Given to Tri: Race Reports

Race Report: 2026 Ironman 70.3 Coeur d’Alene

2026-06-26T08:00:00-06:00

Coeur d’Alene has been one of my favorite races ever since I raced my first full-distance Ironman here in 2023; it has a lovely swim, a challenging bike course, and one of the best run courses in North America. While I DNF’d that first full-distance race, I’ve had good results at the 70.3 distance here—last year I was about five minutes away from qualifying for the World Championship. With St. George discontinued, this race immediately became my A race, my top priority for the year, and the one I would peak for.

I wanted to improve on that result, so my goal this year was simply to be faster than last year—anything under 5:30 would be a success. My stretch goal was qualifying for this year’s Ironman 70.3 World Championship in Nice, France; although the new qualification system had moved the goal posts significantly, with a good result and a little luck it was still possible one of the thirty-five slots available could roll down deep enough for me to snag it.

The weather would be a wildcard, as always. Last year had perfect weather, but not before a cold snap caused me some anxiety; in 2024, the gnarly wind forced the swim to be shortened; in 2023, I rode my bike through one of the wildest hailstorms I’ve ever seen; and 2021 is infamous for the heat wave that caused one of the highest DNF rates in Ironman history. Fortunately, it looked like the weather would be cooperating this time; with no inclement weather in the forecast, conditions seemed great for my PR attempt.

Arrival & Preparations

I drove to Coeur d’Alene the Thursday before the race, and after checking into my hotel room and unloading my gear, I changed into running clothes and went out for a run—it was pretty warm out, so I wanted to see how I felt running in the 28°C weather. I ran from my hotel to the Ironman Village, which was still being set up, and back, for a total of 12 km, and despite only being 31% heat adapted according to my core body temperature sensor, I felt great, which gave me confidence the heat wouldn’t be much of an issue on race day.

The Ironman Village at Coeur d’Alene City Park officially opened the next day, so I went there as soon as it opened to check in for the race, get my race packet, timing chip, and swag, as well as do my obligatory shopping at the race expo. I stayed for the athlete briefing afterward, which was essentially the same as in previous years, since the course hadn’t changed much—as far as I could tell, the only difference was that the finish line was now in City Park itself instead of on Sherman Avenue. The water temperature that day was 17.8°C, a little chillier than in previous years, which made me glad I had brought my new sleeved wetsuit. Afterward I went on another shakeout run; I probably should have rested instead, but I love running on the North Idaho Centennial Trail along the Spokane River and Lake Coeur d’Alene. It’s such a good route.

On Saturday I went downtown for breakfast and was surprised to find most of Sherman Avenue and the surrounding streets closed for Car d’Lane, an annual classic car festival I had never seen the previous times I’ve been here. Turns out that, due to a scheduling snafu, the race was inadvertently scheduled on the same weekend as the festival, which they usually try to avoid for obvious reasons—that explained why they had moved the finish line into City Park.

I shared a few more photos of Car d’Lane on Bluesky.

It was a cool festival and I spent a good part of the morning photographing the cars, but with the crowds, street closures, and limited parking, I realized racking my bike in the afternoon might prove to be more inconvenient than usual, so I left to go get my bike and take care of that. I racked my bike in my spot, made a note of the row where it was, and walked around transition to make sure there were no changes to the layout or to the path I would need to follow on race day, but everything seemed to be where it was supposed to be.

My bike, racked in transition the day before.

This race does a single transition at City Park, one of my favorite transition areas. It’s covered in grass so it’s easy to run on, and has lots of shade, so the bike and gear don’t sit out in the sun all day. As is typical for 70.3s with a single transition, the race doesn’t provide gear or morning clothes bags, so you have to bring everything in your own bag on race day (I also brought one of the plastic shopping bags from the expo to put my wet wetsuit in after the race).

I checked out the swim start and exit before leaving to see what the conditions were like on the lake. It was windy as hell and it looked even choppier than two years ago, when the swim was shortened; the buoys were being battered by the wind and the waves so much they were already out of whack, and the windsock at the seaplane base next to the park was fully extended, so the wind was at least 15 knots (28 km/h). I hoped the wind calmed down before the race, but I assumed the organizers would just shorten the swim again if it didn’t, so I wasn’t too stressed about it. I went back to my hotel to organize the rest of my gear, watch the World Cup, and try to get a good night of sleep.

Race Day

I woke up at 1:30 AM and spent another hour tossing and turning before giving up on trying to fall back asleep. I didn’t feel quite right; I was more fatigued than I expected and my stomach was unsettled. For a moment I entertained the idea of skipping the race and going back to bed, but the weather forecast looked lovely, with clear skies, a high of 25°C, and barely any wind; a push notification from the Ironman app announced that the official water temperature was 18.4°C, and an Instagram story from Ironman showed Lake Coeur d’Alene looking like a mirror at the swim start. It looked like a great day for a race, and I knew if I DNS’d I would absolutely regret it, so I had breakfast, did some mobility work to try to wake myself up, and got ready to leave. Whatever was wrong with me, I’d just try to power through.

Transition at City Park is open from 4:30 to 5:45 AM, but there’s plenty of parking available in the area, so there’s usually no real reason to be there at the crack of dawn. This year was no exception; I left my hotel at 5:00 AM, found a sweet parking spot a block away from the park, and by 5:20 AM I was done setting up all my gear. I wriggled into my wetsuit and headed over to the swim staging area on the beach, lining up conservatively with the 43–46-minute wave.

Scenes from transition, 5:20 AM.

Shortly before the start of the race, I heard the announcer say that the wind was starting to pick up, and that we might see some “texture” in the water. It didn’t look as bad as the day before, but it definitely looked a little choppy. (I checked the weather data after the race and the wind at the time the swim started was 16–19 km/h from the south, so a direct headwind on the outbound leg of the swim.)

Well, too late to back out, I was already in the chutes. I started my race at 6:25 AM.

The Swim

I can’t believe what I’m about to say: The Escape from Alcatraz swim was easier than this one.

I started the race with a strong pace, but the chop and the swells made it hard to get in a good rhythm; I had trouble timing my breathing correctly and ended up swallowing a bunch of water. I’m not sure if it was due to the headwind, but I slowed down to a crawl, as if I was swimming against a current. Things got easier on the inbound leg, now that I was swimming with the swells instead of against them. I figured out how to time my sighting better, at the top of the swells, so I never had trouble seeing the buoys, and I also think I did better than usual swimming in a crowd, staying on people’s feet, and dealing with contact, even after a breaststroker kicked me square in the head at the first turn buoy.

Despite that, I wasn’t much faster on the way back, and I finished the swim in 48:27, with an abysmal pace of 2:31/100 m, my slowest swim to date in a 70.3. Unlike in Boise last year, I don’t even have the excuse that it was long: Per my GPS, it was exactly 1.9 km. It was just not a good swim.

If nothing else, I think I did a decent job swimming straight and staying on course.

I’ve been reflecting on this, trying to understand what went wrong. In hindsight, I don’t think the conditions in the water were that bad, just choppy enough to degrade my technique, which slowed me down, which tired me out, which degraded my technique some more, and so on—a downward spiral from which I never recovered. In any case, I’m deeply frustrated by this. I thought I had made good progress on my swim this year—I’ve been getting faster in the pool, I had one of my best, most consistent swim training blocks ever heading into Escape from Alcatraz, and that swim went as well as I could have hoped, so it’s demoralizing to end this one feeling like I’ve actually made no progress at all. I know I can do better than this, and I’m annoyed at myself for failing so badly.

T1

I was tired and frustrated after the swim and I needed to get my head straight, so after getting my wetsuit removed by one of the volunteers, I walked to my bike and took my time getting my bike gear on. I spent 10:05 in T1.

The Bike

The bike course was unchanged from previous years: a single lap consisting of two out-and-backs, with a short section through downtown Coeur d’Alene in between. The first one is about 30 km on Coeur d’Alene Lake Drive with a turnaround at Higgens Point and a couple of short climbs, and the second is approximately 60 km on US-95. It’s a hilly, challenging course, with twelve categorized climbs, 940 m of elevation gain—and long, steep descents, so you do need good descending skills. That said, it’s a great bike course, with smooth pavement, lovely scenery, and good separation from traffic; the section in downtown Coeur d’Alene and the two northbound lanes on US-95 are closed to traffic, so for most of the course, you’re not sharing the road with any cars.

View this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

I left T1 and rode easy through the streets of downtown Coeur d’Alene, using the time to spin up my legs and shake off the cold before the first climb on Coeur d’Alene Lake Drive. When I got in aero I felt a familiar pain in my abdomen, which usually means I ingested air and water during the swim, but beyond that, I still felt off—I felt flat and depleted, as if I had somehow lost half my FTP overnight. I didn’t know exactly where this malaise was coming from—perhaps I was simply getting sick—but I knew the race I had planned to race was effectively over, and my only goal now was to just finish.

My slow swim had put me behind a ton of people so the first out-and-back was very congested, but that gave me time to assess how I felt and come up with a new game plan. The abdominal pain made it uncomfortable to put down power in aero position but I felt alright sitting up, so I decided to push on the climbs, recover on the descents, and do the best I could in aero on the flats. To avoid upsetting my stomach any further, I halved my planned fuel intake of two 24-ounce bottles of Maurten Drink Mix 320, which, over the course of the roughly two and a half hours I originally expected to take to finish the bike leg, amounted to about 80 g/h of carbs. The last thing I wanted was to have my stomach shut down, like it did at Ironman Coeur d’Alene, which made it impossible to get any fuel in during the run and ultimately caused me to bonk. I had set up a reminder in my Garmin to drink every 15 minutes, so my solution was simply to skip every other reminder.

That plan worked out alright, I suppose. I pushed hard on the climbs, not as hard as my power plan prescribed, but a decent enough effort that I even got PRs in a couple of Strava segments along the way. I hoped my abdominal pain would resolve eventually, but it never did, so I mostly stayed in zone 2 on the flats. I kept passing people throughout the entire bike leg, which felt pretty good—I was going surprisingly fast despite not putting in my best effort. The only changes I made to my setup were tweaking the position of my aerobars and arm scoops to give me a little extra reach, and swapping my usual Giro Aerohead for a new Rudy Project Wingdream, all of which perhaps resulted in some additional aero gains (at the expense of making me look like Dark Helmet).

Ludicrous speed, go! Credit: FinisherPix

The rest of the bike leg was uneventful and unremarkable, and I finished in 2:50:20, with a final intensity of 68%, far below the 80% I had originally planned. Despite that, I was surprised to finish 15th in my age group, my best result of the day. I can’t help but wonder how I could have done if I had been at my best.

T2

I was pretty spent when I got off the bike, so I took my time to walk my bike to my rack, catch my breath, get my running gear on, apply a good layer of sunscreen, and leave. I spent 9:20 in T2.

The Run

The last two times I’ve done this race I’ve started the run feeling so strong I’ve had to consciously slow myself down to avoid blowing up. That’s not how I felt this time; within a few seconds of starting I knew I would have to gut this one out. I wasn’t about to quit, though—I had already DNF’d once here, and I wasn’t going to let this course defeat me again. If I had to walk it in, so be it. I was going to finish this damn race.

The run course was essentially the same as in previous years, two laps around McEuen Park and the neighborhoods in downtown Coeur d’Alene, before an out-and-back on Coeur d’Alene Lake Drive, with 114 m of elevation gain. The only minor change this year was the move of the finish line to Coeur d’Alene City Park instead of the traditional finish on Sherman Avenue.

View this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: This is my favorite run course out of all the races I’ve done. It’s spectator-friendly, there’s a decent amount of shade, and the variety of streets you run through keeps you engaged the entire time. The whole course has a cool block-party vibe that I love, with music, supporters at every turn, and neighbors bringing out their sprinklers and garden hoses to help keep athletes cool.

It’s a really great, enjoyable course, but on this race I was suffering right from the start. The idea of running a half marathon when I was already not feeling well and after under-fueling the bike leg was daunting, so I mentally broke up the course: Each lap is almost exactly 10 km long, which makes the distance from McEuen Park to the turnaround point on Coeur d’Alene Lake Drive almost exactly 5 km. I didn’t have to run a half marathon; I just needed to run a 5K… four times. No big deal.

That helped for the first lap. I knew I wasn’t going to set any PRs, so I didn’t target a specific pace and instead paced by RPE, at what felt “comfortably uncomfortable.” I only slowed down at the aid stations to drink water and electrolytes, and had a few bites of Maurten bars, hoping that solid food instead of gels would help settle my stomach. It still hurt, but at least it wasn’t sloshing, which meant it hadn’t shut down yet.

Pain. Credit: FinisherPix

If the first lap was comfortably uncomfortable, the second one was straight-up uncomfortable. I had two more 5Ks to go, but I was suffering more than I expected in the heat—in the midday sun, with the heat radiating off the pavement, it felt much hotter than the 25°C the forecast promised me, especially on the Coeur d’Alene Lake Drive segment, which is uphill and completely exposed to the sun. I had been trying to stay hydrated and fueled, but by now I was so nauseous I didn’t think I could get anything else in without it coming back out. I really wanted to stop, but I was sure that if I did, I’d end up walking the rest of the way. I only gave myself permission to walk the aid stations to pour water on my head and chest, and took advantage of every spectator with a garden hose and every bit of shade I could find to try to stay cool. I felt like complete and utter shit.

Still, I never stopped. Shortly after the turnaround point, with one more 5K to go, I looked at my watch, did some quick mental math, and realized I had a chance to at least eke out a sub-2 finish on the run if I kept my current pace. I made that my impromptu goal to feel like I could still salvage the day, and that gave me some motivation to press on.

Almost there. Credit: FinisherPix

I eventually made it back to McEuen Park for the last stretch to the finish line. I rallied to the end and finished reasonably strong, only slowing down at the very end to high-five volunteers and spectators, and avoid ruining the finish-line photo of the person in front of me. My final time for the run was 1:53:36, with a total time of 5:51:45. To my surprise, I finished 21st in the M40–44 age group, out of 84, so while this wasn’t my best race ever, it also wasn’t the worst.

You know what? I’ll take it.

I’m not sure exactly what went wrong. I suspect it wasn’t just one big thing, but a handful of things compounding on each other: a stomach bug, the poor sleep, the bad swim, the under-fueled bike, the heat on the run, even the residual fatigue from Escape from Alcatraz—it all likely added up to a not-so-great day. It’s hard not to be a little disappointed, but I still got to enjoy a beautiful day swimming in a pristine lake, riding my bike through the Idaho countryside, and going for a run while getting cheered on by hundreds of strangers. At the end of the day, there is nothing else I’d rather be doing.

Now it’s time to regroup, get back in the saddle, and try again next month in Boise.

Onwards.

Race Report: 2026 Escape from Alcatraz Triathlon

2026-06-11T12:00:00-06:00

Escape from Alcatraz is one of the oldest triathlons in the country—it’s celebrating its forty-fifth anniversary this year—and one of the most iconic. It involves jumping from a ship near Alcatraz Island into the cold waters of San Francisco Bay for a 2.4 km swim, a 29 km hilly bike ride through the Presidio of San Francisco and Golden Gate Park, and a scenic 12.9 km run through national park land. It’s a bucket-list race—between 10,000 and 12,000 people entered the lottery for this year’s race, with 2,300 accepted.

After signing up for the lottery late last year on a whim, I was surprised to find out I was one of them.

I wasn’t quite sure what I had gotten myself into, but I was equal parts excited and terrified. I wasn’t worried about the bike or the run; I knew I could handle those distances easily, and with Ironman 70.3 Coeur d’Alene two weeks later, I wasn’t planning on racing hard. Instead I would simply treat this as a “racecation” and a hard training day.

But the swim, man. The swim scared me.

I’ve always had a pretty healthy fear of the open water and I sometimes get anxious simply thinking about it, so I had been particularly nervous about this swim since I signed up. Between the cold water and the strong current, it’d likely be the most challenging one I’ve done so far—after all, Alcatraz Federal Penitentiary is where it is for a reason.

I did a fair amount of prep for this race: I had probably the best swim training block I’ve ever had leading up to it, did acclimatization swims in the 14°C waters of Jackson Lake to test my cold water swim gear, read numerous race reports, and watched The Rock several times. I even built a swim conditions dashboard for the area around Alcatraz Island using publicly available forecast models from NOAA, just to get an idea of what to expect on race morning.

I was about as ready as I was going to be. It was time to Escape from Alcatraz.

Arrival & Preparations

Kate and I arrived in San Francisco on Thursday before the race, staying in Fisherman’s Wharf, just a few blocks away from the race venue at the Marina Green. I immediately headed over to Sports Basement to pick up the bike I had rented for this race, since I don’t have a bike case and didn’t want to fly with my bike anyway. They hooked me up with a sweet BMC Teammachine SLR 01, which they fitted with my own Favero Assioma power meter pedals. I took it out for a quick spin on the way back to the hotel to make sure it worked correctly and the fit was good; it felt great on the short climb through Fort Mason, only requiring minor adjustments to the seatpost height to make it comfortable. I considered going for a recon ride of at least part of the bike course, but since I’m not used to riding on city streets with car traffic, I decided to play it safe and instead did a shakeout run on Friday and spent the rest of the day exploring the city.

I showed up for packet pickup as soon as it opened on Saturday; I’ve read that it’s been crowded and slow in previous years, so I didn’t want to wait until the last minute. Although I had to stand in line for a bit before it opened, the process was quick, efficient, and organized: I got my race bracelet, race bib, timing chip, race tattoos and body marking, along with the best swag I’ve ever gotten in a race: a nice tech running shirt, an awesome backpack, a beanie, and some other odds and ends. Even the swim cap is nicer than the one I use for training. Someone joked that the backpack accounted for $975 of the nearly $1,000 entry fee, but I definitely felt like I got my money’s worth.

