Vic the Brick Jacobs...FEELIN' YOU!

In LA sports broadcasting, there’s a laughable legend named Vic “The Brick” Jacobs.  Thick Noo Yawk accent.  Dresses in bizarre fashion.  Jewish Buddhist.  Laker fan for Life.

I love the guy.  I’ll admit it.

His catch phrase is “Feelin’ You!”  It’s what he practically yells into the radio mic when fans call in to his shows.  It’s his way of acknowledging his fans’ presence, energy, and support.

That phrase has been stuck in my head the past several nights.  Not because I’m feelin’ Vic or because he’s feelin’ me.  More to the point, it’s because I’m not feelin’ me.  Where did I go? I’ve had post Ironman depression in the past, but this is something different.  I’m more tired than I recall.  Lethargic.  Unmotivated.  And worst of all, that’s left my temper short.  I’ve had a shockingly short fuse the past few days, almost embarrassingly so.

What’s my deal?  I am most certainly NOT feelin’ me.

Part of the problem is that my next race is probably not for another three months.  Part of my problem is that I’ve gone from Ironman training to weekend spin class with Steph where I’m the only guy in the room, certainly the only avid cyclist, and certainly among the youngest.  ”Sweatin’ to the oldies” is a more appropriate phrase right now than I’d like.  Paging Richard Simmons.

I’m having a hard time adjusting back to “normal” life.  My dad has given me some really good advice though.  I need to watch out for “Adrenaline Junkie Complex,” that feeling where you go immediately from one giant goal to the next without taking adequate time to celebrate what just took place. Yep, that’s definitely me right now.  I’m working on it.  For that reason, I purposely haven’t scheduled another race in the next few days. I need to get better at managing the void.  Filling that void with more races isn’t the answer.  Being mature, reflecting, acknowledging, and evolving is the answer.

So, for the next few days and perhaps weeks, let’s just call this period “growing pains.”  Apologies in advance if you’re not feelin’ me.

Don’t worry.  I’m not feelin’ me either.

I'm wearing a soaked rag on my head...and it felt great.

The good news with an Ironman marathon, when the race is going well, is knowing you can walk the damn thing and still finish before midnight.

That’s what I thought as I walked toward the T2 changing tent from the bike dismount after my 112-mile ride.  I couldn’t pick my legs up enough to run, still trying to process the day’s events to that point.  The idea of running 26.2 miles in that moment seemed not just ridiculous, but cruel. It was 82 degrees with no cloud cover, which meant with the asphalt heat rising it would feel closer to 87.

I entered the dark changing area with my running gear bag, which a helpful volunteer held out for me as I rummaged through it to put body glide on my feet to avoid blisters, then socks, then my shoes.  I took two Salt Stick canisters and a full packet of Pepto Bismal.  Just as I reached to put it in my back jersey pocket, I was greeted with a loud wretching noise nearby.  Another Ironman tribute was puking. “It’s been happening all day,” the volunteer said grimly.

I thanked the volunteer for his calm help and stepped outside the tent.  I didn’t realize how shady and cool the changing area was. An oasis. Then the best part of the oasis, a team of volunteers armed with nothing more than sunblock surrounded me, slathering me all at once.  I sighed with delight and relief, not knowing I was sporting a wicked sunburn on my shoulders and lat muscles where my tri suit didn’t cover.  Pouring bottles of water all over me on the bike to stay cool showered away any semblance of sun protection. But in that moment, the topical felt just as soothing as massage oil applied during a spa visit.

Time to test the legs out.  Would I be running or walking today?  Surprisingly, my legs responded well.  Not even a “This again?” squeal from my quads.  All systems go.  My body was getting used to this unique form of torture, even without solid food for nearly three hours.  I saw Steph as I begain the first loop of the three-loop course — the first of 10 times I’d have the privilege — gave her a kiss, and it was on.

I had to employ various tricks during the first 13 miles to keep my body moving at a consistent sub-10-minute mile pace.  The first trick is to break up the 13 miles into two 10k runs.  I run six miles all the time, this would be no different.  My brain knows it can handle this so my body follows.  Then, I reward my body at every aid station by throwing a cup of ice cold water into my face.  I’m getting very tired with each passing mile, so the water wakes me up and literally forces the breath out of me with the shocking chill.  I also stuff soaked sponges down my jersey, front and back. After that, my ritual includes pouring ice into the jersey opening down my chest.  My heart-rate strap acts as a sort of dam, so the ice centers and stops right over my heart and lungs.  As a result, my heart-rate hardly ever rises above zone 2 (roughly 146 beats per minute) through the entire run.

That keeps me cool, but what would keep me nourished?  Fool your mind, the body will follow.  But without fuel, both body and mind are toast.  Fortunately, I remembered the advice my Fortius teammate and friend Christina posted on my Facebook the night before the race. I’m convinced this single piece of advice saved my run, and enabled me to PR the marathon.

Christina told me that if I couldn’t eat anything during the marathon, try grapes.  ”Lifesavers,” she wrote.

They were. I ate at least five full bunches of grapes during my nearly 4.5 hour trek.  The grapes gave me enough sugar to persist, and I found entertainment rolling them around in my fingers, squishing them apart in my mouth.  Lifesavers they were.

There were other lifesavers on the course though.  First and foremost was my new friend Colleen, whom I shall refer to as the Mayor of St. George because of the constant cheering for her I heard on every street of the course.  Colleen lives in St. George, and was kind enough to reply to my St. George preview post from six weeks ago — warning me that the first 20 miles of the bike course were not to be taken for granted.

Oh, how right she turned out to be. If it wasn’t for her, I’m convinced I might not have been as mentally prepared.

Colleen and I seemed to be running the same marathon for the most part.  For most of the afternoon, we leap-frogged each other, always encouraging the other to keep running, keep pushing, keep pacing.  Unfortunately, Colleen was having some digestive issues that caused her to run at what probably was a slower pace for her — and I think it was hurting her outlook.  But since she is the Mayor of St. George, she had plenty of support to keep her on track.  One nice guy literally ran alongside the two of us for around a half-mile, giving her a pep talk during the second loop that probably helped me just as much.

When you’re sucking wind, you’ll take anybody’s encouraging words even if they’re not meant for you.

