low last time, making for an intimate, low-pressure beginning to my 2nd triathlon season. But I'd say the biggest reason I came back was because it's a race that takes place only a few miles from where I grew up. It was a homecoming. My notes from last year's race are much more detailed since there was so much to take in.
Last year, the race was on a Sunday. This year, it was a Saturday. Presumably because the race director was trying to bump attendance from last year, and Saturday maybe seemed like a better day to have a race. That could be a totally false reason; hopefully it was, because attendance this year wasn't much higher. I think the race director simply isn't that good at marketing his races. It's a great race, and it's fairly well-run. It's just kind of unknown. Oh well, I like it better that way.
I had taken Friday off to drive down to New Jersey. It would be a good rest day. I hadn't been doing crazy training up until that point. In fact, my late-winter training had kind of fallen apart. I had only recently gotten back into a decent routine in early spring. It was all okay, though, since this race was really just a gauge to see where I stood in relation to 1 year ago. I figured I'd be in generally the same arena. My training wasn't as strong, but I had been building a decent level of fitness over the past year and I had a little bit of wisdom with me this time around. I figured those things would cancel out my slight lack of race-day readiness. We would soon find out.
I arrived at the race site about and hour before the start. I knew that it was going to be another low-attendance race, since they publish the participant list on the website. It wouldn't be a huge mess getting everything in order. I parked, unloaded and wandered to the transition area. Plenty of room to pick a spot to start setting up. I grabbed a rack very close to where I had a spot the year prior. It was a sleepy morning, and there was no pressure. Everyone seemed relaxed. It was just a good Saturday morning. Perfect weather.
My parents and my sister arrived and wandered around the area. I was surprised that they were willing to get up early enough and make the drive down.
The pre-race meeting started, and it was just about what I remembered from the past year. Nothing had changed, course-wise, so I didn't have to pay attention to every single detail. I did the last of my preparation, and put my wetsuit on. I believe my pre-race food consisted of an English Muffin (or two), an apple, and some Gatorade. I was ready to go and made my way to the water.
After chatting with some fellow racers and getting a few practice strokes in, it was time to get the race started. I remembered that the start of the race last year had been fairly abrupt, so I made sure to get in the water, ready to go at a moment's notice. It was an in-water start, and I didn't want to waste time running in and swimming up to the first buoy.
As expected, the start was fairly quick. There was some advance notice, but it wasn't the most organized beginning to a race. I decided to stay in a good pace for the swim, and really just try to remain consistent. My swimming had taken some good strides over the past year, but I just wanted to see how well I could manage the swim.
Either it was an uneventful swim, or I just can't remember the details. Either way, I was out of the water after about 16 minutes; very similar to last year's time. I was kind of surprised that I wasn't faster. I had successfully done bi-lateral breathing, though, so I wasn't dizzy from breathing on one side for 16 minutes.
I got to my bike, and was able to quickly pull off the wetsuit and get my bike gear ready. I think I moved pretty quickly headed out. I was going to try a moving mount, with the shoes already clipped into the bike. I honestly can't remember if that went smoothly or not. I have a feeling it didn't since I wasn't able to practice it in the days prior.
I headed out on the bike, and got some good speed going. I hadn't gotten many miles in on the bike in my training, so I think I was preparing to die a little bit by the end. Fortunately, the bike course is pretty flat, so it's not too tough to keep a good pace. I got passed by a couple of guys, and passed a couple others. Pretty uneventful (or I forgot).
I do remember riding by the drag race track (in Atco, NJ), and there were many trailers and cars getting ready for racing. At that point, part of me wished I was tailgating in the parking lot, getting ready to go watch some quality drag racing. I'm sure they were all getting ready to have a pretty fun day (and they were probably also mocking all of the spandex-clad cyclists as we rode by).
There were some slight uphills that I really charged up, and ended up passing a guy. He overtook me a few miles later, but gave me credit for being able to charge up the hills. Apparently, I can attack hills pretty well. Though, I think I pay the price for not being consistent on the ride, which is what is needed to have a fast, successful long ride.
We came around to the final turn, and I tried to hammer it a little harder. We still had a few miles to go, but the end was close, so it was time to get quick. Everyone else had the same idea, because the guys in front of me all picked it up. Everyone was moving pretty well.