I also received two transition gear bags: a white bag to put my morning clothes in before getting on the ship for the swim start, and a red transition bag that gets placed near the swim exit. The latter is optional, but since the “warm-up run” from the swim exit to transition is about half a mile long, you can place a towel and an extra pair of shoes in there if you don’t want to do it barefoot, and you can leave your swim gear in it rather than carry it all the way back to transition. I don’t like running barefoot, so I brought an old pair of Hoka Carbon X 3 shoes that are nearing retirement and a hand towel I borrowed from the hotel, put them in the bag, and dropped it off at the bag corral.

I stuck around for the mandatory race briefing after getting my packet and bags sorted out. I was encouraged when the race director said they were expecting “perfect conditions” for the swim, with a slightly warmer than usual water temperature of about 14°C and calm winds. He explained that there are three possible starting positions: “A” is closer to Alcatraz, “C” is closer to San Francisco, and “B” is somewhere in between. “A” requires “crossing the river,” swimming across the strong outgoing current of San Francisco Bay to avoid getting carried past the swim exit, while “B” and “C” are more direct routes since they start closer to shore. All three routes are the same distance, 2.4 km, and they select one based on the current on race morning and position the ship accordingly. There’d be over 150 safety personnel in the water on kayaks, paddleboards, and Jet Skis, two Coast Guard ships, and a guide boat with a white buoy on top to guide swimmers in the right direction.

Diagram of the swim course in the athlete guide. Credit: Escape from Alcatraz Triathlon

The swim has two cutoffs: The first is a soft cutoff at 8:00 AM; if you haven’t finished by then, you get picked up and repositioned closer to shore to finish the swim. The second one is at 8:30 AM and it’s a hard cutoff; if you’re still in the water by then, your race is over. If I had any goals for the swim, it’s that under no circumstances would I get repositioned. I would finish under my own power come hell or high water.

I was most interested in hearing about the new starting procedure. I watched some videos of the previous swim start and it seemed chaotic, with athletes jumping from the ship en masse and the entire ship being emptied in a matter of minutes. Last year an athlete was instantly paralyzed in the water right at the start, when the person behind him landed directly on his head. Needless to say, this was at the top of my list of things I was anxious about, so I was relieved when the organizers announced changes to the start for this year: The swim start would now be a time trial start, so rather than dumping people off the ship, only a certain number of athletes would jump at the same time, at the race staff’s direction. The briefing didn’t go into great detail of how exactly the process would be beyond what’s in the athlete guide, but I hoped it would make things safer.

With the race briefing out of the way, I took care of the last thing on my to-do list: checking in my bike. At this race you have the option to check in the bike the day before the race or bring it in on race morning, and since I had ridden mine there, I checked it in so I had one fewer thing to worry about the next morning. After racking my bike, I scoped out the transition area, memorizing the location of my bike to help me find it on race day. The rows themselves aren’t labeled, so you have to pay attention to the numbers on the racks to find your spot, or use nearby landmarks to orient yourself (I used one of the houses across the street). Lastly, I walked to the swim finish to check it out; it’s a small beach next to St. Francis Yacht Club, barely 100 m long. If I didn’t aim right and the current swept me past the beach, I might end up on the riprap next to it, which would probably be bad. (I read one race report in which the author missed the beach and had to swim back against the current to reach the exit—it didn’t sound fun.)

I had nothing else to do, so I went back to the hotel to organize the rest of my gear, have dinner, and settle in for a good, albeit short, night of sleep.

Race Day

Given that this is a very early race and after the many warnings to be there on time or get left behind, I woke up earlier than usual on race day, at 2:30 AM. I checked my swim dashboard one last time before leaving, and the forecast looked promising: 14.3°C water and light 3.9 km/h wind. Based on the forecasted direction and speed of the current, I guessed they would opt for one of the starting positions closer to shore, but in any case it looked like just about as perfect conditions as you could hope for this race.

NOAA forecast of the current direction at the start of the race.

I had a light breakfast of a bagel and shitty hotel room coffee, checked all my gear one last time, and headed out the door, arriving at transition shortly after it opened at 4:00 AM. I had plenty of space next to my bike to set up the rest of my gear before getting on the shuttle to Pier 3.

There’s no overhead lighting in transition, so my headlamp came in handy on race morning.

As we approached Pier 3, I could see the San Francisco Belle, a cool sternwheeler dining ship and our launch point, lit up at dock in the pre-dawn darkness. It looked awesome. I couldn’t believe I was about to get on this ship and then promptly jump off of it.

You can’t bring anything on board the ship except what you’re taking with you on the swim, so I got my wetsuit and booties on, placed my morning clothes in the white bag, handed it to the volunteer at the bag drop, and boarded the ship. The first deck was reserved for athletes under forty, VIPs, relay teams, and paratriathletes, and the second deck was for everyone else, so I went up to wait for the start. Both decks had been completely emptied of furniture, but the ship is spacious and fully carpeted, and most people sat or lay down on the floor. I was too restless to sit still, so I mostly paced, stretched, and adjusted my wetsuit while I waited. I was amused when the standard safety announcement came through the speakers before departure, letting two thousand wetsuit-clad people who were about to jump off the ship know that life jackets were available in case of emergency.

The Belle got underway at about 6:15 AM and took us on a brief tour of Alcatraz Island. I went outside to get a better view from the railing, and any anxiety I had immediately gave way to excitement. The weather was perfect, with a clear blue sky, calm winds, and barely a ripple in the water. Seeing Alcatraz up close, the San Francisco skyline bathed in golden sunrise light, and the Golden Gate Bridge off in the distance, all I could think was, “this is so fucking cool.” I couldn’t wait to get started.

The ship passed Alcatraz Island, came around, and headed back toward San Francisco, presumably for the “B” or “C” starting positions, where all the support personnel and the guide boat were staging. Shortly before the start, I heard the national anthem coming from inside the ship, and that’s when I realized the ship didn’t have any speakers outside, so I had missed whatever announcements or instructions they had given while I was there. Oops.

The race started at 7:00 AM on the dot, and I spent a few minutes watching people make the jump and start swimming, to get a sense of where they and the guide boat were headed. They seemed to be going directly toward the Palace of Fine Arts, which was roughly lined up with a few buoys I could barely make out in the distance, close to the swim finish. I made a mental note of that, went down below, and got in line to start my swim.

The starting process was largely as described: A race staff member (the “starter”) is placed at each of the starting points on the first deck, holding two orange flags at their sides. When instructed, four people step up to the edge, two on each side of the starter, with their swim caps and goggles in place, ready to go. When the starter and the safety personnel in the water have visually confirmed the landing zone is clear, the starter points the flags to the water and all four people jump at the same time; if any of them hesitates, they are held back to stop them from accidentally jumping on top of someone. It’s slower and the ship wasn’t emptied as quickly as in previous years, but it’s definitely safer—a worthwhile trade-off, in my opinion.

It took me a few minutes to get to the front of the line, but it was finally my turn to step up to the edge and take the plunge into San Francisco Bay. I started my race at 7:19 AM.

The Swim

I honestly thought I’d be more nervous or that I’d hesitate or freeze entirely, but when the starter gave me the signal, I jumped without a second thought, and started swimming as soon as I surfaced. I’ve read that salt water feels warmer than fresh water at the same temperature but I was still surprised that I didn’t feel any cold shock whatsoever. The race adrenaline might also have had something to do with it, but in any case the water felt great. I wore a neoprene hat and booties and a brand-new Roka Maverick Comp.3 sleeved wetsuit that I bought specifically for this race because I thought I’d be too cold in my usual sleeveless one, but in hindsight I don’t think I needed any of that. On the upside, the new wetsuit fits well enough I might switch to it for my upcoming races—I had no issues at all with shoulder mobility.

With the sun behind me and perfect visibility, I had no trouble sighting; I could clearly see the dome of the Palace of Fine Arts in front of me, so I pointed myself to it and got to work. For the most part it was a pleasant, uneventful swim. There were plenty of people around me to follow and draft, but I barely made contact with anyone else. There was no chop at all, which was a blessing; some of the race reports I read from previous years mentioned the difficulty of breathing with the crashing waves. One of last year’s top finishers in my age group described it in one word: traumatisant.

It was lovely and I was enjoying myself, but I was still worried about going off course and getting carried by the current past the exit, especially since I have a tendency to veer to the right when I swim, so I sighted more often than I normally would have. It probably made my swim terribly inefficient, but at least kept me going in the right direction.

As I got closer to the finish, I could see the buoys I had previously seen from the ship. The organizers had placed two of them side by side just off the jetty of the marina and the rest were lined up to guide people toward the swim finish, so I reoriented myself to swim toward them. After I passed the first two buoys, though, I felt like I hit a wall. I could see St. Francis Yacht Club in front of me, but I was barely making any progress—I didn’t seem to be getting any closer no matter how hard I swam. I’m not sure if I was caught in some sort of eddy or if the current had started to shift, but while it had taken me just 28 minutes to swim the first 2.1 km of the swim, it took me almost 15 minutes to swim the remaining 600 m to the swim finish. This part was a true washing machine—everyone around me seemed to be frantically trying to get to the finish. Whatever was holding me back eased off after a while, and I eventually made it to the beach with an official time of 43:41. My swim was slightly longer than I expected, at 2.7 km.

“Escape from Pier 45” doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.

Despite all my anxiety about the swim, it was nowhere near as bad as I thought it would be, and I had a great time. I’m under no delusions, though—I got lucky with the conditions. I don’t know how I would have fared in worse weather; with fog and swells and chop and colder water, I could see this going very differently. Perhaps even traumatisant.

T1

I felt very dizzy coming out of the water, so I took some time to recover while I dried my feet, put on my shoes, and shoved all my swim gear in the red bag before heading out on the warm-up run. The total distance from the swim exit to the bike and out to the mount line was approximately 1.3 km, by far the longest transition I’ve ever done. It took me 17:23 to get on my bike.

I read so many differing opinions on whether or not you should use the red bag before the race, but I’m glad I had it. If I had been racing for time, maybe I would have skipped it, but it would have been unpleasant to run that long barefoot or in booties. It was also nice to not have to carry all of my swim gear to transition; I saw so many goggles, gloves, booties, and swim caps people had dropped along the way. The only thing I’d do differently is put a bottle of water in it to rinse my mouth of the taste of salt water—yuck.

The Bike

As I was riding out I noticed that the seatpost on my rental bike seemed to have slid down somehow; maybe I hadn’t tightened it enough when I adjusted it earlier. It was somewhat uncomfortable but I didn’t want to stop and I figured it’d be fine for the hour or so I expected to take me to finish the bike leg, so I kept going, using the first couple of kilometers to spin my legs and warm up before hitting the climbs.

The bike course for this race is absolutely gorgeous. After leaving the Marina Green, it goes through Crissy Field before the first of six categorized climbs, and then descends through the Presidio, with breathtaking views of the Pacific Ocean, Baker Beach, and Lands End. This is followed by another climb to the Legion of Honor and a steep, windy descent from Point Lobos to the Great Highway alongside Ocean Beach, before entering Golden Gate Park, looping around, and going back the same way. With a total distance of about 29 km, it’s shorter than a typical Olympic-distance triathlon, but it’s hilly and challenging. None of the climbs are very long—the longest one is about 1.9 km—but they’re all punchy, with no less than a 5% average grade, and a lot of people were walking their bikes. There’s one I particularly loved during the climb from Ocean Beach: Just when it starts easing off and you think you’re done with it, there’s a sharp right turn directly into a steep 11.2% grade climb. Fun!

View this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

The descents are steep and technical, though, with a few tight turns. I saw at least two people seriously injured, being tended to by bystanders or paramedics after crashing badly. The pavement is mostly good, except for the section around the Legion of Honor, and in particular the long descent after it on the way back to T2, which is teeth-rattling and ass-puckering. There are two cutoffs, one before entering Golden Gate Park at 9:20 AM, and the other one at 10:15 AM. These are soft cutoffs: If you miss the first one you simply get turned around, and if you miss the second one you get picked up and taken back to transition. In both cases you get to continue the race. There are no aid stations and gels are prohibited to prevent littering, so you have to bring your own hydration and nutrition in bottles or soft flasks.

Descending through Lincoln Boulevard. Credit: FinisherPix

I didn’t have any specific time goals for this course, so I didn’t do much in the way of planning and I wouldn’t have wanted to follow a strict pacing plan anyway, since I was on an unfamiliar course on an unfamiliar bike. Instead I paced by feel and simply enjoyed the course. I wore most of my regular tri kit, but used my regular road helmet and sunglasses (S-Works Evade 3 and Roka San Remo Air, respectively) to match my road bike. I expected this to take me roughly an hour, so my fueling consisted of a single bottle of Maurten Drink Mix 320, with 80 grams of carbs. I brought a bottle of water, but didn’t bring any electrolytes. I didn’t need them—the weather remained cool and pleasant, maxing out at 14°C. I barely broke a sweat.

Speaking of road bikes: The athlete guide claims, “there is no true advantage to riding a triathlon/time trial bike on this course.” I’m inclined to agree—unless you are at the pointy end, and are very familiar with the course, and are very proficient at descending on a triathlon bike, you’re better off using a road bike. As much as I love my tri bike, I would have had a bad time taking those descents on it.

I had a lot of fun on the climbs on this road bike, at any rate. Thanks to the altitude difference—Jackson Hole is 1,950 m above sea level—I felt strong the entire time, so I hammered the climbs and used the descents to recover and savor the views. Unfortunately, between the ragged pavement and the speed bumps, by the time I got to Golden Gate Park my seatpost had slid almost all the way to the bottom, and I had to stop to fix it. I regretted not doing that recon ride on Friday since I might have noticed the issue then, but oh, well. That’s the risk I took with a rental bike, and it’s a good reminder to tighten everything up before a race. As annoying as this was, though, I love that several people offered to stop and help; the support and camaraderie between triathletes is the best thing about triathlon culture.

Riding through Crissy Field toward the end of the bike leg. Credit: FinisherPix

With my seatpost fixed, the rest of the bike leg went smoothly, and I rolled into T2 with a final time of 1:11:03.

T2

I made a last-minute decision to wear the same shoes I had used for the swim exit; I figured they still had a few miles left in them and I didn’t want to get sand or seawater in the newer Hoka Cliftons I had originally planned to wear for the run. I spent 4:46 in T2, waved goodbye to Kate, and went out on the run course.

The Run

One detail about this race that escaped me is that this run course is actually a trail run, not the usual run on paved roads I’m used to from other races, and with 185 m of elevation gain, it’s a deceptively strenuous one. Most of it, except the beginning and end at the Marina, and a short descent on Lincoln Boulevard, is on gravel trails, steep, uneven dirt trails, up and down stairs, and on sand at the beach. My old shoes worked fine for this, but in general you’re better off bringing trail running shoes than fancy carbon-plated road running race shoes—I’d probably have rolled both of my ankles several times in both directions if I had brought my usual race shoes. I decided to pace this run by feel rather than chase any particular targets, but honestly I don’t know how else I would have paced it anyway, given the variety of surfaces. By now it had warmed up to 19°C, still pleasant, although in hindsight I wish I had sprayed on another layer of sunscreen in T2—that sun was fierce and I have the tan lines to prove it.

View this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

Gels are also prohibited here to prevent littering, so you have to bring any fuel with you on a soft flask. I didn’t bring any, though, and just relied on the aid stations. There are four of them with water and regular Gatorade, spaced about a mile apart; three of them you hit twice, once in each direction, and the last one is at the turnaround point in Baker Beach.

Almost as soon as I left T2 and started on the run on the Bay Trail at Crissy Field, I started feeling the unpleasant ache of shin splints. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the older, worn-down shoes, or maybe I hadn’t done enough bricks in training, or maybe my run fitness wasn’t as dialed in as I thought, but I hoped it’d go away soon or it’d be a deeply unpleasant run. I tried to ignore the pain and kept pushing until I got to the first set of stairs of the course, just past the Warming Hut near Fort Point. They’re steep and narrow, with runners going in both directions, which makes it almost impossible to pass anyone, so I power-walked all the way up. By the time I got to the top of the stairs my quads and ass were on fire, but at least my shin splints were somehow gone, and thankfully didn’t recur for the remainder of the race. From there, the course continued on the California Coastal Trail, which goes through some of the earthworks in the Presidio and down to Baker Beach. It’s fairly steep at certain points, and somewhat uneven, so I ran at a careful pace to avoid a repeat of my ankle injury a couple of years ago.

Gonna fly now. Credit: FinisherPix

When I got to the top, I made a point to take in the view of the Pacific Ocean and enjoy the cool sea breeze before descending to Baker Beach for the running-on-sand portion of the race. Running on sand generally sucks, but this wasn’t as bad as I expected. Most of it was on the firm, wet sand close to the water, which made running a lot easier. I turned around at the aid station at the far end and was immediately rewarded by the view of the Golden Gate Bridge, and reinvigorated by running next to the ocean, which is truly magical. It felt exactly like this:

At the end of Baker Beach is, of course, one of the most iconic things about this race: the infamous Sand Ladder. If you don’t know what that is, it’s this fucker:

Not pictured: the guy sunning his dick and balls directly next to it on race day, in plain view of everyone racing (the Sand Ladder is in the nude part of Baker Beach).

What you can’t tell from this photo is that:

The average grade is about 26%
From that angle you can only see about a third of it

At the race briefing, the race director said to walk and use the cables to pull yourself up because “even the pros do it.” I don’t know how you would run on this thing even if you wanted to; the two hundred “steps” are mostly buried in fine sand, so you’re basically walking up a sand dune and sinking back down with every step you take. It’s exhausting, but the camaraderie that comes from the shared suffering also made it a lot of fun. This segment has its own special timing, with mats at both ends; it took me 4:03 to climb it, and cruelly, they stationed a FinisherPix photographer at the very top.

💀 Credit: FinisherPix

I was drenched in sweat when I got to the top, but there was still one last climb back up the California Coastal Trail for one last view of the Golden Gate Bridge, and the rest was all downhill and down the same flight of stairs back to the Warming Hut, followed by a couple of fast, flat miles to the finish line.