At the half-marathon point, I looked to the tall tower in the town square where the finisher’s chute was stationed.  If I could maintain my current pace, I’d definitely break 13 hours — which was my secondary personal goal.  My first goal was a 12:30:00 finish, weather permitting.  Well, the weather certainly did not permit.  The next-best thing was to break 13 hours.

It would be hard, but doable.

(The video below is the official Ironman St. George 2012 highlights video. It summarizes the entire day in case you’re sick of reading all this. Look for me at the 5:17 mark!)

My body wasn’t cooperating though.  The mile pace times started to creep into the 10:20 per mile range, then slower.  Soon, I was consistently running in the 10:10s and getting worried.  My heart rate was low, but so was my output.  I became scared that I was bonking with a whole lot more running to do.  Maybe I would have to walk?

The trick to finishing the second half of an Ironman marathon is to count backwards from 13 miles.  Twelve more miles to go.  Eleven.  Ten, and so on.  My goal is to get to that six-mile mark, knowing it’s “just” one last 10k.  Only by the time this 10k began, I was in danger of missing the 13-hour window.  I needed to pick up the pace.

Too bad though.  I had hit the wall. Miles 20 and 21 were almost at the 11-minute per mile pace.  Miles 23 and 24 were slower. My body was breaking down.  The lack of food was catching up to me.  Things got so bad that when spectators were high-fiving me, they were actually slowing down my pace.  Instead of giving me energy, fans were taking it with each slap of my hand.  But then I realized, this is it.  I was running the final two miles of my Ironman.  An Ironman that I originally worried would only have an asterisk next to it because it wasn’t on the same course as the first two brutally tough St. George events.  There would be no asterisk.  This course was giving me everything I could handle.  I had already made peace with my Tri-asshole nemesis from 2010.  Was he here racing?  Who knew?  Who cared?  I was.  Nobody could accuse me of taking the “easy” way out at an Ironman course.

All these thoughts invigorated me.  I wanted to give this remaining run everything I had left. To find strength I didn’t know existed.  So I made a promise to myself.  No. More. Stopping.  From mile 24 until the end of the race, I was going all-out.  Even through the toughest part of the course, a mile-long steady climb on Diagonal Street, I would not stop.  The faster I ran, the faster this torture would be over.  Plus, maybe I could salvage a sub-13-hour finish. It was possible, if I just kept on pushing.

My final two miles were 9:45 climbing and 8:40 descending.  Not record-breaking times but among my fastest miles of the day.  Heading down towards the final turnaround, I found Steph, told her to get ready, it was time for a victory celebration in the finisher’s chute.  Thinking of Chris McCormack and his awkward Ironman victory photos with sponges shoved in his chest, I got ready for my close up.  I flung out four sponges, and opened my jersey all the way to drain water and ice.

This was almost it.  Still, there was a quarter-mile to go.  The clock tower was out of sight and the last time I saw it, it read 7:55 p.m.  C’mon Ryan!  I implored…finish strong!  The turnaround came, the clock tower came back into view…12:56.  Four minutes to run make the right turn on Main Street and hear Mike Reilly call me an Ironman for the third time.

I liked my chances!

And so the celebration began.  My arms instinctively became airplane wings, and I flew from one side of the crowd to the other, accepting all the high-hives I could touch.  I never wanted this moment to end, and yet that’s all I wanted.

“Ryan Schneider, Sherman Oaks, California…You’re an Ironman!”

Number 3!!!

At the finish line, I looked at my watch: 4:26:11.  A marathon PR.  12:57:32.  Mission.  Accomplished.

I found Steph in the chute shortly thereafter.  She missed the finish because the course was blocked off and made it hard for her to cross the street from her personal cheering perch to get into the stands. Steph accepted a long embrace, and my apologies for telling her she’d be able to see me no problem at the finish.  We had a good laugh.

Once the euphoria of the race wore off, the chills set in.  I couldn’t stay warm.  My body was cold and required medical attention to warm up with several blankets, chicken broth and massage work.  After nearly an hour of recovery in the massage and medical area, it was time to go home.

The Ironman Games had concluded.  I survived.  I took everything the Gamesmakers threw at me and never panicked.  In some ways, I got to know myself better as a result.  And I appreciate myself a little more.  Tri-asshole is dead.  And the only asterisk next to this race is to signify that it was statistically the hardest Ironman in the history of the sport.

In Arizona, I left a piece of my heart and soul on that course.  Coeur d’Alene has my gratitude, but no scars to speak of.  St. George…that’s the place I’ll remember where I confirmed who I really am.  A fighter. And a finisher.

I finish what I start.  No matter what.  I finish.

I won my own version of the Ironman Games.

Beautiful but brutal ride. I was battling a headwind here but staying positive.

Wind is nature’s snake.  It’s unpredictable, can lash out and strike at any moment, wreak incredible damage, poison body and mind, then meekly slither away like a faint breeze.

If that’s the case, the wind on the first loop of the Ironman St. George bike course from Sandy Hollow Reservoir to and through Gunlock was a black mamba.  Merciless.  Sinister.  Overwhelming.   It was only something a Gamesmaker could have devised with a cackle from a remote location.  I’ve experienced black mamba wind before, mainly at Ironman Arizona in 2010, but only in roughly 20-minute bursts.  The constant 30-40 mph pounding we took on the bike after passing through the towns of Santa Clara and Ivins lasted more than an hour at a time before we received a brief respite — climbing the daunting Veyo Wall.

I’ve never looked more forward to climbing a nearly mile long, category 4, 6% steady grade.

The windy conditions never broke me physically, but there were more than a few times battling the elements when I wanted to park my bike, find a hole in the red rocks on the side of the road and just curl up.  Quitting wasn’t an option, but it became far more of a fantasy than finishing the race.  Later in the days following the race, I’ve heard that 170 Ironman tributes didn’t make it to the run.

With that in mind, my seven-hour, 112-mile, 6,000-foot suffer-fest once again taught me that good things come to those who persevere.  There were many times during the ride’s first 66 miles when I wanted to stop.  But then I wouldn’t have been rewarded with a blast-furnace tailwind for the return trip into St. George.  If the wind heading out of town was the snake, then during the loop back I became the charmer.  As you’ll see in my Strava data, I reached speeds approaching 50 mph!  There was one point where I was keeping pace with a convertible BMW on the trafficked highway lane next to me.  I was hunched in my aero position, staring back at three people sunning themselves in their luxury car.  They waved.  I sheepishly waved back quickly so as not to be blown completely off the road, unsure what else to do but laugh at the absurdity of this whole experience.