I got back to transition and was able to dismount, I think I rolled my ankle a little bit. I was a little too ambitious on the dismount. No serious pain, but I feared i may have damaged it a bit. I got my shoes on and took off for the run.
I hate running. But I love this run course. It's 100% in the woods, and it's got twists and turns and mini hills and white sand. In most parts, you can't see 30 feet down the course and you just have to take all of turns in stride. I should hate it, but I love it. There was one water station (which you visit on the way out and on the way back, and I grabbed some water. I do remember rolling my ankle somewhere on the run course (around a turn, for sure) and thinking that my ankle joint was getting weak and that I needed to be careful. A few people passed me, but not too many.
The run course turned around, and I was on my way back. Some water at the water station, and I was almost home free. I was feeling good, not great. I reached the finish line and had a little bit left in the tank. I stopped my watch and remembered thinking that I got about the same time as last year. I recovered, grabbed some water and food, and called it a day.
My splits for each race:
Swim
2010 - 16:10
2011 - 16:12
T1
2010 - 1:38
2011 - 1:23
Bike
2010 - 1:08:46
2011 - 1:07:33
T2
2010 - :21
2011 - :33
Run
2010 - 31:42
2011 - 31:05
Total:
2010 - 1:58:37
2011 - 1:56:44
Weird, the results posted on the results site don't add up to the total. The totals above are from adding each item. I think they removed transition times from the 2010 race.
I maintained over the past year. My swim was the same, but I'm sure I was much more efficient with it. My bike was faster, which was a little surprising, since I was in better biking shape last year. Perhaps the energy saved on the swim allowed me to crank a little harded. My run was faster, which I kind of expected, since I had done a decent job of maintaining my running fitness, and have gotten faster over the past year.
All in all, a decent race to start off the season. Now to just stick to a training schedule.
It surely helps to record what happened during a race shortly after you've finished it. I thought I wrote down my thoughts from the Pine Barrens Triathlon, but I can't seem to find any notes.
So, of course, my recollection is going to be pretty bare and without significant detail. I'll try to recall what I can, but it probably won't be very good...
This was the 2nd time doing the Pine Barrens Triathlon. I came back to do this race for many reasons: 1.) It was the first real triathlon I ever competed in, 2) It was a particularly fun course, 3) the attendance was low last time, making for an intimate, low-pressure beginning to my 2nd triathlon season. But I'd say the biggest reason I came back was because it's a race that takes place only a few miles from where I grew up. It was a homecoming. My notes from last year's race are much more detailed since there was so much to take in.
Last year, the race was on a Sunday. This year, it was a Saturday. Presumably because the race director was trying to bump attendance from last year, and Saturday maybe seemed like a better day to have a race. That could be a totally false reason; hopefully it was, because attendance this year wasn't much higher. I think the race director simply isn't that good at marketing his races. It's a great race, and it's fairly well-run. It's just kind of unknown. Oh well, I like it better that way.
I had taken Friday off to drive down to New Jersey. It would be a good rest day. I hadn't been doing crazy training up until that point. In fact, my late-winter training had kind of fallen apart. I had only recently gotten back into a decent routine in early spring. It was all okay, though, since this race was really just a gauge to see where I stood in relation to 1 year ago. I figured I'd be in generally the same arena. My training wasn't as strong, but I had been building a decent level of fitness over the past year and I had a little bit of wisdom with me this time around. I figured those things would cancel out my slight lack of race-day readiness. We would soon find out.
I arrived at the race site about and hour before the start. I knew that it was going to be another low-attendance race, since they publish the participant list on the website. It wouldn't be a huge mess getting everything in order. I parked, unloaded and wandered to the transition area. Plenty of room to pick a spot to start setting up. I grabbed a rack very close to where I had a spot the year prior. It was a sleepy morning, and there was no pressure. Everyone seemed relaxed. It was just a good Saturday morning. Perfect weather.
My parents and my sister arrived and wandered around the area. I was surprised that they were willing to get up early enough and make the drive down.
The pre-race meeting started, and it was just about what I remembered from the past year. Nothing had changed, course-wise, so I didn't have to pay attention to every single detail. I did the last of my preparation, and put my wetsuit on. I believe my pre-race food consisted of an English Muffin (or two), an apple, and some Gatorade. I was ready to go and made my way to the water.