My legs were shaking after all that climbing, but I managed to empty the tank, pushing the pace to finish strong, with a final time of 1:16:50 for the run and a total time of 3:33:41. I finished in 73rd place in the M40–44 age group, out of 138, and 761st overall, out of 1,480 finishers.

I escaped! Credit: Kate Birmingham

I’ve done some tough races: St. George was tough because of Snow Canyon; Coeur d’Alene can be tough because of the unpredictable weather. I’d put this one up there in terms of difficulty; I didn’t pace particularly hard and I’ve been sore for days after finishing it, more than I remember being after any other race. But I loved every minute of it—it absolutely lived up to the hype.

Right after I finished the race, Kate asked me if I would do it again and my immediate response was “absolutely not.”

I’m already considering signing up for next year.

Race Report: 2025 Hole Half Marathon

2025-09-28T11:00:00-06:00

I was pretty bummed out when I had to pull out of the Hole Half Marathon at the last minute last year. It’s a fun fall race and a great way to close out my season before winter sets in, so I look forward to it every year, but with last year’s Fish Creek Fire sending the AQI into the stratosphere—235 on race day—I really had no choice but to skip it.

We’ve been much more fortunate this year with a low-key fire season and good air quality most of the summer. I was once again looking forward to completing this race—not just to close out my season properly this time, but because it’s also the first time I would finish all three of my local half marathons. It feels like a neat little personal milestone.

The Hole Half Marathon is the third and last half marathon of the year in Jackson Hole, after the Jackson Hole Half Marathon and the Grand Teton Half Marathon, both in the spring. It sits in the middle in terms of participation, with about twice as many runners as the former, but nowhere near as many as the latter. (It’s also run concurrently with the full Jackson Hole Marathon, which I’ve never done—maybe someday, though.)

The course is almost the reverse of the route for the Jackson Hole Half Marathon. It starts in the parking lot of the Presbyterian Church in Jackson, follows the community pathway across the Snake River for a quick loop to Wilson around the Stilson Lot, and then continues north on the pathway along the Moose-Wilson Road towards the finish line in the lawn of the Jackson Hole Mountain Resort in Teton Village. It starts mostly flat, but the last 12 km are at a mild grade, ending at 1,930 m with a total elevation gain of about 90 m. It’s a beautiful route, with gorgeous views of the mountains most of the way, and the fall foliage and crisp fall weather add to the beauty of the landscape.

View this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

With fire season finally over, the AQI wasn’t a concern at all this time—it was firmly in the “good” range on race day. As is typical for this time of year, the day started chilly, with a barely-above-freezing temperature of 1°C shortly before the 9:00 AM start. With clear blue skies and the sun shining brightly, I expected it to warm up quickly, so I didn’t bring too many layers. In previous years I’ve made the mistake of wearing heavy tops and long running tights and ended up overheating. This time I wore a lighter-weight Tracksmith long-sleeve top and half tights. It was the right decision; I was a little cold at the start but perfectly comfortable towards the end.

After last week’s result at Ironman 70.3 Washington Tri-Cities, where I finished the run within five minutes of my personal best in an open half marathon, I wanted to try for another PR to truly close out the year on a high note. I gave myself a very aggressive—and probably unrealistic—goal of 1:35:00 and set it up using the PacePro feature on my Garmin watch (I had never used this feature before, so I was curious to see how it worked). It gave me a target pace of 4:30/km, which seemed tough, but worth a shot. At the Jackson Hole Half Marathon back in May, I felt like I was underfueled towards the end; this time I planned to fuel my effort with a Maurten 160 bar before the start of the race and three Maurten 100 gels spaced about 25 minutes apart, with the last one caffeinated for a little boost at the tail end of the race. This race is cupless, but I didn’t want to slow down at the aid stations or carry a bottle, so I didn’t worry about hydration.

Kate dropped me off at the Presbyterian Church at 8:30 AM. This gave me just enough time to get my bib, do a quick warmup, and use the porta-potties before the start. I placed myself near the front, and hit the ground running as soon as the gun went off. I did my best to follow the pace guidance from my watch, but admittedly let the race adrenaline get the best of me; the first couple of kilometers were a little faster than I intended, and certainly near my limit. The PacePro feature worked well, though—it gives you a special data page on the watch with the current target pace, current pace, and how far ahead or behind you are from the desired finish time. It also provides alerts whenever the target pace changes. I’m not sure if I can use this in triathlon mode, but it’d be convenient if so.

The first half of the race went well, and I stuck pretty closely to my target paces, although I was actually ahead of my target finish for most of this time. However, once I rejoined the community pathway for the uphill portion of the race on the Moose-Wilson Road after looping around the Stilson Lot, I started feeling some pain in my right knee. It’s the same damn IT band pain I had a couple of years ago in St. George, which hadn’t recurred since then. It wasn’t bad enough to cause me to DNF or even slow down to a walk, but it was definitely painful enough that I couldn’t sustain the pace I had been running. By the end it had fallen closer to 5:00/km.

Roughly halfway through the race, in the Stilson Lot. Credit: Jackson Hole Marathon Races

Those remaining 8 km were uncomfortable as hell, and the last couple in particular felt interminable, but I managed to finish the race in 1:38:14, with a final pace of 4:40/km. I was 3rd out of 23 in the M40–49 division and 15th overall, out of 345. Not quite the personal best I was hoping for, but still my third-fastest half marathon to date—I’ll take it. My knee is a little sore, but I have plenty of time to nurse it back to health before my next race, whenever it may be.

And with that, this year’s race season is finally over. With four successful Ironman 70.3s and all three of the local half marathons done, it’s safe to say this has been my best season so far. But now it’s time to rest and relax, enjoy some fall bike rides and runs just for fun, and start dreaming of next year’s races. Onwards.

Race Report: 2025 Ironman 70.3 Washington Tri-Cities

2025-09-25T10:00:00-06:00

Last year, after driving ten hours from Jackson Hole to Richland for the inaugural Ironman 70.3 Washington Tri-Cities, I was certain it would be a one-and-done race—it was just too far, the drive too exhausting. After finishing the race, though, I knew I needed to come back. It’s a phenomenal race in a great location, with a fast downriver swim, a beautiful bike course, and a fun, spectator-friendly run. So here I am again, a year later.

My goal for this race was simple: Leave with no regrets. This year has been extraordinarily hard for me on a personal and professional level, and with this being my last triathlon of the year and a long, long wait until I can race again, I knew the post-race blues would hit me hard, so I didn’t want to leave Richland feeling like I could have or should have done more. If I could come up with a plan, execute it, and leave nothing on the table, I would be satisfied (and if that translated into a faster time than last year, that’d be the cherry on top). This race is also a milestone for me: It’s my tenth Ironman 70.3 since I started racing triathlons three years ago, and I wanted to leave on a high note.

So, without further ado, here’s my last triathlon race report of this year.

Arrival & Preparations

Rather than driving straight from Jackson Hole, as I did last year, I split up the drive this time, spending a night in Boise on the way. This gave me an opportunity to run again on the Boise River Greenbelt, one of my favorite places to run, before continuing to the Tri-Cities region. I arrived in Richland on Thursday before the race and stayed at the Courtyard Richland Columbia Point, just a five-minute walk from the Ironman Village and transition. This race uses a shuttle system for race day, but if you can swing staying at one of the several hotels along the river, I can’t recommend it enough; nothing beats the convenience of being a short walk away from transition and the finish line.

After checking into my room and unloading my gear, I went out on a shakeout run at race pace along the run course on the Riverfront Trail. I felt… like hot garbage. My legs felt heavy, and my heart rate and perceived exertion were through the roof. It was admittedly hot at 34°C, but I should still have been heat-adapted, and I expected the lower altitude to help me—I live and train at 1,950 m, but Richland is at a mere 107 m above sea level. I finished that run worried I didn’t have my run fitness as dialed in as I thought. I had planned on one last easy run on Friday, but decided to take an extra rest day, thinking the additional recovery would be more beneficial than another run.

I spent the next two days relaxing, doing mobility work, and checking and double-checking my gear. The race organizers offered a couple of practice swims in the river, but I didn’t bring a tow float to store my stuff and I knew what to expect from the swim, so I skipped them. Instead, I continued the tradition I started at Ironman Canada of hate-watching the most terrible movies on TV—this time I honed my mental endurance with a double feature of Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice and Justice League. Absolute dogshit.

My race gear, organized before the race.

I checked in my bike on Saturday afternoon, and after that I spent a few minutes scoping out the transition layout, which was changed slightly from last year—the positions of the Ironman Village and the transition area were swapped, which meant a slightly longer run from the swim exit into T1. This race does a single transition, so you don’t get gear bags, as is typical for 70.3 races. You do get a morning clothes bag, though, since the swim start is 1.9 km away, in Howard Amon Park. You can put anything you carry to the swim start there, such as your phone, a coat, and your shoes, and hand it to the volunteers before lining up for the swim. It gets returned to you shortly after crossing the finish line.

Shadowfax, racked and ready for race day.

With my bike racked and nothing left to do, I went back to my room, packed the rest of my gear into my transition bag, had some dinner, and turned in for the night.

Race Day

I had trouble sleeping almost the entire time I was traveling for this race, so I was relieved to get five full hours of sleep the night before, with my Whoop indicating a whopping 89% recovery. I woke up at 3:00 AM, had a bagel and coffee, and checked all my gear one last time while I waited for transition to open. At 4:00 AM, I walked over to transition to finish setting things up. As soon as I stepped out of the hotel, I was surprised by how windy it was—when I got to the transition area, the bikes were rocking in their racks. I had flashbacks of Ironman 70.3 Coeur d’Alene last year, where the high winds caused the swim to be shortened and made the bike, and particularly the descents, stressful. I doubted this swim would be shortened or canceled, but I certainly braced myself for another challenging bike leg.

It was, uh, very windy on race day on Sunday.

[image or embed]
— Guillermo Esteves (@giventotri.com) September 24, 2025 at 11:38 AM

The weather forecast showed a high of 24°C, so at least I didn’t expect the heat to be an issue; it also showed a 25% chance of rain, so I placed my shoes and socks in a plastic bag from the expo to keep them dry if it rained. After setting up my bike computer and pumping up my tires, I went back to my room to wait for the swim start and do some mobility work to stretch and warm up in the meantime. At 6:00 AM, I put on my wetsuit and joined the crowd of athletes on the twenty-minute walk to Howard Amon Park to start the race. The wind seemed to have calmed down, but the sky was overcast and I could see rain in the distance to the southeast. I hoped none of it would hit the bike course; it would have been bad enough to deal with the wind on the bike without adding wet roads to the mix.

The Columbia River from Howard Amon Park, 6:29 AM.

Once I got to the park I handed over my morning clothes bag to a volunteer, ate a Maurten 100 gel, and lined myself up for the start. For a current-assisted swim, you’re supposed to line up in the group for your estimated time without the current, so even though I was expecting a finish time of around 26 minutes, I seeded myself in the 37–40 minute wave. One change I appreciated this year is that instead of lining up in the park, we were lined up on the beach along the river, so it was possible to get a quick dip in the water to get acclimated before entering the chutes. I didn’t really need it, though—the water temperature on race morning was a pleasant 21.2°C.

There weren’t any pros racing, so the race started with the Physically Challenged division at 6:27 AM, followed by the age groups at 6:30 AM. I didn’t have to wait long to get in the water, and I started my race at 7:04:13 AM.

The Swim

I ran out of the chutes and immediately dived in… by slipping on the rocks as soon as I set foot in the river and face-planting painfully in knee-deep water. Not my most graceful moment, but at least I wasn’t hurt, and recovered quickly. After pushing off into deeper water, I pointed myself towards the first buoy and let it rip.

The swim course is point-to-point, starting at Howard Amon Park and ending back at Columbia Point Marina Park. This year the swim start got moved a little farther upriver, and after making a right turn at the first red buoy, it was almost a straight shot to the marina. With the huge assist from the current, it wasn’t a challenging swim at all. The only minor difficulty I faced was that my goggles fogged up almost immediately and made sighting difficult, although the buoys had strobes on them, which helped enormously. Beyond that, the swim was completely uneventful—I focused on my form, did my best to stay on track, and simply enjoyed the pleasant water while I watched the buoys fly by. Things got a little busy at the end as everyone got funneled into the marina, but nowhere near as bad as the pummeling I got in Boise a couple of months ago.

You can see my swim split there quite clearly. Credit: FinisherPix

After one last push through the marina, I exited the water with a finish time of 26:08 and an official pace of 1:19/100 m. Easy peasy. Now, if I could just swim this fast without a current…

T1

After a quick stop at the wetsuit peelers to get my wetsuit pulled off, I jogged through Columbia Point Marina Park to the transition area, got my bike gear on, unracked my bike, and left in 9:13.

On the off chance someone from Ironman happens to read this, here’s a small suggestion for next year: It’d be nice to get some mats on the paved footpaths in the park—they’re very rough and painful to run on barefoot.

The Bike

The course was largely the same as last year: A single clockwise lap through Richland and the countryside outside of town, with 619 m of elevation gain and a handful of short climbs. It’s a lovely course with smooth pavement, beautiful scenery as you drive through farmlands and vineyards outside of Richland, and just enough of a challenge from the climbs to keep things interesting—I described it to someone before the start as “Coeur d’Alene Lite.” There are three railroad crossings along the way, so there’s a chance riders might be stopped by passing trains, but the athlete briefing explained that timing mats before and after the railroad tracks would record any delays, and that time would be deducted from the final time.

View this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

There were some minor but positive changes this year, most notably the descent through Dallas Road, which I found sketchy last year, now has much better separation from traffic, so it felt a lot safer. I didn’t find car traffic to be an issue at all; most of the course had an entire lane of traffic dedicated to the race, and most of the roads had barely any traffic anyway, especially on the backroads outside of town. With Ironman 70.3 St. George now discontinued, I think this might actually take its place as my favorite 70.3 bike course.

I raced on my Speed Concept with the same nutrition setup I used in Boise: Two 24-ounce bottles between the aerobars with roughly 2.75 sachets of Maurten Drink Mix 320, for about 80 grams of carbs per hour. With the cooler temperatures this time around, I didn’t think I needed additional hydration, so I took out the aero bottle from the frame to save some weight for the climbs. I still haven’t tested if this setup is aerodynamically faster than having one bottle between the aerobars and the other behind the saddle, but I can’t argue with the convenience of having both bottles in front—it’s so easy to drink from either bottle without coming out of aero, and that’s gotta count for something.

Instead of pacing by feel, I set up a Power Guide on my Garmin with an intensity factor of 0.8, which would give me an estimated finish time of 2:41:13, according to Best Bike Split, and put me in the green zone of my pacing table—not so easy that I’d feel like I left anything on the table, but not so hard that I’d blow up on the run later on.

Bike pacing table for Ironman 70.3 races. Credit: TriStar Athletes

With that, I left T1 and got right to work. I stuck closely to my power cues and had little trouble passing people—the course felt less crowded than last year, which gave me more space to maneuver. I felt strong as I pushed hard up the first couple of climbs—it gave me a lot of confidence to see my training pay off, although the cool temperature and low altitude definitely played a role.

Shortly after leaving T1. Credit: FinisherPix

I had forgotten all about the wind from earlier in the morning until I got to the top of Badger Mountain, at around kilometer 23. By then the weather had deteriorated and the wind was blowing fiercely again; I felt anxious coming down the mountain in a gusty crosswind. After that descent, I rode all of the roughly 20 km long segment on Badger Road in a strong headwind, which slowed me down enormously. In the parts of the road that faced northwest the wind was more of a crosswind, which made it hard to stay in aero position; I felt unstable every time I got hit by a gust of wind, so I spent a lot of time on the base bars, which slowed me down even more. I was so worried about crashing, I didn’t even want to let go of the handlebars for a second to drink from my bottles. I don’t know exactly how fast the wind was blowing, but one of the farms I rode by had a fully extended windsock, so the wind must have been at least 15 knots (27.8 km/h). The sky was overcast and dark, and I was certain a storm would break out at any moment, but it never rained more than a slight drizzle, and it didn’t last long.

I found this whole section harder than any of the climbs, and I had one moment when I was tempted to step off the bike and quit the race, but I pressed on, and eventually the course turned eastward along I-82. With the wind now at my back, I was glad to get back in aero, dig deep, go fast, and make up some of the lost time. Once I got back into Richland the wind had calmed down again, and it was smooth sailing all the way into T2.

I’m not exactly sure where this was taken. Credit: FinisherPix

I was pleasantly surprised to finish the bike with a final time of 2:42:52, close to what Best Bike Split had estimated; I had expected a much slower time after duking it out with the wind on Badger Road. My final intensity was 0.797, the closest I’ve ever been to my target. Maybe I could have gone a little harder, and I certainly could have gone faster if my handling skills in the wind were better, but as far as executing a plan goes, this was as close to flawless as I could manage. I’m very happy with this result.

T2

I racked my bike, swapped my bike gear for my run gear, made a quick stop at the porta-potty, and left in 5:14. I don’t keep close track of my transition times, but I think this is my quickest one to date in a 70.3. My transitions are still slow, but this feels like progress.

The Run

After that awful shakeout run a couple of days before, I wasn’t quite sure how to pace this run, but I didn’t overthink it and stuck to my original plan: Aim for a pace of 4:55/km and reassess at the turnaround point. If I felt good, push the pace and get a negative split. If I didn’t, dial it back a little and finish as strong as I could manage. It was still windy and overcast as I left T2, so the temperature didn’t feel anywhere near the forecast high of 24°C, which would help me—at least I wouldn’t get demolished by the heat. It took me a few minutes to shake off the “jelly legs” feeling from the bike leg, but after that I had no trouble hitting my target pace—my heart rate and RPE were where I expected them to be, which was a relief and restored my confidence.

The run course was unchanged from last year, a single-lap out-and-back on the Riverfront Trail along the Columbia River, through parks and residential side streets, with a turnaround point on the north end, just past the Washington State University campus. It’s fairly flat, with only 60 m of elevation gain, and, save for the last few hundred meters before the turnaround point, it’s all on smooth, paved paths. It’s a really nice run course, with plenty of shade and lots of spectator support, especially through the residential parts and the hotels close to the finish line.