All I could think was, “The Gamesmaker Giveth, and the Gamesmaker Taketh Away.”

NOT a happy camper at this point on the ride. Starting Loop 2.

Before that hissing tailwind, I was on pace for an eight-hour Ironman bike ride.  My worst by nearly 1.5 hours.  But thanks to becoming the charmer and not suffering from the snake bites, I soared into town on pace for my target goal of seven hours.  Everything was back on track.

And then, I stopped being able to eat food.

I knew I swallowed a lot of water in the swim.  But why had it taken 4.5 hours for that to become a potential problem?  At the time, I figured it was the sweet and sticky Ironman Perform bottled drinks I was downing one after the other at each 15-mile aid station.  I correctly anticipated that I may have stomach issues based on past Ironmans so I packed Pepto Bismal in my Bento Box on the bike.  Consuming four tablets over the next three hours helped calm my gut, but it did nothing to spark my appetite.  All I could manage were a steady stream of Salt Stick capsules, water, and the occasional Gu Roctane.  At least I was hydrated, evidenced by twice being able to pee while remaining on the bike (sorry Santa Monica Mountain Cycles!).  My stomach issues almost became a blessing because they distracted me from the nasty headwinds picking up again on the Gunlock portion of the second loop.  Fortunately, I had company in the form of a 46-year-old triathlon coach from Boston, Richard.  We talked for around 20 minutes.  He said that he’s been to Kona for five world championships, yet this Ironman was the hardest by far he’s ever experienced.  We encouraged each other, talked about triathlon, race strategy for the rest of the day, and leap frogged back and forth.  Just knowing someone else — someone very fast — was suffering actually made me feel a little better in that I wasn’t the only one.  (That sounds terrible, I know.)  My conditioning didn’t suck.  The snake was biting everyone equally.  Of course, I didn’t have the benefit of knowing just how many people were snake-bitten at that moment.

By the six-hour mark, my pace steeply dropped heading up the three main Gunlock-Veyo climbs, and my willpower drained.  How could I possibly run a marathon still?  The crosswinds following the Veyo Wall are the worst part of the bike loop.  You can see the turn into town that will free you from the snake’s grip, yet getting there seems almost impossible.  The wind’s grip was too constricting.  Everything around me became a mirage.  Shade.  The smell of the Veyo Pies shop.  The next rest stop. Meanwhile, the winds are whipping me to the point that I’m riding across the road’s double yellow lines.  If I was walking, I would have looked like Rocky Balboa in the 15th round of a fight.  It wasn’t walking.  It wasn’t pedaling.  It was dragging and mashing.  Willpower, not pedal power.  Just. Pedal. A. Bit. More.

Finally, the snake loosened its choke hold.  The shade briefly revealed itself, and so did the tailwind — albeit much more mild than before.  I’d actually have to work a bit climbing the two miles before the steep descent to St. George, but who cares?  If I could rally and the winds cooperated, I knew I could reach the seven-hour mark.  I was still on track.  The day was not lost.  I pounded forward, pedaling when many were coasting besides me.  Seeing others crumble behind me — people who had stormed ahead of me earlier — fed my depleted confidence.  Pacing was my power.  Eventually I saw my Fortius buddy Matt about five to 10 minutes ahead of me going into the final two mile turnaround.  We hadn’t seen each other since connecting for about 15 minutes during the ferocious first loop.  I thought if Matt, who is a dramatically faster cyclist than me, is only several minutes ahead then today was way worse for everyone than I imagined. Despair turned to pride and something else…hope.

My ride came to a gentle end, like a faint breeze after a tempest.  The wind slowed down, and after a short but steep climb to Bluff Street I was giving my bike to a volunteer at T2.  I didn’t know it then, but my finishing time was 7:00:18.  Seven hours flat.  After all that worrying. After the battling.  After the snake charming.  I hit the lower end of what I expected to accomplish on the bike.

How I arrived to that time though…I never expected any of that.

I survived the water and the wind.  I survived the heat and my own intestinal mutiny.

What would the Ironman Gamesmakers think of for the run?

The calm before the storm...literally.

Be careful what you wish for.

That thought first crossed my mind midway through the first loop on the Ironman St. George bike course, right after sand blasts smacked my face from 30-40 mph wind gusts.  After the wind blew me literally from one side of the road to the other.  After the myriad leg-biting rolling hills yet before any of the three “big” climbs near the tiny towns of Gunlock and Veyo.

I wanted to tackle one of the toughest Ironman courses in North America — perhaps the world — to see how I’d respond.  I wanted to find my true physical and mental limits. Arizona and Coeur d’Alene tested me, but I was left hungry for more. Plus, those of you who have read my past posts know there’s more to it than that.  I never quite shook off the verbal assault laid upon me by Tri-asshole before my first Ironman in 2010.  Upon telling Tri-asshole I was training for Ironman Arizona, all I got back was a biting stare and, “You could have picked a harder one.”

I’ve been racing that guy in my mind ever since.

Midway through the second run loop this past Saturday at Ironman St. George, I finally passed him.  Looked him in the eye, told him to screw himself, and kept right on running.

Based on the 20% did not finish rate and the slowest recorded winning pro Ironman times, Ironman St. George 2012 is now officially the hardest Ironman race on record. Yet statistically I had my best race even though it was also my slowest Ironman finish time; I ranked top 19% in my age group (47/240).

I have nothing left to prove to anybody, and most important, I have nothing left to prove to myself.

What follows is my tale of what I’ll affectionately refer to as “The Ironman Games” — for that’s what it truly felt like at points when weather changed and worsened seemingly for no reason whatsoever.  I’d love to meet the Head Gamesmaker who concocted Saturday’s race.

PRE-RACE

Sandy Hollows Reservoir requires a 25-minute shuttle bus ride from the T2 and finisher’s chute in downtown St. George. That’s a long time to be cooped up with a bunch of nervous Ironman tributes.  To tune them out, I blasted my headphones with my usual array of Rocky soundtrack hits and some new stuff too (Fun, Florence and the Machines, The Heavy).  Between each song, I could hear two guys behind me talking about their split times, how they want to handle T1, what nutrition they’ll eat, etc.  I immediately put my phones back on to drown them out.  First-timers, I thought.  Then I laughed to myself how weird that comment was…it wasn’t so long ago I was them.  The tune that really got me jacked up and race-ready in the dark before dawn was Metallica’s cover of Bob Seger’s “Turn the Page.”  If you haven’t listened to that song, I think you’ll find the parallels between Seger’s ode to constant travel on the road and the moments before an Ironman oddly similar.