After chatting with some fellow racers and getting a few practice strokes in, it was time to get the race started. I remembered that the start of the race last year had been fairly abrupt, so I made sure to get in the water, ready to go at a moment's notice. It was an in-water start, and I didn't want to waste time running in and swimming up to the first buoy.
As expected, the start was fairly quick. There was some advance notice, but it wasn't the most organized beginning to a race. I decided to stay in a good pace for the swim, and really just try to remain consistent. My swimming had taken some good strides over the past year, but I just wanted to see how well I could manage the swim.
Either it was an uneventful swim, or I just can't remember the details. Either way, I was out of the water after about 16 minutes; very similar to last year's time. I was kind of surprised that I wasn't faster. I had successfully done bi-lateral breathing, though, so I wasn't dizzy from breathing on one side for 16 minutes.
I got to my bike, and was able to quickly pull off the wetsuit and get my bike gear ready. I think I moved pretty quickly headed out. I was going to try a moving mount, with the shoes already clipped into the bike. I honestly can't remember if that went smoothly or not. I have a feeling it didn't since I wasn't able to practice it in the days prior.
I headed out on the bike, and got some good speed going. I hadn't gotten many miles in on the bike in my training, so I think I was preparing to die a little bit by the end. Fortunately, the bike course is pretty flat, so it's not too tough to keep a good pace. I got passed by a couple of guys, and passed a couple others. Pretty uneventful (or I forgot).
I do remember riding by the drag race track (in Atco, NJ), and there were many trailers and cars getting ready for racing. At that point, part of me wished I was tailgating in the parking lot, getting ready to go watch some quality drag racing. I'm sure they were all getting ready to have a pretty fun day (and they were probably also mocking all of the spandex-clad cyclists as we rode by).
There were some slight uphills that I really charged up, and ended up passing a guy. He overtook me a few miles later, but gave me credit for being able to charge up the hills. Apparently, I can attack hills pretty well. Though, I think I pay the price for not being consistent on the ride, which is what is needed to have a fast, successful long ride.
We came around to the final turn, and I tried to hammer it a little harder. We still had a few miles to go, but the end was close, so it was time to get quick. Everyone else had the same idea, because the guys in front of me all picked it up. Everyone was moving pretty well.
I got back to transition and was able to dismount, I think I rolled my ankle a little bit. I was a little too ambitious on the dismount. No serious pain, but I feared i may have damaged it a bit. I got my shoes on and took off for the run.
I hate running. But I love this run course. It's 100% in the woods, and it's got twists and turns and mini hills and white sand. In most parts, you can't see 30 feet down the course and you just have to take all of turns in stride. I should hate it, but I love it. There was one water station (which you visit on the way out and on the way back, and I grabbed some water. I do remember rolling my ankle somewhere on the run course (around a turn, for sure) and thinking that my ankle joint was getting weak and that I needed to be careful. A few people passed me, but not too many.
The run course turned around, and I was on my way back. Some water at the water station, and I was almost home free. I was feeling good, not great. I reached the finish line and had a little bit left in the tank. I stopped my watch and remembered thinking that I got about the same time as last year. I recovered, grabbed some water and food, and called it a day.
My splits for each race:
Swim
2010 - 16:10
2011 - 16:12
T1
2010 - 1:38
2011 - 1:23
Bike
2010 - 1:08:46
2011 - 1:07:33
T2
2010 - :21
2011 - :33
Run
2010 - 31:42
2011 - 31:05
Total:
2010 - 1:58:37
2011 - 1:56:44
Weird, the results posted on the results site don't add up to the total. The totals above are from adding each item. I think they removed transition times from the 2010 race.
I maintained over the past year. My swim was the same, but I'm sure I was much more efficient with it. My bike was faster, which was a little surprising, since I was in better biking shape last year. Perhaps the energy saved on the swim allowed me to crank a little harded. My run was faster, which I kind of expected, since I had done a decent job of maintaining my running fitness, and have gotten faster over the past year.
All in all, a decent race to start off the season. Now to just stick to a training schedule.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
NYC Tri
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
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
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.
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