View this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

A few minutes into my run it started drizzling again, which felt refreshing, and I had to resist the temptation to push the pace. Since it wasn’t hot, I didn’t feel the need to follow my usual strategy of walking through every aid station to drink water, and instead drank to thirst without slowing down. I relied on Maurten bars for my nutrition, eating half a bar roughly every 20 minutes, for a total of one and a half bars, plus a Maurten caffeinated gel to get a final kick before the finish line.

Rain, I don’t mind. Credit: FinisherPix

By the time I got to the turnaround point the drizzle had turned into steady rain, and I was soaked to the bone. I’ve worried about the heat in previous races, but now I had the opposite problem—I was freezing. My hands were so numb I fumbled a few cups of water at the aid stations. My watch recorded a low of 18°C at this point, but I was soaking wet and the wind chill made it feel much colder than that.

I had been keeping a “comfortably uncomfortable” pace up to this point, and with no heat to worry about, I followed my plan and started increasing the pace after the turnaround. I pushed well into “uncomfortable” territory. I was cold, my joints hurt, my toes hurt, I started getting painful blisters on the bottom of my feet, and running in waterlogged shoes was unpleasant, but I felt strong despite the harder pace. I was excited when I looked up and I could finally see the finish line off in the distance; it was time to empty the tank and give everything I had left. (After I finished I went back to that same spot to cheer on people and encourage them to make that last push to the finish line.)

Those last couple of kilometers were an all-out effort, but I didn’t let up, and dug deep right up to the end, only slowing down in the last few meters to avoid ruining the finish line photo of the person in front of me.

I finished the run in 1:41:53, with a final pace of 4:50/km. That’s almost four minutes faster than last year, my new personal best for the run in a 70.3. My final time was 5:05:16, over two minutes faster than last year. I finished 24th out of 148 in the M40–44 age group and 214th out of 1,702 overall. My age-graded result was 04:42:45 (5:05:16 × 0.9262), which put me in 211th place for the Ironman 70.3 World Championship slot allocation. There were 60 slots available at this race (30 for men and 30 for women) and the last ones rolled down to 70th place for women and 96th for men. I still have a lot of work to do before I can qualify for Worlds, but I’m not giving up on that. I don’t care how long it takes, I will make it happen.

And with that, my tenth Ironman 70.3 is in the books. Credit: FinisherPix

Importantly, though, I did what I set out to do: I had a plan, executed it to the best of my ability, and I’m closing out my triathlon season on a high note.

Mission accomplished: No regrets.

Race Report: 2025 Ironman 70.3 Boise

2025-07-30T08:00:00-06:00

A couple of years ago Kate and I spent a long weekend in Boise, Idaho. She came to get a new tattoo, and in the meantime I hung out and explored the city. Boise is a cool town and we had a great time, but I fell in love with the Boise River Greenbelt, a gorgeous tree-lined pathway running along the banks of the Boise River. I ended up running over 50 km that weekend alone. I’ve been itching to go back ever since.

Kate and me in Boise in 2023. Maybe my shirt was an omen.

When Ironman announced last year that Ironman 70.3 Boise would be coming back, I jumped at the chance; the idea of finishing a race on the Greenbelt seemed too good to pass up, and Boise is just a short six-hour drive from home. It’s a storied race, which ran from 2008 to 2015, and was held in early June. That made it a cold race—the swim is held at Lucky Peak Lake, which collects snowmelt from the surrounding mountains, so the water temperature is around 10°C at that time of year. In 2012, cold and snow forced the bike leg to be shortened to just 24 km—it was so cold, some athletes wore their wetsuits on their bikes. Maybe the most interesting part of that previous iteration of this race was the noon start, something I’ve never done. It’d sure be nice to race after a full night’s sleep for once.

This late-July revival of the race is a more standard fare, with a normal early-morning start and potentially high temperatures: The average high in July is 33.7°C; temperatures above 38°C are common.

It didn’t matter, I signed up anyway.

Arrival & Preparations

I arrived in Boise on Thursday afternoon and checked into my hotel, conveniently located two blocks from the Ironman Village and T2 at Julia Davis Park. I headed over after unloading my gear to check in for the race and buy some of the usual knickknacks at the race expo.

With that out of the way, I went out on a run on the Greenbelt to scope out the run course and see how I felt in the 34.4°C heat. After getting destroyed by the heat at Ironman 70.3 St. George two months ago, I’ve put some effort into heat training to prepare for this race—to the best of my ability, since it rarely gets much warmer than 27°C or so in Jackson Hole. I invested in a Core body temperature sensor to track my heat training, and it claimed I was 99% heat adapted, so I was curious to see if it made a difference in how it felt to run in Boise’s much hotter temperatures.

It felt… great, actually. I ended up running a full lap of the run course at a relatively comfortable pace and the heat never felt oppressive. The fact that most of the run course is in the shade helped, but that run made me confident that my heat training had paid off. I also saw Paula Findlay and Eric Lagerstrom running along the Greenbelt a couple of times; I didn’t want to be too much of a weirdo so I just gave them a quick thumbs up and they waved back at me, which was cool. (They’re two of my favorite pro triathletes and their podcast is excellent; you should check it out.)

Afterwards, I went back to my hotel room to get my gear bags ready for check-in on Friday, since this race has a split transition. If you’ve never done a split transition, here’s how it works at this race in particular:

When you check in for the race at the Ironman Village, you’ll get your race packet with your race bib, wristband, swim cap, stickers, and timing chip. You’ll also get three plastic bags: a clear one, labeled “morning clothes,” a blue one, labeled “bike gear bag,” and a red one, labeled “run gear bag.” These bags have a space to put one of the stickers with your bib number, and you should also write your bib number on them with a Sharpie in case the sticker falls off.
In the morning clothes bag, you’ll place anything you need to bring to the swim start, such as your goggles and swim cap, and it’s where you’ll put the clothes you’re wearing before heading to the swim. Don’t put anything that won’t fit in the bag, such as a bike pump—there’ll be plenty of those in transition, and they won’t accept your bag if it has stuff sticking out.
In the blue bike gear bag you’ll put your helmet, bike shoes, socks, bike computer, and anything else you’ll need in T1.
In the red run gear bag you’ll put your running shoes, socks, hat, running belt with bib attached, and anything else you’ll need in T2.
The day before the race, you’ll bring your bike to T1 at Barclay Bay in Lucky Peak State Park, about a 25-minute drive from downtown Boise. At this race, you do not need to check your bike gear bag with your bike, you can bring it with you on race morning—they explained that there’s wildlife at Lucky Peak and they don’t want it rummaging through the bags if someone were to leave some food in them overnight. There’s limited parking there and it gets congested, so don’t leave this to the last minute.
You’ll also need to check in your run gear in T2 at Julia Davis Park. This one you do need to check in the day before. You’ll simply walk to the transition area and tie your bag to your spot on the rack. Don’t leave any food in your bag overnight; you can bring it on race morning.
On race day, you’ll unpack your run gear bag in T2 and finish setting up your transition before getting on a shuttle to Lucky Peak State Park (you can’t drive there—there’s no parking on race day). When you get there, you can unpack your bike gear bag and set up your transition as usual: Attach your bike computer, set up your bottles, hang your helmet from your handlebars, clip your shoes to the pedals if you’re doing a flying mount, or just place them on the ground next to your bike (it’ll take less space since you won’t have running gear to worry about). Make sure to put your gear on top of the bag so it doesn’t fly away while you’re swimming—you’ll need it later.
Before heading to the swim, place your clothes, shoes, phone, keys, etc., in your morning clothes bag. You’ll hand the bag to one of the volunteers stationed for that purpose near the swim start.
After the swim, when you’re back in T1, take off your wetsuit, swim cap, and goggles, and stuff them all in your now-empty bike gear bag. You can just leave it on the ground under your spot on the rack; the volunteers will pick them all up and bring them back to Boise.
When you get to T2, rack your bike, and change into your running gear as normal. You don’t need to pack your bike gear into the now-empty run gear bag—you can simply place it on the ground next to your bike.
After the race, there will be an area set up near the finish line for you to pick up your morning clothes and bike gear bag, and then you’ll just need to collect your bike and run gear bag from your spot in T2.

After the briefing, I did all of that. T2 was easy, since it was right there at Julia Davis Park. It’s a great transition area, with tons of space, lots of shade, and covered in grass, which makes it easy to run in bike shoes (although I really should learn how to take them off without unclipping them from the pedals and run barefoot). After walking back and forth a few times to memorize the location of my spot relative to the entrance and exit, I left to go check in my bike at Barclay Bay.

I was less enthused by T1. It was set up in the small parking area at Barclay Bay and paved with a rough chip seal surface that looked like it’d be painful to run on barefoot after the swim (although the organizers had thoughtfully laid down rubber mats from the swim exit and up the boat ramp that led to the transition area). At the briefing they asked us to be quick due to the limited parking, so I didn’t spend too much time scoping things out and left after racking my bike.

I was selfishly hoping one of the people next to me would DNS so I could have some extra space, but no dice.

That evening, I double-checked the rest of my gear and hit the sack early, hoping to get a good night of sleep before the race.

Race Day

Yeah, that didn’t happen. I woke up at 1:00 AM and gave up on sleep a couple of hours later. I sure could have used that noon start—I felt tired, groggy, and run down. Not a great start to the day, but I hoped race adrenaline would get me through. I had my usual breakfast of a plain bagel with jam and a cup of coffee, and did some mobility work to kill some time before walking over to the Ironman Village to finish setting up my gear in T2 and hop on a shuttle to Lucky Peak.

The weather on race day looked promising, with a forecast high of 33.3°C—not as hot as I had expected for Boise in July. Someone at Slowtwitch warned me that conditions can be rough in the morning with the wind coming down the mountains, and the forecast said it’d be windy with 32 km/h gusts, but the water looked relatively calm. Even the air quality was good, which is rare for the Mountain West at this time of year, with wildfire season in full swing. If nothing else, it looked like a beautiful day for a race, and I resolved to make the best of it, despite not feeling 100%.

T1 at 6:20 AM.

After setting up my bike I headed to the swim start at Turner Gulch, a ten-minute walk away from Barclay Bay, and optimistically seeded myself in the 40–43 minute wave. I really liked the way the swim is set up at this race—from the road to the swim start you get a great view of the lake and the entire swim course as the pros start their races. The morning bag collection point is right before the chutes, so if you’re wearing a coat or shoes, you can keep them on until right before you get in the water, which is nice and convenient.

Athletes going around the first turn buoy shortly after the start of the age group race.

The race started for the pro men at 6:30 AM and for the pro women five minutes later; it didn’t take too long after that for me to get in the water. My race started at 7:09 AM.

The Swim

The biggest advantage of moving the race to July is that, at 19.6°C, the water temperature was pretty much perfect and I felt great in my sleeveless wetsuit—it only took me a few strokes to get used to the temperature and get to work.

The swim was a one-lap point-to-point counter-clockwise course from Turner Gulch back to T1 in Barclay Bay, with four turns in total: a right turn about a hundred meters out, before the outbound leg, followed by two left turns before the inbound leg, and one final right turn in the last couple hundred meters before heading toward the swim exit. The outbound leg was roughly aligned toward the sun, which had just risen above the mountains by the time I started, but despite the sunlight reflecting off the water, I didn’t have much trouble sighting the buoys. It was a little hectic and I often made contact with people, but nothing I haven’t experienced in previous races. I expected things to get easier on the inbound leg; since I’d have the sun behind me and it’d be easier to see the buoys, I’d be able to distance myself from other people.

I was wrong. By the time I was on the inbound leg the wind had picked up and the water got choppier, with some big swells. I had the hardest time sighting the buoys, which should have stood out clearly against the hills in the background. Sometimes I’d see a buoy but then not see the next one at all; at one point I saw a buoy way off about a hundred meters to my left. I had no idea where I was supposed to be going, so I had no choice but to follow other swimmers and hope they could sight better than me. At times I felt like I was swimming into a headwind and not moving at all, with only the buzz from my watch’s auto-lap function giving me any indication that I was making forward progress. It felt like an interminable slog.

Things somehow got worse after the last turn towards the swim exit. This turn funneled everyone into a narrow lane for the last couple hundred meters, and with everyone packed in there, the “washing machine” effect went into overdrive. I got the shit beat out of me there; I got grabbed, punched, slapped, kicked, swum over, you name it. I’ve never swallowed so much water during a swim before. Any semblance of proper swim form went out the window; I did what I could to get through it, but there were a couple of times where I got smacked hard enough to choke in the water and I had to stop for a second to recover. I really need to learn this style of aggressive, full-contact, no-holds-barred, no-fucks-given swimming some people seem to do. I’m way too defensive about it.

After all that, I finished the swim in 48:09, with an official pace of 2:30/100 m, technically my slowest 70.3 swim to date. However, according to my watch I swam 2.1 km, almost 200 m more than I should have, with a pace of 2:16/100 m, so at least it wasn’t actually my slowest swim ever. I’m not sure where the extra distance came from, but this photo probably explains why I couldn’t see the buoys—the wind had moved them all over the place.

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If there’s any consolation, it’s that the people I talked to at the food tent after the race all agreed this was a tough swim, so at least it wasn’t just me. It was tough.

T1

I felt bloated when I left the water and ran through transition, with a sharp pain on the side of my abdomen, which I’m pretty sure was caused by the water and air I ingested in that last stretch of the swim. It felt like the same issue I had at Ironman Coeur d’Alene two years ago, where I DNF’d, and at Ironman 70.3 St. George last year, where I barely finished. Well, fuck. There wasn’t much I could do about it except press on and hope it went away, so I got my bike gear on, sprayed some sunscreen on, packed my swim gear, and left T1 after 10:15.

The Bike

The bike course starts with a quick segment on top of Lucky Peak Dam, followed immediately by a fast, steep descent down the dam road, which they recommend taking with caution (and in fact, on race day I saw someone who had crashed badly at the very bottom). After that, the bike course goes through backroads in the farmlands outside of Boise. It’s moderately hilly, with only a handful of climbs and 568 m of elevation gain. The surface is mostly chip seal, but at least in good condition, without a lot of potholes or hazards that I could see. The best part of this course is that from the moment you make that left turn just south of the airport to the moment you get back on Gowen Road, the race is entirely on closed roads. That’s 56 km of racing without a single car in sight—pure bliss. It’s worth mentioning that for most of the course you’re riding in the left lane, so the first and last aid stations are left-hand grabs, something that had never occurred to me to practice (and apparently not many people did—the road along the first aid station had more bananas on the tarmac than a Mario Kart track). It’s a good bike course overall, perhaps not as scenic as St. George or Coeur d’Alene, but enjoyable nonetheless.

View this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

I left T1 and coasted down the dam road, using that time to assess how I felt, and whether or not I needed to adjust my race plan. I had set up a Power Guide on my Garmin with a target intensity of 80%, which Best Bike Split estimated would give me a 2:33:04 finish time. I planned to fuel that effort with two 24-ounce bottles of Maurten Drink Mix 320, for roughly 80 g/h of carbs, supplemented with plain water in my bike’s aero bottle for some extra hydration in case the day was hotter than expected, which I had the brilliant idea to freeze overnight (the bottle is black, and at St. George my water was unpleasantly hot halfway through the race). However, between my lack of sleep and now the abdominal pain, I didn’t think I had it in me to follow my pacing plan, so I mostly ignored it, paced by feel, and just enjoyed the ride.

I enjoyed this dam segment. Credit: FinisherPix

The pain didn’t get worse and I could hold my aero position comfortably, so I put in a solid effort nonetheless, especially on the climbs. The course was fairly crowded, but other than a handful of times where I was blocked by other riders, and a short segment on Gowen Road designated as single-file riding, I had plenty of space to pass folks. I did see something I had never seen before in the dozen races or so I’ve done: An age grouper in front of me got a blue card—a two-minute penalty—from a referee. I couldn’t tell if it was for drafting, blocking, or littering, but it’s good to know it does happen sometimes.

Gearwise, I stuck to the same setup I used last month in Coeur d’Alene, except for one change: I replaced the Bontrager Hilo Comp saddle that came with my bike with a brand new Wove V8 saddle, and it’s the most comfortable bike saddle I’ve used. I had zero discomfort, which helped me stay in aero longer than I would have otherwise. I kept my two bottles in my existing BTA setup, but one of my goals for this summer is to learn to do aerodynamic testing and see if that’s more or less aero than putting one of the bottles behind the saddle, and if any aero benefits are worth trading the convenience of having both bottles in front.

The most glowing review I can give to this saddle is that I didn’t think about my ass even once the entire ride.

I enjoyed the climbs and put down some decent power in aero to pass people on the flats. The weather was pleasant—it didn’t get too warm, and the wind wasn’t too bad, although I could definitely feel a headwind on the westbound portions of the course. The only sketchy part of the course was the very last descent on Pleasant Valley Road on the way back to Boise, where I got maybe a little overconfident until a strong gust of wind almost knocked me off the bike. I white-knuckled it the rest of the way down, cursing loudly. The ride was otherwise uneventful, and locals were cool and supportive throughout the whole race—except the guy wearing a cowboy hat with a large knife hanging from his belt who gave me a big thumbs-down near the end of the bike leg. Somehow that hurt more than if he had given me the finger.

Eastbound on Tenmile Creek Road. Credit: FinisherPix

I finished the bike leg with an official time of 2:34:45, in 29th place in the M40–44 age group, and only about two minutes slower than Best Bike Split estimated, despite not following my pacing plan at all. Not bad.

T2

I rolled into T2 just in time to hear Paula Findlay being announced as the winner of the women’s pro race, as I expected. Nice. I racked my bike, changed into my running gear, used the toilet, and ran out in 6:57.