Once our bus pulled up to the race site, I pulled off my phones, got body marked and tried to find a porto potty.  I’ve learned they get filled (literally) the first.  Everything else can wait.  Unfortunately, many people had the same idea as me. Waiting for a toilet was like the tributes in Hunger Games plotting out what they were going to pluck from the Cornucopia.  Frenzied tension.

To calm down pre-race after the restroom visit, I lounged in the changing tent again with my headphones on.  The energy was palpable and draining.  Frank Sinatra crooned me back to a mellow state.  I guarantee I was the only guy at Ironman listening to Frankie before the race.

The sun came up, the glide came on, as did my wetsuit…and it was time to march with nearly 1,500 other people towards the water.

We had no idea what was waiting for us.

SWIM (AKA “The Tempest”)

This picture doesn't even do the actual scene justice.

During the walk into the lake, I started bobbing my head and dancing to the music.  I’ve learned to remember and savor every moment leading up to an Ironman as well as during it.  One guy behind me pretended he was drawing a syringe from my arm and said, “Dude, I need some of your energy for today.”  That felt good to hear.  If other people can feel my energy and draw strength from it, then it’s going to be a good day.

My Fortius Racing buddies Matt and David joined me in the reservoir and we leisurely floated and treaded water for what felt far longer than 15 minutes even though it wasn’t.  My mind and body felt as tranquil as the water in that moment.  Even the music that was supposed to excite us, even Mike Reilly shouting out if we were ready to be an Ironman didn’t faze me.  Honestly, I was laughing to myself “Been there, heard that.”  Had this gotten old for me already?

Then, the cannon boomed.  Nearly 1,500 Ironman tributes blasted off, kicking, grabbing, gouging, rolling and knocking into each other. I swam with my head up and out for the first 100 or 200 yards, just to be safe.  All you could see was white foam and bright green caps.  My only initial drama came when someone grabbed around my waist and started to pull me downward.  I put my arm around their waist, used my momentum to propel myself over their body and swam out of the way.  All I could think the first 500 yards or so was to stay calm, find a lane, relax and not go out too hard like I did at Ironman Couer d’Alene. Mission accomplished.  I settled into a fine groove, found feet to draft off thanks to super clear water, and cruised to the first turn buoy.

I was going to PR this swim by a longshot, I thought.

The Head Gamesmaker had other plans.

Upon making that turn and essentially heading back the way we came, it felt like a boat must have cruised across our swim line.  The wake was just too high to be anything else.  I was pushed several feet high and thrust back down again into the surf.

“What the fuck was that?!”  I yelled to nobody in particular.  Then, I looked up and all I could see were waves, mist, and hardly any other swimmers.  This was not the same water I had just spent about 15 minutes in.  This was far worse.  It reminded me of the LA Triathlon race in 2010 where the lifeguard boat bobbed around like a toy in the ocean.  Where we had to run 200 yards to the right of the entry point so the current would carry us vertically to the right turn buoy.

With that in mind, I reminded myself of two things: First, I’ve been here before. Second, my grandfather was with me.  It was the seventh anniversary of his funeral. Nothing was going to happen on his watch. Keep swimming.  Don’t panic.  Stay focused.

The next hour was more a battle of patience and will then it was an exercise in swimming technique. I’d swim down a swell, take three strokes, see when I was about to be pulverized by a wave, breast stroke up to the crest, seek some guidance on some buoy — ANY buoy — and swim towards that mark while trying not to swallow any more water.  Rarely did I have anyone within 15 yards of me.  I had never felt so alone in a swim, which is a terrible feeling when you think there are supposed to be 1,400-plus other swimmers in the water with you.  But where are they??? I simply couldn’t see them, and I could only see buoys every few minutes or so.  My spirits sank as I realized this would be a very slow swim, and that my goal of an Ironman PR were blowing away in the horrendous breeze.

Things got worse before they got better.  As I swam around the small island in the reservoir before the final turn towards shore, the current and chop were pushing me towards rocks.  I could see beneath me the outline of the earth and rock — I wasn’t scared but I was definitely concerned I was about to scrape up my body pretty bad if I kept getting pushed left.  I swam especially hard for at least 200 yards, head down, no sighting, just swimming towards where I thought the turn buoy should roughly be located.  Until that point I took what the tempest was giving me, but it was time to fight back or suffer real painful consequences.  I was around 20 yards from the turnaround buoy when I decided to abruptly turn left towards shore. I cleared the island and began to see green caps again.  Relieved, I picked up my pace and felt the waves picking me up from the backside now.  Then, it seemed like I was on a conveyor belt headed in the opposite direction.  Aren’t we supposed to be in a reservoir?  This was serious current!

Finally, mercifully, I reached the boat landing.  The wind was ripping and howling as banners looked like they were about to tear from their posts and fly away like magic carpets.  My fellow swimmers and I didn’t run onto the concrete and carpeting.  We staggered.  I was dazed.  What just happened?  Was that real?  What time is it?  The clock indicated I had been in the water one hour and 22 minutes.  That’s the longest single swim I’ve endured, three full minutes longer than my cramps-laden IM Coeur d’Alene swim last year. It was going to be a long, long day.

Then, I gazed into the bike racks at T1.  Most of the bikes were still there!  Did I actually have a good swim and just didn’t know it?

I later found out that between 200 and 300 Ironman tributes were pulled from the water — including an active duty Navy SEAL who missed the swim cutoff (he must’ve been from District 2).  I’ve also heard rumors that the swim cutoff was extended 15 minutes due to not being able to find all the athletes and so many being blown off course.  Moreover, according to my friend Colleen’s race report, 57 out of 60 kayak rescuers needed rescuing themselves!

I was the little volleyball from Castaway, and yet unlike the movie, somehow, someway I miraculously made it through unscathed — just dazed.

That was just the beginning of the day. I still had to get on the bike.

I made a self-motivational poster for myself to post on the race course!

The bike is dropped at the reservoir.  The run bag is at T2.  The items on my three-day pre-race checklist have been checked.