The Run

By now the sharp pain on my side had become dull and diffuse, but more importantly, despite drinking most of my two bottles of Maurten, my stomach wasn’t sloshing, which meant it hadn’t shut down. I thought solid food would be easier on my stomach than gels, so I planned to rely on Maurten bars for the run, eating half a bar roughly every thirty minutes. That’s about half the calories I’d usually consume during a 70.3 run, but since I had fueled properly on the bike, it might be enough to get me to the finish line without either upsetting my stomach or bonking. I did notice that my trisuit was covered in salt; I’d definitely need to focus on hydration, grabbing water at every aid station and electrolytes as needed.

The run course consists of two laps on the Boise River Greenbelt, starting and ending at Julia Davis Park. It’s pancake-flat, with a mere 26 m of elevation gain, and significant tree cover providing plenty of shade for most of it—if I had to guess, I’d say 60% of the course is in the shade. The course is not closed to the public, since Boise residents use it to commute and recreate, but everyone, athletes and residents alike, were cool about it and happy to share the space (this also makes it exceptionally spectator-friendly). It’s a phenomenal run course, and I have a feeling this race is going to end up on several of Ironman’s Athletes’ Choice Awards lists this year.

View this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

The run went pretty well, all things considered. My pain eased, although it never went away—I think the bars helped. The heat maxed out at 34°C towards the end, according to my watch, but it didn’t feel as sweltering as I expected. I didn’t dig particularly deep, but kept a steady pace that felt about RPE 7—not easy, but not too hard. The shade definitely helped, but it was interesting to compare how relatively comfortable I felt running in this heat compared to the pure misery of that run in St. George just two months ago.

Almost at the finish line. Credit: FinisherPix

I had a good time. I walked through every aid station for water, high-fived every spectator I could, waved at the people watching the race while floating down the river, and before I knew it I was back in Julia Davis Park for the final stretch to the finish line. I finished the run in 1:48:07, with a final pace of 5:01/km. My total time was 5:28:10—a personal record for the 70.3 distance, which I was pleasantly surprised by, considering I wasn’t feeling well from the start and didn’t go all out. I was 37th in the M40–44 age group, and 354th place overall. I wish I could have done this race at my best, but it certainly could have gone a lot worse—finishing with a PR is more than I could have asked for. I’ll take it.

I don’t think I’ve ever been more encrusted in salt after a race. Credit: FinisherPix

After the race I was interested in seeing how I did in the new World Championship qualification system, which multiplies each athlete’s actual finish time by their age group’s “Ironman 70.3 Standard” to create normalized, comparable times across all ages and then ranks everyone together for the slot allocation and rolldown. In the age-graded results, I was 228th overall with an age-graded time of 5:03:56 (5:28:10 × 0.9262, the standard for the M40–44 age group). With only 35 World Championship slots for men, I didn’t stand a chance at getting one—it’s safe to say that with this new system Worlds is firmly out of reach for now, but no matter, it simply means I’ll need to work harder. I’m in this for the long run, anyway.

Race Report: 2025 Ironman 70.3 Coeur d’Alene

2025-06-25T08:00:00-06:00

There’s always something going on with the weather in Coeur d’Alene. Last year, high winds on race day forced the swim to be shortened and made for a nerve-wracking bike leg; the year before, I got hit by a gnarly surprise hailstorm on the bike; and although I wasn’t there, 2021 was the infamous “Coeur de Flame,” with a high of 38.3°C and one of the highest DNF rates on record for a full Ironman. It’s enough of a recurring theme that at the end of my race report for last year’s race, I jokingly wondered what the weather would hold for this year.

The answer: Despite a threat of cold temperatures and rain in the days leading up to the race, it turned out to be an almost perfect day for racing.

After last month’s race in St. George, where I suffered miserably in the heat, I’ve spent the past few weeks working to improve my heat acclimation in case there was a repeat of the “Coeur de Flame” situation. Even if that didn’t happen, I wanted to be prepared for, you know, normal late June temperatures, so imagine my surprise when I looked at the weather forecast for Coeur d’Alene a week out and saw a low of 7.2°C, a high of 15.6°C, and a 50% chance of rain on race day.

I didn’t have specific time goals for this race other than “go hard, leave nothing on the table, be faster than last year,” but that still threw a wrench in my planning. Instead of preparing for the heat, I had to figure out what to do with the opposite situation: At 32 km/h on the bike, 7.2°C feels like 2.8°C; add starting the bike wet from the swim, and the risk of hypothermia is real—in 2012, rain and a low of 4.4°C forced the bike leg of Ironman 70.3 Boise to be shortened to just 24.1 km; it was so cold, some athletes rode their bikes still in their wetsuits. In 2017, one triathlete was hospitalized and about thirty others showed symptoms of hypothermia at the Napa Valley Triathlon, a particularly cold race with 2.8°C air and 13.9°C water.

The forecast wasn’t quite as cold as at those races, but still cold enough to be at risk for hypothermia, especially if it rained. That could be particularly dangerous considering how technical this course is—mental confusion and loss of reflexes are two of the symptoms of hypothermia, and that could prove disastrous on one of the many steep descents at this course. A comment on Reddit from someone who participated in that triathlon in Napa Valley described exactly what I wanted to avoid:

Comment
byu/ryuns from discussion
intriathlon

After researching cold-weather races, asking for advice on Slowtwitch and TrainerRoad, and consulting with my friend Kristin, I narrowed down my options to:

Wear my normal kit, tough it out, and hope hammering the bike would warm me up. This was a gamble—if it turned out to be colder than the forecast said, I might DNF, or worse, I could crash on the bike. Even simply fumbling a bottle because my hands are numb could ruin my day (and I’m particularly prone to that after a bad case of frostbite on my hands a couple of years ago).
Wear warm clothing during the bike leg, such as a winter cycling jersey or a rain jacket. This would slow me down quite a bit and potentially turn my race into a “just finish” kind of day, but if that’s what it took to make it back safely, then so be it.

In either case I’d do my best to dry myself as thoroughly as possible before getting on the bike, and wear full-finger gloves and toe covers to keep my extremities warm. Otherwise I’d monitor the weather, keep both options on the table, and make a final decision before hopping on the bike. I hoped the weather would shift, but I also made up my mind not to stress about it and, no matter what, just go out and enjoy myself out there. I’ve found that my mindset going into a race is one of the most important factors—if I get stuck in the mindset that I’m going to have a bad day, I’ll somehow find a way to make it happen.

Pre-race preparations

I arrived in Coeur d’Alene the Thursday before the race, and after checking into my hotel and unloading my car, I went out for a race pace run on the North Idaho Centennial Trail. It’s a lovely place to run, through fancy neighborhoods along the Spokane River and the shores of Lake Coeur d’Alene. The weather was perfect; overcast, but not too cold or too warm, although Garmin Connect kicked my heat adaptation score up a few points. Shame I wouldn’t need it.

The next day, I went to the Ironman Village as soon as it opened to check in for the race and attend the pre-race briefing, where I was curious to hear what they had to say about the weather. The briefing validated my race day strategy—the announcer warned about the cold temperatures after the swim and suggested having dry layers in transition, bringing a towel to dry off as much as possible, and wearing a jacket and gloves out on the bike course, all things I was already considering. The water temperature that morning was 20.1°C, so there was no mention of shortening or canceling the swim, but after last year’s Ironman Canada, where a rainy day before the race caused Okanagan Lake to turn over and the water temperature plummeted overnight, I didn’t think either of those things was out of the question. I mentally made plans for that, too.

Saturday was my usual pre-race routine: Rest, carb up, and watch shitty hotel TV while I check, double-check, triple-check, and quadruple-check all my gear, which consisted of:

Roka Gen II Elite trisuit. I briefly thought about wearing tri shorts for the swim and then putting on a winter jersey in T1 and a running top in T2, but my jersey fits just fine over my one-piece trisuit, and I wanted the option to leave the jersey behind if it turned out to be warmer than forecast.
The water temperature wasn’t a concern, so I brought my Roka Maverick Pro II sleeveless wetsuit, which I’ve worn without issues in colder temperatures. I brought a neoprene hat just in case the water temperature dropped, though, one of the lessons I learned from Ironman Canada last year.
For the bike leg, I brought my usual setup: My Trek Speed Concept, Shimano S-Phyre SH-TR903 shoes, and Giro Aerohead helmet. I also brought my Rapha winter toe covers and winter jersey, plus a pair of running gloves I grabbed from REI before leaving Jackson. I normally wear lightweight non-cushioned Darn Tough running socks for the bike and run, but this time I wore cushioned ones, thinking the extra thickness might provide a little more comfort.
I dusted off my Core body temperature sensor and set up its data field on my bike computer, mostly out of curiosity to see if it could give me an early warning of hypothermia if the weather got particularly bad.
The forecast showed the temperature would be at least 15.5°C during the run, so I didn’t make changes to my running gear: Hoka Cielo X1 2.0 shoes, Roka Matador Air sunglasses, and a regular hat. (Uh, and the trisuit, of course.)

Some of my gear, laid out before the race.

In the afternoon I headed over to Coeur d’Alene City Park to check in my bike in transition. It’s a single transition, so no gear bags are provided, but I bought a bunch of crap at the expo just so I could use the plastic bag to keep my shoes and socks dry if it rained (that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it).

Shadowfax, ready for race day.

After racking my bike, I scoped out the transition layout, making a note of the entrances and exits and the position of my bike relative to nearby landmarks, walking back and forth a few times to memorize the path I’d need to take. While I was doing that, it started drizzling and the wind picked up. I was shivering, even though I was wearing a puffy jacket and a hat; the lake looked just as choppy as it did last year. I hoped for better weather during the race, but either way, I had a good plan and felt ready for whatever Coeur d’Alene threw at me, so I went back to my hotel and settled in for a good night of sleep.

Race day

The good night’s sleep didn’t materialize; I woke up at 3:00 AM, after getting barely two hours of sleep. I spent some time going over my gear and transition checklists to make sure I wasn’t forgetting anything while I had my usual breakfast of a plain bagel with jam and coffee. I checked the weather one last time shortly before leaving, and it seemed like cold and rain would be on the menu after all.

Transition at Coeur d’Alene City Park on race day is open from 4:30 AM to 5:45 AM. One of the best things about this race is that it’s pretty easy to find street parking close to transition, so I’ve never had to rush or leave at the crack of dawn; I left my hotel at 5:00, and by 5:20 I was done setting up my gear. While setting up my bike computer, I noticed that its thermometer said it was 13.9°C, much warmer than the forecast—that bode well for the rest of the day. I set up a data page on my bike computer with the temperature as a data field, and left it so it’d be the first thing I’d see once I got back to transition after the swim. I made 10°C my completely arbitrary decision point: If it was colder than that when I got to T1, I’d wear the jersey; otherwise, I’d take my chances without it.

With the rain and wind the day before, the water had cooled down to 18.6°C, thankfully not nearly enough for the swim to be shortened or canceled. Once transition closed, I staged myself in the 40–43 minute group for the 6:00 AM swim start. The lake looked like glass, without so much as a ripple, and I heard the announcer say, “Look at that blue sky! Isn’t that beautiful?” I looked up, and indeed, I could see a little bit of blue sky for the first time since I got there. So far it looked like we’d gotten lucky—the weather was better than forecast, and it was shaping up to be a great day for racing. I could see dark storm clouds across the lake, though, and I willed them to stay away.

The swim

My race started at 6:34 AM. After diving in, it took me a few seconds to get my breathing under control in the cold water, but after that it felt great, since it was actually warmer than the air.

The field seemed rather small this year and officials were spacing people out, with only two people starting at a time, and lots of space between waves; I was at the front of my wave, so I had no one in front of me. It was great to be able to focus on my form without dealing with the washing machine. I just kept swimming, one buoy at a time. It was overcast, and I wasn’t sure if my goggles would be too dark for the conditions, but I had no trouble at all sighting the buoys; without the sun glinting off the surface, they stood out like beacons.

It wasn’t an issue this year, but I love that the course is oriented north-to-south so you’re not sighting into the sun.

I caught up with the previous wave shortly before the first turn buoy, so the swim got busier from there on, but nowhere near as chaotic as in other races. I just moved towards the outside and stayed out of the way.

I finished in 41:47, not quite as fast as last month in St. George, but not a terrible result for me. I still have lots of work to do on my swim, though.

T1

After getting my wetsuit ripped off by the wetsuit peelers and running through transition, it was the moment of truth. I woke up my bike computer and saw the temperature in giant numbers: 11.4°C.

Game on. The winter jersey was staying behind.

It was still pretty cold, mind you. I could see steam coming off my body, which I thought was amusing. I figured the gloves and toe covers wouldn’t hurt (and worst case, I could ditch the gloves at an aid station if my hands got too warm), so I took them with me anyway.

I spent too long futilely trying to dry myself with a towel and left T1 after 11:54.

The bike

The bike course is a single lap, starting with an about 30 km out-and-back through Coeur d’Alene Lake Drive before turning around at Higgens Point and heading out on a roughly 60 km out-and-back section on US-95, with a short section through downtown Coeur d’Alene in between. It’s a hilly course, with twelve categorized climbs according to Best Bike Split, and a total elevation gain of 939 m. It’s a fun, challenging bike course if you enjoy climbing, with smooth pavement and great separation from traffic; the two southbound lanes on US-95 and the streets in downtown Coeur d’Alene are all closed to traffic, so for most of the race you’re not sharing space with cars. There is one no-passing, no-aerobars zone at about the 80 km mark, in the last, steepest descent before coming back to Coeur d’Alene. There, you’re riding in the shoulder, with only a couple meters of space between the rumble strip and the barriers. That particular descent is a little sketchy, but in general you do need to be comfortable with bike handling on fast, steep descents—both times I’ve done this race I’ve seen the aftermath of bad crashes during the descents. They’re no joke.

View this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

I set up a power guide in my Garmin targeting an intensity of 80%, which according to Best Bike Split would give me a finish time of 2:41:18 and put me in the green zone of my TSS table. I thought about trying to go a little harder since I expected it to be cold, but I didn’t want to risk overbiking and then falling apart on the run. 80% seemed like a good balance; I could hammer the climbs, recover on the descents, and hopefully that’d keep me warm while leaving enough in the tank for the run.

Bike pacing table for Ironman 70.3 races. Credit: TriStar Athletes

To fuel that effort, I brought two 24-ounce bottles of Maurten Drink Mix 320, for about 80 g/h of carbs, which has worked well for me in previous races. I carried them both between my aerobars; even though the new World Triathlon hydration rules aren’t being enforced yet by Ironman in age groups, I managed to get my setup within spec. I haven’t tested if this is actually aerodynamically faster than having one bottle between the aerobars and one behind the saddle, but at least it’s practical: Since I have side-loading cages, I can grab a bottle, take a sip, and put it back without ever coming out of aero, which is nice.

I also have the option of swapping that top cage for a torpedo bottle, but this setup works quite nicely.

With my trisuit still wet, I was freezing after leaving T1. I used the first segment through downtown Coeur d’Alene to spin up the legs, shake off the cold, and hopefully warm up enough before I hit the first short climb on Coeur d’Alene Lake Drive. That didn’t quite work; when I started that climb, I felt… off. My legs just didn’t seem to have any strength. My quads ached, and I was feeling a disconcerting amount of muscle burn for the middling power I was putting out. I hoped it was just the cold, or else I was about to have a very long day in front of me, especially once I hit the bigger climbs.

Somewhere on Coeur d’Alene Lake Drive—I was still freezing my ass off here. Credit: FinisherPix

However, by the time I crossed the bridge over the Spokane River and got on US-95, the clouds had parted, the sky was blue, I was warm, I was dry—I felt revived. I don’t think I’ve ever been more glad to see the sun. The weather was gorgeous, and I could feel my strength coming back. I put that to the test on the first big climb after leaving Coeur d’Alene, the Cougar Gulch climb, a 2.4 km segment at an average grade of 5.6%. I finished it in 8:13, about thirty seconds faster than last year. That felt pretty good, I did have the legs for this after all.

I enjoyed the hell out of the outbound leg after that—it was just a great day for a bike ride. I think I did a decent job of pacing; with only about a thousand people on the course and an entire lane of highway to maneuver, I had no problem following my power cues closely. I simply stayed in aero, held my power, and passed people with ease. I saw plenty of referees on motorcycles, but blocking and drafting weren’t an issue at this race as far as I could tell. In hindsight, I probably could have left the gloves and toe covers behind, but I don’t think it would have made much of a difference.

Here comes the sun, doo-doo-doo-doo. Credit: FinisherPix

The clouds came back shortly after the turnaround. The wind picked up and the temperature dropped noticeably, although not enough to be a problem; I was still quite comfortable. I started getting that unpleasant feeling of getting buffeted by the gusts, though—I hate it. I was riding in what felt like a strong crosswind, but admittedly spent more time than I would have liked sitting up to get a little more stability, which slowed me down quite a bit. In any case, it didn’t last very long and the rain in the forecast never materialized.

After clenching all the way back down the last descent through the no-passing zone, I was relieved to be safely back in Coeur d’Alene. I finished the bike leg in 2:46:03, with a final intensity of 77%, only five minutes slower than predicted by Best Bike Split. The initial misfire after leaving T1, the wind after the turnaround, and coasting through the no-passing zone probably explain the lower intensity, but overall I’m pretty happy with my performance. More importantly, I’m happy with how I handled the weather uncertainty; I’m glad the cold turned out not to be an issue, but I was prepared for it. I had a plan, I executed it, and it worked out. There’s very little I would have done differently—I’d call that a win.

T2

When I got back to Coeur d’Alene the sun was out again and it had warmed up to what felt like the upper tens—perfect weather for racing. I didn’t waste time; I racked my bike, swapped my bike gear for running gear, used the porta-potty, and left in 6:03.

The run

I came out of T2 hot, despite my legs feeling like jelly after the bike leg. I had to consciously slow myself down and not let the race adrenaline get the best of me; my pace for the first few minutes was 4:18/km and I didn’t even notice until I looked at my watch. My goal of “go hard, leave nothing on the table, be faster than last year” meant holding a pace faster than last year’s 4:58/km, but I didn’t want to go so hard that I blew up partway through.

The run course consists of two laps around McEuen Park and neighborhoods in downtown Coeur d’Alene, before heading out on Coeur d’Alene Lake Drive and back, with 114 m of elevation gain. This is my favorite run course in all the races I’ve done so far: there are supporters everywhere, there’s tons of shade, and the variety of the neighborhoods you run through breaks up the course nicely so it never feels like a slog. The segment through Coeur d’Alene Lake Drive is the only one that’s really exposed to the sun and it’s slightly uphill, but it’s not very long and there’s an aid station at the end. It’s just a great course, and time seems to fly by.

(One of my favorite moments at this race was towards the end, when a group of girls asked me, “Is this your second lap?” I didn’t have the presence of mind to do much more than nod, but when I did, they cheered me on with such sincere intensity, as if they were personally invested in me, a complete stranger, finishing the race. I thought that was heartwarming and cool, and that’s the vibe I’ve gotten from the spectators every time I’ve come here.)

View this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

By now the weather was pleasant and sunny, and I thought I probably wouldn’t need a ton of water or electrolytes, so my plan was to skip most of the aid stations except to grab gels. About halfway through the first lap I realized that was probably a bad idea; I was going at a pretty hard pace and the aching and burn in my quads I felt at the beginning of the bike started coming back. I wasn’t sure if that meant I was going too hard, or had gone too hard on the bike, or perhaps needed water and electrolytes, so I reverted to my usual strategy: Walk through every aid station to hydrate and recover.

Action shot! Credit: FinisherPix

That seemed to do the trick, for the most part. I kept a hard pace that sometimes felt like I could barely make it to the next aid station, recovered while I grabbed water or a gel, and did it all over again. My nutrition consisted of two Maurten 100 gels (the last one caffeinated) and a couple of bites of Maurten bars for some variety. I had water at every aid station I stopped at, and a couple cups of Mortal.

The first lap was hard; the second lap was punishing, despite the pleasant weather and cool block party vibe of the run course. It was one of those runs where I get that voice in my head telling me to just slow down, just walk, just stop, just give up, and then I have to tell it shut up, shut up, shut up. After the last turnaround I tried to push the pace, but it really felt like I was redlining it. I was going as hard as I could, my legs were in absolute agony. Shortly before arriving back in McEuen Park for the last stretch before the finish line I ran past three wild turkeys, and I did a double take; I swear to god, I thought I was hallucinating. I asked a race volunteer nearby and he confirmed they were very real (although it’s possible he was a hallucination too). I’m not kidding when I say this was an all-out effort.

I reached the last stretch on Sherman Avenue and I could see the finish line a few hundred meters away, at last. I planned to sprint to the end with everything I had left, but I had two people in front of me and I didn’t want to ruin their finish line photos, so I hung back and slowed down to high-five the spectators on the sidelines, which made crossing the finish line feel extra joyful.

And that’s a wrap for this race. Credit: FinisherPix

I finished the run in 1:44:35, for a final pace of 4:52/km and a total time of 5:30:22. I was 16th in the M40–44 age group, out of 95, and 209th overall, out of 1,021 finishers. I am blown away by this result—16th place is my best ever in an Ironman-branded race. My finish time is also my personal best for a 70.3 (not counting Tri-Cities last year, which had a current-assisted swim).

After all the stress over the weather, this turned out to be a nearly perfect race for me. I can’t believe it.

That afternoon, I attended the awards and roll-down ceremony at the Ironman Village. With my 16th-place finish, I thought I had a slim shot at a World Championship slot. Here’s how it works: Each race gets a number of qualification slots for the Ironman 70.3 World Championship, which this year is in Marbella, Spain. This race had fifty slots, allocated proportionally to each age group. Mine had four, offered to the top four finishers. If any of them declines, the slot “rolls down” to the next person in line, and so on until all the slots are claimed.

In my age group, the last slot was claimed by the person in 13th place—just five minutes ahead of me. Five minutes. That’s all that kept me from qualifying for the World Championship.

In the past, I’ve joked that my plan to get to Worlds is to outlive everyone and qualify in the 90–94 age group. But this made me realize this goal I thought was out of reach might be closer than I imagined. If I put a lot of work into my swim, make my transitions a little quicker, get a little stronger on the bike, a little faster on the run, and get a little lucky with the right conditions at the right race… qualifying might not actually be out of reach. And that feels really, really good.

Next up: Ironman 70.3 Boise. After this result, I’m raring to go. Let’s do this.

Race Report: 2025 Grand Teton Half Marathon

2025-06-09T08:00:00-06:00

Last year I surprised myself on the run at Ironman 70.3 Coeur d’Alene—I came out of T2 like a bat out of hell and it ended up being my fastest run split in a 70.3 to date. There were probably multiple reasons for that, including the shortened swim, but I think one factor was the Grand Teton Half Marathon, which I had raced two weeks prior. That was also my fastest half marathon to date, and I suspect that strong run kicked my running fitness up a notch or two just in time for the race.

This season, I’m putting that hypothesis to the test by racing not one, but two half marathons before this year’s edition of Ironman 70.3 Coeur d’Alene. The first one was the Jackson Hole Half Marathon two weeks ago, so without further ado, here’s a quick race report about the Grand Teton Half Marathon, my last running race before heading back to Idaho later this month.

With over 2,000 participants, the Grand Teton Half Marathon is the biggest of the three local half marathons in Jackson Hole, and it’s become my favorite as well, with great organization, cool swag and medals, and a chill course with lovely views of the Tetons.

This year’s course was exactly the same as last year: It starts at the Stilson Lot next to Rendezvous Park, heading west toward Wilson on the Jackson Hole Community Pathway for about a kilometer and a half before looping back towards R Park. After crossing the pedestrian bridge over the Snake River, it continues along Wyoming Highway 22, then turns onto Spring Gulch Road around halfway, finishing at the Jackson Hole Golf Club. The first half of the route is fairly flat and on the Community Pathway; the second half is at a slight grade and on the road, but with cones and ample separation from car traffic, it never feels even remotely dangerous. The total elevation gain for the course is about 98 m, most of it on the second half, on Spring Gulch Road, which has an average grade of about 0.5% according to this Strava segment I created. I know a lot of people travel for this race, so it’s also worth mentioning that the average elevation at this race is 1,905 m—if you’re planning to do it, make sure you know how to prepare for racing at altitude.

View this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

The parking situation for this race was more complicated than in previous years due to the ongoing construction of the new Stilson Transit Center near the start line, so I asked Kate to drop me off instead of taking one of the shuttles provided by the race. It was a brisk but beautiful 2.8°C morning, with clear blue skies that guaranteed gorgeous views of the mountains from Spring Gulch Road and at the finish line. I got there shortly before 6:00 AM and did a short warmup to shake off the cold before seeding myself near the front for the start.

I didn’t have specific time goals for this race; last year I finished fourth in the male masters category with a time of 1:37:09, so finishing faster than that was more of a stretch goal than anything else, although I did hope to get on the podium again. The past two times I’ve done this race, I’ve started too fast and then blown up a little bit towards the end, so I wanted to try to pace more evenly and finish stronger. I also wanted to see if tweaking my nutrition would help—last month at the Jackson Hole Half Marathon I felt like I could have used one more gel, so my nutrition for this race was a Maurten Gel 160 before the race start, another one about thirty-five minutes in, and a Maurten Gel 100 Caf 100 about thirty minutes later, for a final caffeine boost. The aid stations, roughly every 5 km, had plenty of Honey Stinger gels and waffles, along with bananas and oranges, but as always, I prefer to use Maurten, since it’s what I’ve trained with and what they have at the Ironman aid stations. Train like you race, as they say, although in this case maybe it’s the other way around.

The race started at 6:30 AM on the spot, and even though my goal was to not start too hard, it quickly became obvious I didn’t have much of a choice—I just didn’t feel strong at all. Maybe it was poor sleep or accumulated fatigue from my previous workouts, but some days you just ain’t got it, and that’s the exact thought that crossed my mind almost as soon as I started: “Nope, I ain’t got it today.” Oh, well. Still, I did my best to hang on and managed to hold an uncomfortable pace of 4:30/km through the first half of the race, until the turn on Spring Gulch Road, where I expected to slow down a bit due to the slight grade. Right after the turn I started feeling some pain in my left calf, but I dug deep—I didn’t want to let my pace get slower than 5:00/km. It was a struggle and I got passed by a few people, but despite the niggling pain in my calf, my pace for the second half of the race was a steady 4:47/km. I think the second gel helped; at least I didn’t feel myself fading towards the end, like I did two weeks ago.

Almost there. Credit: MarathonFoto

I crossed the finish line in 1:37:49, just forty seconds slower than last year. I got third place in the male masters category and twenty-second overall, out of 2,166 finishers, so even though I was slower than last year, I moved up a spot on the podium. Considering I wasn’t firing on all cylinders, I’ll take that as a win.

After sticking around for the awards ceremony and collecting my medal—in an all-Wyoming podium for my category, interestingly—I rewarded myself with breakfast and pastries from my favorite bakery in town, the biggest upside of racing at home.

And with that, it’s almost time to start my taper for Ironman 70.3 Coeur d’Alene, where I’ll find out if doubling up on these half marathons was a brilliant strategy or a stupid, reckless idea. Stay tuned!

Race Report: 2025 Jackson Hole Half Marathon

2025-05-25T14:30:00-06:00

This will be a short one: I just raced this year’s edition of the Jackson Hole Half Marathon, the first of the three half marathons organized in Jackson Hole every year (the other two being the Grand Teton Half Marathon in June and the Hole Half in September).

Of these three half marathons, this one is usually the smallest, with only 166 runners this year—less than a tenth of the size of the much-bigger Grand Teton Half Marathon. And yet, for some reason it feels like the most competitive of the three—I’ve podiumed at the Grand Teton Half Marathon every time I’ve done it, but have never come even remotely close at this race (I’m not sure why this is, but I suspect this one is simply composed mostly of locals who are acclimated to the altitude). In any case, this race always feels deceivingly challenging, although I planned to take it easy, and run it at a conservative pace in place of my weekly long run in my training plan.

The route for this race starts just outside Teton Village and heads south on the Moose-Wilson Road towards Wilson. After crossing the pedestrian bridge over the Snake River, it continues on the community pathway along Wyoming Highway 22. Then, it takes the Tribal Trail Road, loops around Colter Elementary School, and continues on the pathway along Flat Creek and Russ Garaman Park (one of my favorite places to run in Jackson) before heading on Snow King Avenue towards the finish line at Phil Baux Park, at the base of the Snow King Mountain Resort. It’s a very pleasant route, mostly downhill until the last 4 km, with just 67 m of elevation gain. They also had aid stations stocked with water and Gatorade roughly every 5 km. You won’t get much of a view, though—you’re running away from the Tetons the entire time.

View this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

Kate dropped me off at the start line in the Teton Village at around 6:40 AM, twenty minutes before the start of the race. It was a chilly 2.2°C, but with much-welcome clear skies after a couple weeks of almost non-stop rain and storms, so I spent a few minutes warming up with some leg swings and light jogging, and ate a Maurten Gel 160 before getting in line for the start. It wasn’t very crowded, given the small size of the field, so I put myself near the front, even though, again, my plan was to take it easy and treat this as my long run for the week.

That plan lasted approximately… three seconds after the race started. Maybe it was just the slight downhill grade of this portion of the race, or the rest day I took the day before, or maybe I was just being a competitive ass, but my legs felt good, and I quickly found myself at the front of the race—as far as I could tell, there were only about five people in front of me. Well, maybe this would be the day I would finally podium on this race, so I said fuck it, and went for it.

I went hard. My pace for the first 10 km or so was 4:24/km, slightly faster than my running threshold pace, according to Garmin Connect. I felt pretty great until then, but then quickly started to struggle—there are a couple of punchy climbs on the community pathway after crossing the WY-22 highway that knocked the wind out of me, and my pace started to slow down. I had a Maurten Gel 100 Caf 100 at around the halfway point of the race, hoping to get a little boost. I wish I had timed it better; by the 16 km mark I was suffering again, and I was all out of gels. I could feel myself fading in the slight grade of the last 4 km and got passed by two or three people, but I gave it everything I had left in the last kilometer and crossed the finish line with an official time of 1:36:43, and a pace of 4:35/km.

It’s my fastest half marathon to date, but I was even more surprised when I looked at the results and found out that not only had I podiumed, I finished first in the M40–49 age group, and eighth overall. Not bad. Not bad at all.

Yee-haw.

Not gonna lie, this feels pretty good. In 2017, I ran the Army Ten-Miler in DC, one of my first races, and at the time, my longest one. It was awful—it took me 2:16 to finish, and I probably walked half of it. Today, I got a PR in the ten-mile distance of 1:11:48; it’s wild to me that I’ve shaved over an hour off of that time since then. I’m getting older now and I’ve had some setbacks with my running training this year, so it’s very heartening to think that… maybe my fastest days aren’t behind me just yet.

Race Report: 2025 Ironman 70.3 St. George

2025-05-13T12:00:00-06:00

I wish I had known at the time how good I had it the first time I raced in St. George. I struggled with the ice-cold swim and knee pain on the run, but the weather was absolutely perfect that day and I cruised to a sub-6 finish, in spite of the challenging course. It quickly became my favorite race.

I got a taste of the real St. George last year. I went with an aggressive goal of improving on that sub-6 result; I was confident I could achieve that despite the sweltering heat on race day, with just some minor tweaks to my pacing plan. I was wrong, so wrong. The heat clobbered me on the bike and I completely fell apart on the run—it was my worst result in a 70.3 to date. Of course, I immediately signed up for this year’s edition, which as it turns out, will be the last one for now.

So, one last dance in St. George. I hoped for cool weather again, but as race day approached it became clear that wasn’t in the cards—the weather forecast for race week saw steadily rising temperatures, with a blistering high of 34.4°C on race day, even worse than last year. With that, my race goals went from “personal best” to “just finish,” with a stretch goal of “no regrets.”

Read on for my last race report from the final edition of Ironman 70.3 St. George.

Pre-race preparations

I arrived in St. George the Thursday before the race, and stayed at the Best Western Coral Hills, just a couple blocks away from the Ironman Village. After checking into the hotel and dropping off my stuff, I walked over to check in for the race and do some shopping at the race expo.

By the time I was done, it was still light out and fairly warm, at 29°C, so I went back to my room to change into running clothes and do a quick thirty-minute shakedown run in the sun. That got my heat adaptation score in Garmin Connect to a whopping 16%, which made me wish I could have traveled to St. George a few days earlier to get a little bit more heat training. Race day promised to be even warmer; by now the high in the forecast had risen to 35°C, but other than occasionally training indoors over the winter with base layers on, and spending some time in the sauna and hot tub at the gym, that one run was the full extent of my heat training, and it would have to do.

This race does a split transition, with T1 in Sand Hollow State Park and T2 in downtown St. George, so as part of the check-in process I received morning clothes and gear bags, similar to a full-distance Ironman. I spent the next morning getting my bags ready, which I packed as such:

Morning clothes bag

Two pairs of Roka R1 swim goggles (one as a spare, just in case)
Swim cap
Two bottles of Maurten Drink Mix 320 for the bike leg
An aero bottle with water for the bike leg
A bottle of water to rinse my feet in T1
A small Pelican case to stash my phone and hotel room key
TriSlide spray
A Maurten Gel 100 to eat before the swim
Two Maurten Gel 160 to stash in my bike’s bento box
Garmin Edge 1050 bike computer
Polar H10 heart rate monitor
Timing chip
Headlamp

Bike gear bag

Giro Aerohead helmet
Shimano S-Phyre SH-TR903 shoes
Socks
Rapha Pro Team gloves
A sports towel
A travel-size can of SPF 50 sunscreen

Run gear bag

Race belt with my bib
Hat
Hoka Cielo X1 2.0 shoes
Roka Matador Air sunglasses
An extra pair of socks
A sports towel
A travel-size can of SPF 50 sunscreen

Later in the afternoon, I walked over to the Ironman Village to listen to the pre-race briefing and drop off my run gear bag, and then drove to Sand Hollow State Park to check in my bike and gear bag in T1, same process as in previous years. As I drove there, my car’s thermometer said it was 36°C outside; I wondered what it would be like to run in that heat. It was so hot in Sand Hollow, after I racked my bike I kneeled down to let some air out of the tires and burned myself on the pavement almost instantly. Ouch.

My bike, racked in T1. It was tight there on race day.

After scoping out the layout of the transition area and memorizing the location of my bike, I hung around for a few minutes talking to some folks and checking out the pros’ bikes—Sam Long’s bike looks incredible in person. I also took the opportunity to chat with the referees and ask them about the new World Triathlon hydration rules, since my front hydration setup had been rendered illegal. They confirmed that Ironman would adopt them and start enforcing them on May 25th, so I was in the clear for now, but I’ll have to come up with a solution before my next race.

Afterwards, I picked up my timing chip before heading back to the hotel to have dinner, double-check the rest of my gear, prepare my bottles of Maurten, take a relaxing bath, and try to get a good night’s sleep.

Thankfully, I slept like a rock. I woke up at 3:00 AM on race morning, had my usual breakfast of a plain bagel with jam and a cup of coffee, and killed some time before heading out to catch one of the shuttles to Sand Hollow. I arrived there shortly before 6:00 AM, and found transition far more crowded than in the past two years; the announcer said there were 2,400 age group athletes. I’ve never had trouble pumping up my tires before a race, but this time every single pump around the perimeter of the transition area had at least a dozen people in line—if an spectator hadn’t generously offered me his pump, I probably wouldn’t have had time to do it before transition closed.

T1 at Sand Hollow State Park, 6:35 AM, 16.7°C.

After setting up my bike and putting on my wetsuit, I handed over my morning clothes bag to a volunteer and lined up with the 43–46 minute group in the staging area, which was packed so tightly I could barely move. It took me about an hour to get down to the water, and by then I was sweating profusely under my wetsuit, which made me really look forward to a nice, cold swim for once.