Now, I wait.

I wait knowing that in 24 hours, I’ll still be on the bike for up to another 30 minutes or so.  I wait knowing that in several hours after that, this whole thing will be over for several months.  No more races on my calendar until September.  Possibly no more Ironmans (unless WTC comes through with an inaugural event in Tahoe or San Luis Obispo) until I qualify by lottery for Kona one day.  70.3 events?  Sure!  I’m down with that.  Full Ironmans…we’ll see.

I’ve found that time, like all the Zipped-out athletes on-site, really does fly in the days and hours leading to an Ironman.  There’s never enough pre-race time to just chill.  And I don’t have kids!  I so admire the parents here at the hotel who are wearing the blue Ironman participant bracelets while feeding their kids or schlepping them to the pool.  Don’t tell my wife though, because I also have some sense of hope that if they can do it…maybe I can too?

At Friday at 3 p.m. Utah time, it feels like I’ve reached the peak of a roller coaster climb.  The past few days have moved quickly but efficiently.  While I didn’t control everything around me, my schedule largely held up and I’m race-ready.  But now, now that everything is done the roller coaster is rocketing downward.  Hurtling so fast the bolts on the rails feel like they’re shaking.  Let’s hope my bike feels that way with a tailwind tomorrow.

Stop!  I just want to savor this moment once more.  All day.  And never go away.  I’ve written this before and I’ll do it again, the moments before an Ironman are just as precious as the experience itself.  Something awesome is about to happen tomorrow and the anticipation makes me filled with adrenaline.  Perhaps I like the adrenaline rush more than the sport.  The thrill of the challenge, the idea of the challenge, the feel of the challenge — more than the challenge itself.

This notion hits me hard.  Because it means whether there are three Ironmans or 30, it’s the adrenaline rush that needs feeding, not necessarily the triathlon bug.  Though I love triathlon and will continue to race as long as there’s this kind of manic desire to see how far, how fast, how strong I can go.

Before I sign off until after the race, I gotta point out that I don’t recall feeling this … explosive before in my previous two Ironmans.  I’m surging with energy.  While I want to enjoy the moment of peace, my body is screaming to start the race NOW.  It’s such a dichotomy. I feel like I’m in one of those shredded wheat cereal TV commercials where one side of the cereal piece is all business (the side that knows I should be relaxing and stay in the now) and the other is all sugar (START THE GUN NOW!!!).

Oh, sleeping will be fun tonight.

Let’s do this.  But let’s savor this just a bit more first.

These are all over the place here in St. George. They love their Ironmans!

Before I get started, I hope you’ve had a chance to read my latest Lava Magazine Online column, “Race for a Reason.”  It just came out yesterday so it’s still relatively hot off the digital press.

Back to the blog at hand!

I drove 6.25 hours to my third Ironman today and was strangely calm.  I almost got nervous because of how calm I actually felt.  Where were the butterflies?  The nervous energy?  The excitement?!  You’d think it would have hit me after driving through the Arizona gorges that precede the Utah border on I-15, with their ominous towering vertical faces staring down in intimidating fashion, but it didn’t.

Instead I thought, “Nah, you don’t scare me. Bring it on.”

I’ve been here before.

The small host city of St. George is decked out and ready to celebrate the 1,500 brave athletes coming into town to tackle this 140.6-mile odyssey for the last time.  Almost every street has a welcome banner outside a restaurant or hotel.  Almost every street light has a lamp banner hanging from it.  I can’t help but feel a little like a pro athlete seeing the hoopla here because on a miniscule level, it’s for me.

Maybe that’s when it started to get to me.  And by “it,” of course I mean the butterflies.  The nervous energy.  Inevitably, it always starts when I see other triathletes and their beautiful bikes.  Only this time, I remembered my recent California IM 70.3 feelings and have been able to simply recognize them for what they are — “little guy complex” and something that will be here with me for every race.  That’s just a part of who I am.  I worry about how I stack up to others because everyone else around me looks like they were cast in the movie 300, while I look like I was an extra in a lesser version called “100″ or something!

But at least I know it’s all hooey.  I can hang with these folks, and if IM Cali 70.3 didn’t teach me that then I’ll never get it.

On to dinner. More studly triathletes eating and celebrating with each other. I’m here alone for the time being, as Steph won’t fly in until Friday night.  This is probably for the best anyway, as I tend to get a bit jumpy and irritable about now.  I’ve been pretty clipped in my conversations with her the past day.  Being in St. George by myself until Friday night will help me focus on what I need to do here, remain on my own schedule and avoid other nervous nellies.

As I head to bed on night one of four here, I find myself incredibly immersed in the present. Funnily enough, I mean “present” in two senses of the word.  First, in that I am totally in the moment.  I’m not thinking about past performances or how Saturday might go.  I’m enjoying this feeling right now.  Knowing how fast the next few days come. Knowing how fast Saturday will fly by.  Knowing how before I know it, Sunday will be here.  Been there, done that.  I’m almost basking in the nervous anticipation right now.  It’s delicious.  I wish I could be more like this every day.  Neither looking ahead or behind.  Just within.  Just like my yoga instructors try to teach.

Second though, I mean present in the fact that I recognize with Ironman 3 more than the first two how much of a gift this opportunity is.  Two months ago, I had no intentions of being here.  Work schedules wouldn’t allow it.  But things changed, Steph was understanding and supportive, and now I’m fulfilling a bucket-list item to tackle one of the hardest Ironman courses in the world before it gets shelved.  Even though there will always be an asterisk for some because the run course has been adjusted, I’m still thrilled I can say I was one of the few who conquered Ironman St. George.  I’m grateful I’m healthy.  I’m grateful I have the time to commit to this sport.  I’m grateful for VERY understanding friends and family (and co-workers).  And of course, I’m beyond grateful to everyone who has supported my Ironman Starlight Challenge fundraising effort.  This Ironman isn’t about me as much as it is about how my drive, commitment and passion can help others.

That’s all I’ve got for tonight. More tomorrow, I hope.

Fueled by Stephanie's Support!

It took me about a week before I cut off the participants’ blue wristband from my right wrist.  I don’t have a set amount of time I wait before doing something like that — usually it depends on the race and my feelings about the experience.  For IM California 70.3, I really basked in the achievement.  Who knows how many races I have left?  Why not soak it all in a bit longer before setting ahead on the next big challenge?