The swim

I always come to this early-season race less prepared than I’d like for the swim. It’s just hard for me to swim consistently in the winter; the only lap pool in town, at the Teton County Rec Center, is about a thirty-minute drive away, its hours are limited, it closes for two weeks over spring break, and there’s always something else, like lifeguard shortages or construction or whatever. This year was no exception—a month before the race, the lap pool closed until further notice due to a mechanical failure, leaving me without a place to swim. I almost pulled out of the race altogether, but I found out that the Athletic Club, one of the fancy gyms in Jackson, has an Endless Pool, so for the past month I’ve been swimming there a few times a week. It’s expensive, but it may have been a blessing in disguise; the hours are more flexible, so I’ve been swimming more often and more consistently than if I had kept using the lap pool. I was curious if that additional volume and consistency would have an effect on my race day pace.

It was time to find out.

My race started at 7:48 AM, and the water felt great as soon as I dived in; if there’s one silver lining to this year’s hot weather it’s that the water at Sand Hollow had warmed up to a lovely 19.2°C. I wore my Roka Maverick Pro II sleeveless wetsuit, but it only took me a few strokes to get used to the cold and get to work. Sighting on the outbound leg was as difficult as usual, with the buoys aligned with the rising sun, so for the most part I followed other swimmers and hoped they could see better than me, and with a race this crowded, there was no shortage of people to follow. The “washing machine” effect was non-stop from start to finish. I had a hard time swimming through the crowd, which slowed me down quite a bit—I need to get more comfortable swimming over people, but it is what it is.

Things got a little easier after the first turn buoy; it was still crowded, but without the sun in my face, I had an easier time sighting the buoys, so I was able to distance myself a bit from other people. After passing the last buoy, I pointed myself towards the swim exit and let it rip for one last sprint. I got so into the zone that it took me a while to notice the washing machine effect had stopped; there was no one around me, except a volunteer in a kayak waving at me. That’s when I realized I had gone off course, and the last buoy I saw wasn’t actually the last one—there was one more, and I was about to pass it, illegally, on the wrong side. Oops.

You can see my brief detour near the end there.

After a quick course correction to pass that buoy on the correct side, I rejoined the crowd and got one last beatdown before sprinting for real towards the exit, finishing the swim in 40:36.

That… didn’t seem right. I had to wait until after the race to look at the distance and the GPS track to make sure I hadn’t accidentally cut the course or something, because I couldn’t believe that time when I looked at my watch. Despite my issues sighting, the crowds, and going off course, this was still my fastest 70.3 swim ever—I shaved almost seven minutes from last year’s time.

I don’t care how much it costs, I’m gonna keep using this Endless Pool. Holy shit.

T1

After exiting the water, I got my wetsuit ripped off by the wetsuit strippers before jogging through transition. I wasn’t chasing a PR, so I took a few minutes to calmly use the porta-potty, get all my bike gear on, spray on a good layer of sunscreen, pack my swim gear into my bike bag, and leave. I spent 11:04 in T1.

The bike

I was worried about the bike leg coming into this race. A year ago I thought I had appropriately adjusted my plan to account for the heat, and I was wrong—I still went too hard, my digestion started to shut down, and with my fueling plan shot, I fell apart on the run. It was a miserable slog from start to finish and I ended up walking most of the way.

I wanted to avoid that happening again at all costs, but with a high of 35°C, I would need to go much, much slower. For 70.3 races, I usually target an intensity of 84% intensity knowing that in practice I’ll end up a little lower than that; last year I revised that down to 80% and it was still too much, so for this year I decided not to have a target at all and instead go by feel. I set up a power guide in my bike computer with a target intensity of 75% anyway, but not with the goal of following it, but to make sure I didn’t exceed that. I could always go harder on the run, but if I overcooked the bike again, I’d be fucked.

For this race, I brought my Trek Speed Concept to St. George for the first time, after doing the previous races on my Specialized Aethos road bike. I considered bringing the Aethos again, along with my S-Works Evade 3 road helmet—the former because it’s great in the climbs, the latter because it’s cooler than my Giro Aerohead aero helmet—but in the end decided that if I was going to ride at a lower intensity, then I should make up for it by chasing every aero gain I could, no matter how marginal, and try to get a few minutes back. Looking at the forecast for the day, it looked like I’d be starting the run just as the temperature started to get above 32°C, so those minutes could make a difference.

For nutrition, I had two 24-ounce bottles with Maurten 320 drink mix between my aerobars, and 26 ounces of water in my bike’s downtube aero bottle, which I don’t particularly love, but I thought I’d need the extra hydration and didn’t want to waste time slowing down at the aid stations. I also had two Maurten Gel 160 in my bento box, just in case I accidentally dropped a bottle.

View this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

The bike course was almost the same as in previous years, leaving Sand Hollow and following the local highways along the spectacular desert views of southern Utah, before getting back to St. George for the roughly 8 km climb through Snow Canyon State Park. This year the long out-and-back segment through Ivins before starting the Snow Canyon climb was removed; instead, the initial out-and-back on SR-7 after leaving Sand Hollow was made a little longer, and a short out-and-back was added at roughly the halfway point. It was otherwise the same; a very hilly course, with 1,090 m of elevation gain—I love hilly courses. For the most part it’s a safe course, with lots of road closures and tons of space between the athletes and car traffic, but there are a handful of narrow sections where it felt a little risky to pass folks, especially given how large the field was.

Shortly after leaving Sand Hollow. Credit: FinisherPix

Once I left Sand Hollow State Park and got on SR-7 for the first out-and-back, I realized my strategy of pacing on vibes was the right one—the bike course was so crowded, with people often riding three or four abreast, trying to follow any kind of pacing plan would have been next to impossible. My plan was to take it easy, so I took it easy, passing when I could, coasting when I couldn’t, doing my best to stay out of draft zones, and trying to stay in aero as much as possible. Passing was easier on the climbs, although I resisted the temptation to go too hard on them.

Overall, it was a chill, uneventful ride. The pavement was smooth, with some of the roads freshly paved, and I didn’t really feel the heat until the tail end of the ride, especially during the climbs, where I was glad I had that extra water in the aero bottle to drink and pour on myself. I made a point to take in the views one last time, especially in Snow Canyon, where the landscape is nothing short of otherworldly. I was grateful to have one last chance to enjoy riding through that incredible landscape.

Tired as I was, I went back to Snow Canyon for a short hike the day after the race. Petrified Dunes, Snow Canyon State Park, Utah. May, 2025.

The Snow Canyon climb is approximately 8 km long, with about 300 m of elevation gain and an average grade of 4%. By the time I got there, the temperature was well over 32°C; in other circumstances I would have loved to send it all the way to the top, but I had paced at a very easy 65% intensity, I had no issues so far with my fueling or my digestion, and I wanted to keep it that way. It was sweltering, with not even a hint of a breeze, and I saw a lot more people struggling with the climb than in previous years, either walking their bikes, or just sitting on the side of the road. Despite my slower pacing, it only took me two minutes longer than last year to complete the climb, although I was overheated and drenched in sweat from head to toe by the time I got to the top. I stopped at the aid station there and drank an entire bottle of water while a volunteer squeezed another one all over me; I hoped that would be enough to cool me down on the roughly 16 km descent back into St. George and T2.

The elevation profile for the bike course. The temperature at the end was 36°C.

I thought that’d be an easy ride down, but that descent was ass-puckering, to say the least. I’ve never had any trouble blasting down this descent on my road bike, but I’m still a chickenshit when it comes to descending on a tri bike. It just feels twitchy and wobbly; coming down this road on a narrow lane with car traffic on both sides and feeling like I was barely in control of my bike is one of the scariest things I’ve ever done. Despite that, I somehow rode down fifteen seconds faster than last year, the only Strava segment where I got a PR on this race.

I made it down safely and finished the bike leg in 3:08:13, over ten minutes slower than last year, but… I don’t care. Could I have gone harder? Probably, but I felt good, I was properly fueled, my stomach was behaving, and I was ready to empty the tank on the run. I’ll take that as a win.

T2

When I got to the dismount line in T2, I rolled up next to someone hunched over her bike, being helped by a couple spectators; I don’t know if she was suffering from heat exhaustion or something else, but she seemed in pretty bad shape. I flagged one of the volunteers nearby, hurried to rack my bike, and then ran across transition to the medical tent to let them know someone needed help. Once I saw her being tended to, I walked back to my spot and sat for a couple of minutes to catch my breath while I changed into running gear, reapplied sunscreen, and packed my bike gear into the bag. I didn’t have the presence of mind to make a note of her bib number, but I hope she’s okay.

I spent 11:10 in T2.

The run

This was a motherfucker of a run. I don’t know how else to put it.

The course was the same as last year: Two laps around downtown St. George with 279 m of elevation gain in total. It starts with a short, steep segment through Main Street, with an average grade of 4.5%, followed by a long segment along Diagonal Street, with a milder grade of 1.2%. Then, after crossing the pedestrian tunnel under Bluff Street, there’s a short loop on the other side before coming back for a hilly loop around Dixie Red Hills Golf Club, partly on grass. Finally, it heads back downtown on Diagonal Street to either start the second lap or turn towards the finish line. In short, the first half of each lap is mostly uphill, the second half is mostly downhill.

View this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

The heat was already oppressive by the time I left T2, and with no shade and most of the run on hot pavement, it only got worse. I started the run feeling good, right until I hit the first uphill segment. I felt absolutely terrible running uphill, right off the bike, with the heat radiating off the pavement; my legs felt like they weighed a ton each. I was less than ten minutes into the run and I was already having serious doubts that I could even finish. I thought about walking the rest of the way, but that felt like giving up, and I knew how pissed I would be at myself later on if I didn’t give it everything I had. I resolved to keep running and walk only through the aid stations, which at Ironman races are roughly a mile apart. Just one mile between them. One mile is nothing. Barely a workout. I could easily run one mile. I simply needed to do it thirteen times in a row. No big deal. Easy.

I pressed on. Although I was pacing entirely on feels, I never slowed down to a walk, except at the aid stations, so I could make the most of them. I had a cup of water at the start and end of each one, a Maurten Gel 100 roughly every thirty minutes, shoved ice down my trisuit until they ran out, and dunked my hat in the buckets full of ice water they had set up for that purpose, which felt glorious on my head. I also took every opportunity to let the volunteers with garden sprayers and the spectators with hoses and water guns douse me with water, and let the evaporative cooling do its thing. I didn’t have any cramping or other signs of electrolyte issues, but drank a few cups of Mortal Hydration along the way just in case.

I pushed through that first half of the first lap, and by the second half, once I got back on the downhill portion of Diagonal Street, I felt renewed, like I got a second wind. Still, I kept up with my hydration and fuel plan, and kept taking advantage of every opportunity to cool down. That second wind evaporated the moment I started the second lap and started running up Diagonal Street again—the “second wind” was simply because I was going downhill. I told myself I only needed to run half the lap. Just half the lap. Just get through the golf course and it’d be all downhill from there. Just half the lap and I’d get another “second wind.” Just half the lap and the rest would be easy. Just one mile, then another, and then another. Three miles is nothing. Barely a workout. No big deal. Easy.

I didn’t hear no bell. Credit: FinisherPix

That half a lap was horrendous, absolutely miserable. According to my watch, the temperature peaked at 38°C during this time; I felt nauseous, overheated, and dehydrated. My heart rate monitor went on the fritz, with my heart rate jumping erratically all over the place—or at least I hoped the problem was my heart rate monitor. Most of the aid stations were out of ice by then, and no matter how much water I drank, how much water I dumped on myself, how much I got sprayed with water, how much I dunked my hat in the buckets, I’d be bone dry again a few minutes later. I wasn’t even sweaty, I was just covered in dry salt. The parts of the golf course that were on grass didn’t offer any relief either, it just felt like going from dry heat to humid heat; I swear I could feel the humidity wafting up from the grass. There was just no respite whatsoever from the heat.

I’m not exaggerating when I say this was the hardest run I’ve ever done. It took every bit of willpower I had, but I didn’t stop. Once I got past the golf course and stepped off the grass for the final time, I felt like I had just crossed the finish line, even though I still had about three more miles to go. It was only then that I finally believed I could actually finish this thing.

I had a Maurten Gel 100 Caf 100 at the next aid station, hoping the caffeine would give me a little oomph for that last stretch. I gave it everything I had left and finished strong, screaming and high-fiving spectators on the sidelines as I sprinted through the final chute. I crossed the finish line in 2:02:06, for a total time of 6:13:07. I finished in 100th place in the M40–44 age group, out of 195, and 975th place overall, out of 2,103. I was absolutely spent; my entire body, every joint, every muscle, hurt so badly.

It’s over. It’s done. Credit: FinisherPix

After collecting my medal and finisher’s hat, I grabbed some food at the Ironman Village, picked up my bike and gear bags, and hobbled back to the hotel for a much-needed soak in the bathtub. I slept twelve hours straight that night—I’ve never been more tired after a race.

This is bittersweet. I loved racing in St. George, even though it kicked my ass every time. I would have happily done this race every year for the rest of my life if I could. What’s not to love? It’s incredibly hard, you spend a day in one of the most beautiful landscapes in America, and St. George is a great town, full of amazing volunteers and neighbors cheering you on the whole way. I’m sad I won’t get to do this again, at least for a while, and that I won’t get another chance to try for that personal best I wanted. So it goes.

That said, while this result wasn’t a personal best by any means, it feels just as satisfying, because it was so hard-fought. I gave it everything I got, left nothing on the table, and never gave up. I couldn’t ask for a better way to close the books on this race. No regrets.

Thank you, St. George.

Race Report: Carrera San Silvestre 2024

2024-12-31T21:00:00-06:00

Kate and I visited Mexico City for the first time in 2015. We were here for the holidays and to visit family, but one of the things I remember from that trip was standing in the middle of Paseo de la Reforma on New Year’s Eve during some kind of race, photographing the runners. I had no idea what race that was and didn’t particularly care—I just thought it was a cool thing to photograph, since many of the runners were in costume, such as this guy dressed as El Chapulín Colorado.

“¡Síganme los buenos!” Paseo de la Reforma, Mexico City. December, 2015.

This year we’re back in Mexico City for the first time in almost a decade, and now that I am very much into running and triathlons, I thought it’d be cool to find out if any races would be happening while I’m here, and if I could do that same one, even better—what better way to close out the year than running on New Year’s Eve? I found an event called Carrera San Silvestre, a 12 km race near where I took those photos all those years ago, so I signed up for it almost as soon as I booked our trip.

A San Silvestre, as I learned after signing up, is a running race done on December 31st, which is Saint Sylvester’s Day (hence the name). It started in São Paulo in 1925, and despite spending the first 29 years of my life living in Venezuela, I had no idea they’ve been commonplace in Latin America and Spain ever since. That goes to show how little I cared about any of this stuff when I lived there, I suppose.

In any case, signed up I did, so I needed to get ready for it. After wrapping up my triathlon season at Ironman 70.3 Washington Tri-Cities in September I’ve focused my off-season training primarily on cycling, and neglected my running for most of the fall. Before traveling to Mexico City I did an abridged plan from Runna to build my mileage back up, but once I got here I simply went out for runs every morning to enjoy the city and get acclimated to the elevation (at 2,250 m, Mexico City is only about 300 m higher than my home in Wyoming, but that still left me feeling surprisingly winded the first few times I went running). I stayed in the Polanco neighborhood of Mexico City, so my usual route started on the wide promenade of Horacio Avenue. From there, I took the Cuernavaca Railroad, a railroad line that’s been repurposed into a gorgeous paved multi-use pathway, to Chapultepec, crossing the first section of the park before heading back to Polanco, for a total of 10 km on a nice looping route.

Running through Polanco and Chapultepec was awesome, but the highlight of my week leading up to the race was running on Paseo de la Reforma the Sunday before the race. This wide avenue running through the heart of Mexico City is closed every Sunday to motor traffic so people can recreate on it. On the last Sunday of every month, an even longer 62.5 km route is closed for what they call a “Ciclotón,” a more cycling-focused event with bike repair stations and aid stations giving away water, electrolytes, and chocolate milk along the way.

I should have been tapering for the race at this point, but it was such a wonderful way to spend a gorgeous Sunday morning, I ended up running over 16 km, and it made me wish I had thought to rent a bike to ride the entire route.

There’s no better way to spend a Sunday morning in Mexico City, in my opinion.

Shutting down one of the busiest avenues in one of the biggest cities in the world every single week for the enjoyment of people instead of cars—talk about having your priorities straight. This made me even angrier about St. George not renewing the contract for Ironman 70.3 St. George after 2025, leaving $42 million on the table, because closing a few roads a single day each year is apparently too much of an inconvenience for drivers. Car brain is a hell of a thing, but I digress.

On race day, I woke up early enough to make some coffee, take a COVID test as I usually do before a race, and have enough time to get to the start line on Paseo de la Reforma, about 2 km from my Airbnb in Polanco. It was a clear but brisk morning, at 6°C, so I jogged there to get a good warmup before the race start. When I got there, the area around the start line was absolutely packed with people, so I stayed out of the way at the back of my corral, the last one of the three, eating a Maurten 100 Caf 100 gel a few minutes before the scheduled start of the race.

The 12 km course started near Torre Mayor on Paseo de la Reforma, heading west until just past the Fuente de Petróleos, then making a U-turn and proceeding to an out-and-back on Calzada Chivatito alongside Chapultepec (with a few short out-and-backs along the way) before getting back on Reforma towards the finish line. The course is entirely on paved roads, with about 90 m of elevation gain, most of it at a mild grade with a handful of steeper sections. The pavement was smooth for the most part, but some segments had huge potholes which, due to the crowds and lack of markings, were hard to see until the last second. Luckily I was able to avoid them—I could have easily twisted my ankle again on one of them. The course had three aid stations, at kilometers 3, 6, and 9, but they were extremely crowded (and according to comments on social media they didn’t have enough water or staff), so I skipped them.