Here’s my recap of the actual event, now that I’ve had PLENTY of time to absorb it

SWIM

The water temperature was a chilly 58 degrees – though my Ironman Coeur d’Alene swim was colder by 4 degrees and felt much worse by comparison.  Still I broke out the neoprene cap for my first open-water swim of the year.  I was nervous getting into the harbor because of that fact – how much would the current and chop force me out of my rhythm?  I was slower than my goal of between 34-36 minutes (36:12, 1:54 pace) but I’m not sure if my lack of open-water swimming was the culprit.  Most likely it was a combination of usual poor sighting and a lack of swimmers I could manage to draft off.  It seemed once again that I’m faster than the middle-of-the pack swimmers but not as fast as the elites, so there I swam alone in no-man’s land, err water.  Once I exited the water, I realized my watch hadn’t started so I had no idea what my pace was.  Coach Gerardo saw me in the T1 chute though and told me I swam fast and great job, so it fueled me.  I wonder how my race would have been affected if I had known I was slower than I expected.  Before moving to the bike, I’d like to share a tip Rusty offered me before the swim started:  Vaseline on the underarms.  It helped him retain body heat as he used a sleeveless wetsuit and I adopted it to stay warm during the bike since I was wearing a sleeveless tri suit.  Despite rain, wind and low 50s temperatures, I never felt cold throughout the day.

BIKE

My T1 goal was to remain under four minutes, which I managed to do thanks to not wearing socks on the bike (3:41).  See, I can never feel my feet after a swim so it makes putting those socks on even harder.  Why bother?  I decided to wait to put on socks for the run in T2.

Once on the bike, I quickly found Rusty, which was a surprise as he was in the M35-39 wave prior to mine.  But a pleasant surprise indeed as we shared some laughs and essentially rode together for the first 25 miles.  We were moving well, averaging between 20 and 22 mph just as my coach predicted.  My heart rate was steady and despite the poor conditions I felt extremely comfortable.  Rusty told me I was on pace for a 5:15 race and I put it out of my head.  That’s how I’ve gotten into trouble in the past, shooting for the finish too early.  The key is pacing, which is ironic given my most recent Lava Magazine column.

I remained focused, took it easy on the two big climbs inside Camp Pendleton and didn’t panic even when I realized that I had lost one of my two water bottles somewhere on the course. I was going to be without liquids for 10 miles, the toughest part of the course no less. Instead of freaking out, I simply checked my options and decided that an extra Gu Roctane would suffice and that if I started to feel poorly I’d ask fellow competitors if I could grab a swig.  I didn’t think it would come to that and fortunately it didn’t.

Plus, I had something else occupying my mind.  I had to pee.  Real bad.   Since I was feeling so good I didn’t want to get off the bike.  I was on track for a personal best performance if I could stay on the bike and avoid a restroom.  Which leads us to my  “proudest” moment yet as a triathlete.

I peed while cycling.  That’s right, I said it.  I stood out of the bike saddle on a long downhill and let loose.  Twice.  I made sure of course that there weren’t racers immediately behind me but, when ya gotta go ya gotta go.

Pause.  Yes, this sport is crazy.  Yes, I’m probably crazy too.

Peeing on the bike made me briefly think I was a Cirque du Soliel artist.  Which way do you lean? (Left, to avoid getting anything in your bike chain)  How do you avoid getting “runoff” in your shoes? (You don’t.)   How do you balance yourself so the bike doesn’t wobble all over the place? (I have no idea.)  I have a lot to learn in this area but for now, I’m just glad I didn’t waste time in a port-o-potty.

I cruised into T2 at 2:49:20, 40 seconds faster than my anticipated best-case scenario time.  I wanted to average 20 mph on the bike, but 19.87 mph is a close consolation on a hilly, rainy, windy course!

RUN

T2 went fast as planned.  Putting on my socks was MUCH easier when I was able to feel my toes.  Though I didn’t really want to touch them given what I did while on the bike.  In and out in 2:12.

The run is always the biggest question mark for me.  Coach Gerardo told me to stick with 8-minute miles until I felt comfortable turning up the speed.  I started with a 7:46 mile and quickly pulled back. I was worried about starting too fast and bonking later on the course.  In addition, I’ve been having a lot of problems with my orthotics and shoes in general.  My right foot is racked with blisters in the arch and running has become fairly painful.  I didn’t want to pound too hard, too quickly.  There are also some short, steep climbs on the course in the form of the ramps that take participants from the beachfront strand to the streets nearby.  I didn’t want to cramp up on the second loop.  This led to a conservative plan where I stuck with 8-minute miles through the eighth mile of the course (once all the hills were completed).  Even though I thought I’d ignore my heart-rate as I had at the Bandit Trail Race, I paid much more attention to it than I expected.  I was holding steady in a low-zone 3 heart rate, which meant I had a LOT more left in the tank.  Yet I was enjoying myself in the race and strangely OK with not going faster.  After all, I knew that Ironman St. George was the bigger fish here and only five weeks away.

That changed around mile 9, where I knew it was time to let it all out.  My feet were in pain and my adductors were getting a bit tighter.  It was now or never time to achieve my personal-best sub-1:44 half-marathon goal.  I dropped my miles gradually down to 7:30s in the final mile.  But this time, instead of a sprint finish in the finisher’s chute, I decided to savor the moment.

We work so hard training for these huge events.  Yet all we want to do at the end is get it over with.  It’s so weird!  Then, we spend the next few days and weeks trying to remember that “high” that comes with accomplishing our goals.  I wanted to line up the memory with the real-time experience – even if it meant a slower finish.  That realization led to some strutting, hand waving to rile up the crowd, and a skip-kick at the finish line for good measure.  The only thing missing was a moonwalk.

Even with my dorky finish dance, I crossed the line at 5:15:01.  And I PR’d my half-marathon by nearly a full minute (1:43:10).  I ranked 68 out of 299 in my age group who started the race (top 22%).  I also got faster as the day went on in my age group, ranking 92 out of the swim, 78 off the bike and passed another 10 of my age-groupers on the run.  I’m very proud of that.

When I saw my time, I couldn’t believe it.  The crazy part is that I think I could have gone faster.  I wasn’t fatigued as much as my feet were in pain.

So, what did I learn from all this?

This whole pacing thing seems to actually work!  I will continue to stick with a plan while being flexible enough to know when to modify it.  I will trust in myself (and my coach!) that just because everyone else seems to look faster or have better equipment, I’m not so bad myself.  I’ve been doing this a while now. And after what must be around 15 triathlons, I think I’m finally starting to get it.  My body knows how to move. My brain knows what to think.  My heart knows how not to panic.  And now my bladder knows how to unlearn 35 years of potty training.

Look out.  Up next, breaking 5 hours in a 70.3 race.  It can be done.

Celebrating post-race w/ Sub-5-hour finisher, teammate and friend Bodie.

Part I: Roll With It, Baby

Part of the Carter Clan celebrating at finish (Hazel and Carter in foreground, me chillin' in the back)

When I wrote my pre-race plan for this past weekend’s Ironman California 70.3 and included my best-case scenario goal of finishing with a 5:14:00, I didn’t think it really would happen.  Too many things can go wrong in a longer race, or any race for that matter. No, a 5:25:00 would be far more likely, especially considering that teammates of mine whom I consider to be better triathletes finished the race last year closer to 5:30:00-5:40:00.

For once, this is a story of happily proving myself wrong.

Yet to do it, I had to let go of a few pre-conceived notions and pre-race rituals.  Here is how what I consider to be my best race performance came to fruition.

Pre-Race:

Ironman California is held on a Saturday, which poses problems for working stiffs like me.  Typically, I like to be locked and loaded mentally before an event at least two days beforehand.  Since IM California is located about a two-hour’s drive away, I figured I could leave work Thursday afternoon and be through registration by the evening.  This would leave me all day Friday to relax and focus. Not the best-case scenario but close enough.

Stephanie and I didn’t arrive to my friend Rusty’s parents’ house until close to 10 p.m., and weren’t in bed until 11.  I was grumpy.  Instead of sleeping in I’d have to get to packet pick up quickly to avoid long lines.

It worked out fine though.  There were practically no lines and I was home by 11 a.m. after hanging out at the expo. Of course, I was a little late because of pre-race jitters caused partially by Rusty’s gorgeous tri bike, especially the Firecrest 808 carbon clincher wheels.  I was afraid that Rusty and all the other carbon-toting triathletes were going to kick my ass on race day because of superior equipment.  So off I went to seek out race day rental wheels, to no avail.  I’d have to go with what got me here.  Sigh.

My outlook wasn’t helped when Rusty, his father Russ and I went out for a Friday 30-minute bike ride and 15-minute run.  I figured Rusty and I were fairly evenly matched on the bike but that was quickly proven wrong when he dusted me on a few sprints where it felt like he wasn’t even pushing.  I couldn’t keep up.   It was going to be a long day for me.

Further, I replaced my typical pre-race pasta lunch with turkey sandwiches and PB & J.  I was so far out of my normal routine that I’d be happy just to find the race site at this point!

Finally, Rusty recommended a 3:30 a.m. wake up call for Saturday morning so we could be on site by 5 a.m. at the latest – shortly after the transition areas opened.  I typically get up around 4:30 a.m. on race day – how would the hour less sleep affect me?

It turns out quite well.  I got a great slot on the bike rack, found no bathroom lines and plenty of time to just relax and get into my appropriate mental race space. Rusty knew what he was talking about!

In sum, going with the flow and not trying to control every pre-race detail wasn’t the recipe for disaster I feared.  I credit Rusty and his family for showing me a different and enjoyable way to prepare.  We laughed a lot, talked a lot, watched the sun go down together while hot-air balloons sprung up in the surrounding foothills.  We enjoyed a home-cooked dinner, were far from the race site and all the anxious athletes. It could have been a mini-vacation.  I still plan to map out my pre-race activities, but if my schedule changes I will rest more comfortably knowing that’s OK – maybe an unexpected twist or two may actually help me.

Coming next: Swim, Bike and Run Recap

I participated in a different type of endurance event this weekend.  The first leg involved a 6.25 hour drive in traffic to St. George, Utah.  After a slow 8-hour sleep T1, I rode 94 miles of the St. George Ironman bike course Saturday morning.  I picked up the pace in T2 with a 45 minute lunch at the Pasta Factory in Ancestor Square and staggered into the third leg, the drive to Las Vegas and a bachelor party evening for my future brother-in-law, Craig.  Then I drove home yesterday through a rain storm and snow flurries.

All told, I drove around 700 miles, biked nearly 100, spent nearly … well, a lot … and learned a number of invaluable lessons for Ironman St. George.  Below are my Top 5 Ironman St. George Bike Loop Lessons.

1) Pace Thyself!

I rode the two main loops that comprise the bulk of the St. George bike course.  That means I started at the intersection of Snow Parkway and Bluff Street.  At this point in the race, cyclists will have pedaled around 20 miles through what sound like gentle rollers for the most part.  I didn’t preview that part of the course but from what I read the roads are well-paved and the hills won’t bust your legs.  That’s good, because there are three climbs in a town called Gunlock that may make you wish you were shot by the time you make it through your second loop.  I’ve been told the hills are described as a baby, momma and a poppa.  That is accurate, though the first hill must represent a very large baby with a nice 8-10% grade that lasts a few hundred yards around Gunlock State Park.  The hills get progressively harder, culminating in a long poppa climb with a headwind before heading towards a windswept small town called Veyo.  Then, it only gets more challenging, with a long two-mile climb featuring what feels like a 30-mph headwind and a steady 6% grade.  Once you think you’ve hit the top of that hill, you’re rewarded with even more wind!  Even as you get a reprieve with a steady downhill return to St. George, you’re fighting that wind. My bike hitched and pitched left and right with every gust. So much so that if you’re considering disc wheels you might end up blasted across the road if you’re a smaller guy like me.

St. George bike course elevation chart.

Anyway, my main point is this: Those Gunlock hills don’t occur until what felt like around 25-30 miles into the loop.  Until that point, the course may feel pretty smooth and even relatively fast.  That’s a false assumption.  I will need to keep my heart-rate down into the 130s and 140s or I could be blowing up by mile 75-80.  Hopefully, I’ll buy a power meter between now and the race date to regular my power output. If I don’t though, I won’t make the same mistake I made at Ironman Arizona — do NOT fight the wind.  It will win every time.

Ironman St. George will most definitely not represent a cycling PR for me.  Now I know why it’s one of the hardest Ironman bike courses around.  The “good” news is that it’s a blend of the winds from Ironman Arizona along with the rolling hills reminiscent at Ironman Coeur d’ Alene.  In other words, this course while pretty represents the toughest parts of my two previous Ironmans.  But I finished both so I know what to expect and how to handle it.

2) Ride the Tri Bike

I’ve been debating with myself whether I should bring my road bike or my tri bike to St. George.  I had heard about all the climbing, and I’m relatively strong on my Colnago EPS road bike.  But after riding the course I’m convinced using a tri bike is the way to go.  I’d rather have the luxury of being in aero and resting my body through the wind than hunched over the drops with no reprieve to rest on my elbows.  And before anyone says, “Hey, just put clip-on bars on your Colnago,” I can’t because the handlebars are carbon and they’d snap from the torque. Had I not ridden the course I would have continued to torture myself with this inner debate. I’m really glad I can focus on other things now.  Cervelo P2 it is.

3)  Ride Outside

I’m torn on this topic. On one hand, I think my Computrainer has helped me improve my power over the past several months. On the other hand, I think it’s harder to elevate your heart-rate on a stationary bike without proper ventilation indoors. Plus, it’s hard to precisely simulate windy conditions.  As much as I’ve appreciated the luxury of staying home and catching up on more television/movies/video games while riding indoors, I think I need to suck it up again and get back outside early to tackle more hilly/windy conditions.  It’s hard to say how much I can improve my conditioning in the next three weeks but I’m going to give it my all to get outside three times a week and try.

4) Coke is It

When I started riding the St. George loop, I met a group of local triathletes who were doing the same.  They kindly invited me along to join them.  I did my best to keep up and did for the most part, but for some reason my heart-rate remained higher than it should have considering my effort level. Was it the elevation?  Fatigue from a brutal trail run and a long drive from California the day before? I don’t know.  I do know I was hurting pretty bad when I hit the convenience store at Veyo.  I was so happy my new friends stopped for refreshments. I needed a break!  So much so that I tried something I rarely do: I bought a bottle of Coca-Cola and put it in one of my bottle cages.  That drink saved me for the rest of my ride!  I was impressed that two of the triathletes were training with 5 Hour Energy drinks and knew exactly when to consume them on the course.  I’ve learned from my Wildflower Mistake not to experiment with that stuff anymore, but you had better believe that one of my three bottles will be filled with ice-cold Coke at St. George.  A little extra sugar and caffeine will go a long way that day, I think.  Plus, it worked for me during the Coeur d’Alene marathon.

5) Scout your Lodgings Too

The race is obviously the most important part of an Ironman, but where you’re staying and the rest you get while staying there is also critical.  I’m really glad I stayed this weekend at the same hotel I’ll be at for the Ironman.  I learned where the nice restaurants (and not-so-nice) are located, where Stephanie would be best-suited to watch the race from, and which room-types to avoid at the hotel.  I’m also a light sleeper, and realized I’ll need a fan in the room to drown out noisy neighbors and thin walls.  I would have been miserable in the room come race weekend had I not known that in advance.

***

Even though I “only” covered 94 miles of the course, even though I didn’t have time to see the reservoir where the swim is or drive the run course, I’d still consider the 5.5 hours of training in St. George among the most important I’ve ever had.  I learned that this course is to be highly respected but not feared.  I learned that if you’re smart you can get through it just fine and that if you’re not…well, it would be a long, long day.  I am prepared and ready for what’s in front of me.

It’s going to hurt.

I wanted to be challenged by the most challenging course out there and that’s what I’m getting.

No turning back now.

Please join the cause!

I’m announcing something special tomorrow to all my friends and family but wanted you to know first.  I’m so excited I just couldn’t wait one more day or even one more hour to share.

When I signed up for Ironman St. George a week or so ago, I realized that I had an opportunity to do something special.  Not just for myself, but for others too.  See, all these miles add up, but for what?  So I can be proud of myself?  So that I could prove something to myself?  Maybe at first, but it’s not good enough anymore.

I want to do something bigger.  Something that matters. Something that can really help other people.  I’ve been inspired by friends like Rusty Carter and Jeff Klinger, who have taken the initiative to combine their passions with charitable giving.

With that in mind, I present to you my Ironman Starlight Challenge Fundraiser!

Starlight Children’s Foundation (www.starlight.org) has made an impact on me the past few years.  Starlight’s mission is to better the quality of life for children with serious illness and life-altering injuries – from diagnosis through the entire course of medical treatment.

When a child is hospitalized, it can be a very scary and lonely experience. Starlight helps brighten the environment through its Fun Center program. Fun Centers are mobile entertainment units that include a Nintendo Wii gaming system, flat screen TV and DVD player. You can only imagine how exciting it must be for a young patient to have a Fun Center rolled into his or her hospital room to help pass the time and forget about their worries for a while.

The games studio where I work, Insomniac Games, supports Starlight by sponsoring the placement of Fun Centers at children’s hospitals.  I’ve personally seen how happy the kids are when a Fun Center gets wheeled into their unit.

Starlight is so much more than Fun Centers though.  The entertainment, education and family activities Starlight provides to seriously ill children and their families make it unlike any other charity. Please take a moment to learn more about the foundation at www.starlight.org.

This is what it's all about.

Here’s my plan:  For every mile I train from March 5, 2012 to race day on May 5, 2012 — I will personally donate $1 to Starlight.  Insomniac is matching and doubling my $1 per mile donation.

I anticipate training 1,000 miles in the next two months.

I’d like to work together to bring Starlight Fun Centers to children’s hospitals – the more Fun Centers, the better, of course!

• $5,000 will cover the sponsorship of one Fun Center.
• $10,000 will cover the sponsorship of two Fun Centers.
• $15,000 will cover the sponsorship of three Fun Centers .

So far, I’ve trained 134.55 combined miles since March 5, which translates to $403.66. It’s a start!  We’ve got a long ways to go but it’s a start.

Will you join me in bringing endless hours of fun and distraction to hospitalized children? Click here to get these Fun Center wheels rolling and to keep me moving. And please don’t forget to spread the word with friends and family. Of course, I’ll be reminding you regularly too!

Thank you in advance to everyone who reads the blog and is willing to help me along this journey.  You’ve inspired me for a long time and now it’s my turn to give back.