View this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

The crowds were the theme of the day. The course was so packed that although the gun went off at 7:00 AM, I didn’t actually cross the start line until 7:18; even before the start I was completely blocked and couldn’t pass anybody. I don’t know how many people were running, but my results page says there were 1,819 male finishers in front of of me and 1,964 behind me, so if I had to guess I’d say there were about 7,000 participants—and every single one of them was in front of me. Based on my half marathon pace, I had set myself an arbitrary goal of finishing in under an hour, but it was obvious from the start there was no way for me to hit that pace. I was doing this for fun, so I wasn’t upset about it; I simply zig-zagged to pass people when I could and slowed down when I couldn’t, especially on the shorter out-and-backs, which were on narrower side roads and caused serious bottlenecks. Some people apparently took the race way more seriously, though—around the 10 km mark, I ran past two dudes squaring off, cursing at each other, about to get into a fistfight, while a bunch of people tried to separate them (I have no idea what that was all about and I didn’t stick around to find out).

By the time I made the last U-turn on Calzada Chivatito I had passed tons and tons of people and the crowds had thinned out somewhat, so once I got back on Reforma I sent it. I pushed the pace as hard as I could for the last few kilometers, finishing the race with an official chip time of 01:02:59.71 and an average pace of 05:15/km. I finished in 2,846th place out of who knows how many. The finish line photo is hilarious; I’m in there somewhere, I think. Good luck finding me.

Where’s Waldo? Credit: Emoción Deportiva.

After crossing the finish line, I grabbed my bag of swag (which is top notch, by the way, the race shirt is a very nice Reebok long sleeve running shirt and the finisher’s one is the softest t-shirt I’ve ever had) and walked back to Polanco for a much needed coffee and pastry.

This will make a fine addition to my collection.

And with that, now my race season is over for this year, and what a great way to end 2024 on a high note and set the tone for 2025. Happy new year!

Race Report: 2024 Ironman 70.3 Washington Tri-Cities

2024-09-25T18:00:00-06:00

Last fall, Ironman announced a new race in the Pacific Northwest: Ironman 70.3 Washington Tri-Cities, in Richland, Washington. I signed up almost immediately—the venue looked great and I was thrilled to have one more race within a reasonable driving distance.

A chill end-of-summer race seemed like a great way to end my season, especially since this one has had a few ups and downs: I had my worst result to date at Ironman 70.3 St. George; I ran my fastest half marathon ever in June, but was forced to pull out of Ironman 70.3 Boulder a week later thanks to COVID; I had a great run at Ironman 70.3 Coeur d’Alene, but the swim was shortened; I stupidly almost derailed my season at a trail running race; and I finished my first full-distance race at Ironman Canada, but with a huge asterisk because the swim was canceled. Given that this was my last triathlon of the year, my only goal was to end the season on a high note—just give it everything I got and try to get the best result possible, hopefully at a complete race.

Long story short, it was a success. Read on for my last triathlon race report of this year.

Pre-race preparations

I arrived in Richland late on Thursday before the race, staying at the Courtyard Richland Columbia Point, less than a five-minute walk from transition and the Ironman Village, and right next to the run course. By the time I checked into my room and unloaded my car the sun was coming down and I was beat from the long drive, so I just had dinner and settled in for the night.

The following day I checked into the race as soon as the Ironman Village opened, to try to score a low bib number, in the unlikely scenario that the swim somehow got canceled again and the race started with another bike time trial. After checking in, I stayed for the race briefing; I mostly wanted to hear about the conditions in the river, since I had never done a race with a river swim. The briefing mentioned that a group of people had done a practice swim that day and a person who normally swims in the “under 27 minutes” wave had finished in just 18 minutes “without working too hard.” It’s hard to extrapolate without knowing exactly what that person’s normal pace is, but assuming they normally swim the 1.9 km in 25 minutes, I could expect a roughly 27-minute swim, which sounded too good to be true. After Penticton, I haven’t been as consistent as I would have liked with my swimming, so I welcomed all the help I could get.

After the briefing, I walked around to scope out the swim exit and transition layout. This race does a single transition at Columbia Point Marina Park; it doesn’t have much shade, but it’s well laid out, brightly lit on race morning, and it’s all on grass, which makes the jog from the swim exit much easier. The swim itself is point-to-point in the Columbia River, with the start about a 30-minute walk away, in Howard Amon Park. As is common for 70.3 races with a single transition, they didn’t hand out gear bags, with the exception of a morning clothes bag to place whatever you’re carrying to the swim start, such as a coat, shoes, hotel key, etc. You hand it over to the volunteers at Howard Amon Park before getting in line for the swim and they give it back to you after crossing the finish line.

That afternoon, I went on a run to scope out part of the run course on the Riverfront Trail, followed by a brief shakedown ride to verify that my bike was in working order. Everything, including my ankle and my bike, seemed to be working properly, so I went back to my room for some dinner and a good night of sleep.

All my gear, organized before the race. Not pictured: trisuit and wetsuit.

I didn’t do much the day before the race. I thought about going out for a recon drive on the bike course, but I was feeling lazy and didn’t want to give up the sweet parking spot I had right next to my hotel room. Instead, I walked over to Howard Amon Park to time how long it’d take me to walk there on race day, scope out the swim start, and talk to a few of the folks there in case they had any good intel to share. I spent the rest of the day watching TV while preparing my gear, before checking in my bike at transition in the afternoon.

All checked in at transition the day before.

The race was scheduled to start the next morning at 6:30 AM, and transition would be open from 4:00 AM to 6:15 AM, with athletes starting the walk to the swim start at 5:45 AM. Since my hotel was on the way to the swim, it made more sense to walk from there rather than hang around in the chilly 9°C morning. I woke up shortly before 3:00 AM, took a COVID test, had a bagel with jam and coffee, and headed over to transition as soon as it opened to finish setting up my bike and lay out my gear next to it; the person next to me turned out to be a no-show, and I was grateful to have additional space for my stuff. With that taken care of, I went back to my room and warmed up while I waited for the start of the race.

The Columbia River at sunrise on race morning, on the way to the swim start.

At 6:00 AM, I put on my wetsuit and joined the long procession of athletes and supporters walking to Howard Amon Park. After the national anthem was sung and the traditional cannon was fired, indicating the start of the race, I handed over my morning clothes bag to a volunteer, seeded myself in the 44–46 minute group, and ate a Maurten 100 gel while I waited for the start. It took almost an hour to get in the water, but I enjoyed chatting and trading stories with the people around me, including some familiar faces from previous races, and before I knew it, I was in the starting chutes. I started my race at 7:23 AM.

The swim

This swim was a blast, there’s no other way to put it. I walked into the river, and although it was chilly that morning, the 19.2°C water felt great, so I just dived in and got to work—no cold shock response to deal with this time. The first buoy was a red turn buoy, and after that right turn, the rest of the swim was a straight shot towards transition, with a huge assist from the current. That first turn buoy was aligned with the rising sun, but after that I had no problem whatsoever sighting. The water was clean and pleasant, albeit murky, so I couldn’t see much underwater, which suits me just fine—I’d rather not see anything down there.

The volunteers in kayaks and paddleboards tried to keep the swimmers close to the buoys, but despite that, there wasn’t much of a washing machine effect; I made contact with a couple people, but I didn’t get kicked in the face even once. I felt great the entire time, and although someone in the swim staging area said the current wasn’t very strong that day, those buoys just kept flying past me. I have my watch set to buzz every 100 meters during the swim, and it seemed like it was buzzing every minute. I could swear I was swimming with great form, but perhaps it was just an illusion from the current’s speed. The only part where I had to work hard was after the last turn, entering the marina towards the swim exit. That had a slight current going out, but it only took me a couple minutes to swim that last stretch and exit the water.

My swim split was 26:34, with a pace of 1:23/100 m, pretty much bang-on what I had guesstimated, and needless to say, it was way faster than my previous times in a lake or reservoir. It was fun to pretend I’m actually good at swimming for once, even though I probably could have just floated down the river and still made the time cut.

T1

It was a fairly long run from the swim exit to the mount line, so after getting my wetsuit ripped off by the wetsuit peelers, getting all my bike gear on, spraying on a coat of sunscreen, and using the porta-potty, I spent 10:40 in T1.

The bike

For this race I set an aggressive target intensity of 86%; I wanted to go hard, even at the risk of overcooking the bike and blowing up on the run. At that intensity, Best Bike Split gave me an estimated finish time of 2:28:47, which put me in the yellow in my pacing table, but I hoped the altitude would give me an edge—I live and train at 1,950 m, while Richland is at just 117 m above sea level.

Bike pacing table for Ironman 70.3 races. Credit: TriStar Athletes

With my pacing plan set up in my Garmin, I headed out on the bike course, which consists of a single lap through Richland’s neighborhoods and the countryside just outside of town, with 625 m of elevation gain from a handful of punchy climbs to spice things up. It’s a gorgeous course with beautiful views, especially after leaving town and riding alongside farms and vineyards in the Washington countryside, and had some of the nicest, smoothest pavement I’ve ever ridden on. I was a little concerned when they said at the briefing that the course was on open roads and that we should ride defensively because it’s a first-time race and local drivers may not be used to sharing the road with a race or even know that there was a race in progress, but for almost the entirety of the course we had an entire lane of traffic closed off for the race, and the roads had little car traffic anyway, so it felt safe. The only sketchy segment was the last descent along Dallas Road; it’s a fast descent with only the shoulder and half a lane to maneuver. Cars had knocked over some of the cones into our half of the lane, so a few people in front of me had to swerve into the car lane to avoid them. If I had my way, that entire lane would be closed for the race, or alternatively that descent would be designated as a no-passing, no-aerobars zone for safety (even though in my experience people tend to ignore those).

View this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

Overall, though, it’s a very enjoyable bike course, although it was extremely crowded. I don’t know if there was a particularly high number of participants for this race or I simply started way at the back after my swim, but I’ve never seen a bike course with so much bunching, drafting and blocking. It was just back to back cyclists almost the entire way, sometimes riding two or even three abreast. I don’t think I saw a referee the entire time, but if drafting and blocking penalties had been enforced, they would have needed a much bigger penalty tent. I tried to stick to my power targets while following drafting and position rules to the best of my ability, but there were many, many times where I was completely boxed in with nowhere to go. It was frustrating at times, but I tried not to be an asshole about it and simply announced myself, passed as safely as I could, and thanked people when they let me through. My final intensity was 75%, far short of my target, but I did my best under the circumstances. The silver lining was that I had plenty left in the tank for the run.

There were only a few climbs, but I loved them. Credit: FinisherPix

For nutrition, I stuck to my usual plan for 70.3s: Two 24-ounce bottles of Maurten 320 Drink Mix for about 80 g/h of carbs, with two Maurten 160 gels in my bento box as a backup if I ejected a bottle; I didn’t use any of the aid stations. My stomach felt great the entire time and I didn’t have a repeat of the digestive issues I had at St. George this year and Coeur d’Alene last year. I don’t think I’ll ever know for sure the cause of those issues, but at least I think I can rule out my nutrition itself as a cause (I did make one change to my fueling plan for the past few races, though: I’ve completely cut caffeine out of my race nutrition, but I don’t know how much of a difference that made).

I only had one mishap on this race: I switched my setup to have a single Gorilla XT cage at the back of my Profile Design behind-the-saddle mount and I just could not for the life of me pry the bottle out of its kung fu grip when I needed it. I used a similar setup last month at Ironman Canada with two of the same bottle cages on the same mount and didn’t have any problem getting the bottles out, so I didn’t think to test this out before the race. In other words, I fell victim to one of the classic blunders: “Nothing new on race day.” After struggling for what felt like an eternity without getting the bottle to budge, I finally had to stop to get it out and move it to the cage between my aerobars. I don’t know what the aerodynamic penalty is for having a bottle cage in my downtube, but next time I’ll just do that instead.

Speaking of aerodynamics, I wore these Zoot Elite aero calf sleeves for the first time after reading about the aero benefits. I can’t speak for any aero gains I may or may not have gotten, but they did have an unexpected benefit: They made putting on my wetsuit so much easier; it just slides right over the calf sleeves. It worked better than TriSlide spray, to be honest, so that’s good to know for next time. The rest of my gear was the same I’ve used in my past two races, including my Trek Speed Concept SLR 7, Giro Aerohead helmet, Roka Gen II Elite trisuit, and Shimano S-Phyre SH-TR903 shoes. I’m very happy with this setup; I think I’ve managed to resolve a lot of the comfort issues I’ve had in the past. My next step is to get a professional bike fit and see if I can improve my aerodynamic position without sacrificing too much comfort.

Despite the setbacks, the bike leg was fast and fun. I think it was mostly the altitude, but I felt so strong putting down power in aero and in the climbs, and even though I missed my target intensity and had to make that unscheduled stop to deal with my bottle, I rolled into T2 in just 2:37:33, my fastest bike split to date in a 70.3. Not bad at all.

T2

I racked my bike, took off my helmet and bike shoes, put on my running shoes, threw on my hat, sunglasses and race belt, put on some more sunscreen, used the porta-potty, and ran out in 7:40.

The run

After my run at Ironman 70.3 Coeur d’Alene, I had a pretty good idea of what pace I could sustain, so my goal was to beat my time there. I aimed to hold a pace of 4:50/km, slowing down only at the aid stations, and if I still felt good at the halfway point, I’d try to push the pace and aim for a negative split.

The run course was a single-lap out-and-back on the Riverfront Trail along the Columbia River and a few residential side streets. It’s pretty flat, with only 77 m of elevation gain, a decent amount of shade, and great vibes from the neighbors along the way, especially as you get closer to the finish line (those who bring out their garden hoses to the course are the real MVPs, by the way). The entire course is paved and even, except for the last 500 m or so before and after the turnaround, which were on rough, chunky gravel.

View this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

The weather forecast said the high for the day would be 28°C, which worried me since I tend to get clobbered by the heat, but it actually didn’t feel that hot during the run. I’m not sure if it was because I was still carrying heat adaptations from the summer, but it just felt very pleasant and breezy, even though I was pushing a hard pace. I felt good despite the hard effort, with no pain anywhere. My ankle didn’t bother me at all, although I was very cautious on the gravel portion before the turnaround; I could picture myself rolling my ankle again there and having to limp all the way back to the finish line.

For nutrition, I tried something different. I liked the Maurten bars so much last month at Ironman Canada that I wanted to try using them exclusively for fueling this time around. I had three bars in total, one every thirty minutes. It worked well—they’re easy to eat, tastier than gels, didn’t cause any stomach distress, and I appreciated eating solid food after drinking two bottles of liquid carbs, so I might do this from now on. Besides the bars, I had water at every aid station and although I didn’t think I needed any sodium, I had a couple cups of Mortal Hydration along the way, just in case.

I was still feeling strong at the turnaround point, so I tried to push the pace on the way back. I didn’t manage the negative split I hoped for, but I gave it everything I got and crossed the finish line in 1:45:25, with a final pace of 4:55/km. For those keeping track at home, that is 57 seconds faster than my time at Coeur d’Alene, so mission accomplished, I did beat my time there, thank you very much. My total time was 5:07:45, my personal best for a 70.3, with the obvious caveat of the current-assisted swim (although both the bike and the run were my fastest to date). I placed 43rd out of 187 in the M40–44 age group, and 304th out of 2,069 overall. I don’t think I truly emptied the tank, but I’m more than satisfied with this result.

About to cross the finish line. Success! Credit: FinisherPix

It’s funny—I started my season with my worst result to date in a 70.3, and ended it with a personal best. I can’t think of a better way to wrap things up for the year.

I was so tired after the long drive to Richland that I thought this would be a one-and-done for me, but I had such a great time here, I think I’m adding this race to my schedule next year, along with St. George and Coeur d’Alene. It’s a top notch race with a great course in a beautiful venue, and I can’t say enough good things about the volunteers and locals, some of whom I spoke to before the race and who, despite the inconvenience a race like this represents in terms of road closures and traffic, seemed legitimately excited to be hosting it. Hopefully this one will be around for a while, because I’d love to come back.

I thought the wine glass charms on the medal were a nice touch.

And with that, that’s it for my triathlon season this year. If you’ve read this far, thank you, but stick around—it won’t be my last.

Race Report: 2024 Ironman Canada

2024-08-30T08:00:00-06:00

After training for it for the better part of a year, it’s finally time for Ironman Canada, my A race of this year and my second attempt at a full Ironman, following my DNF at Ironman Coeur d’Alene last summer, where despite a good swim and a strong bike leg, things went sideways during the run and I barely made it 16 km before bonking.

It’s been a rocky road to get here, so just to recap, I actually signed up for this race last year, almost immediately after returning from Coeur d’Alene. A week before the race, the raging wildfires in British Columbia last summer forced its cancellation, so I accepted a deferral to this year’s race.

Then, last month Ironman announced that this year’s race would be the last one. I wasn’t surprised; I thought the writing was on the wall when they unveiled another Ironman Canada in Ottawa, but this put additional pressure on me to finish. With this race and Ironman Coeur d’Alene now discontinued, that left me without any other full-distance races a reasonable drive away from my home in Jackson Hole, so I might not have another shot at a full Ironman anytime soon.

Complicating things, six weeks ago I sprained my ankle at a trail running race, which derailed my training plan. While the injury ended up not being as serious as I feared, I missed most of my plan’s long runs, so I expected a significant amount of walking during this race. No matter—the very first rule in the run conduct section of the Ironman competition rules states “Athletes may run, walk, or crawl,” so I made that my motto for this race. I would cross the finish line if I had to crawl through it.

And with that, after a year of waiting, I packed my gear in my car and headed out on an excruciatingly long drive from Jackson Hole.

Pre-race preparations

I arrived in Penticton on Thursday before the race, staying at the Penticton Lakeside Resort, which put me directly next to the Ironman Village and the transition area. After Airbnb’s travel insurance refused to cover my booking when last year’s race got canceled, I sprung for the Nirvana package just to avoid having to deal with them ever again, and I have to say it was worth every penny just for the convenience of being a two-minute walk away from transition.

After checking in for the race, I went on a run to scope out the first segment of the run course, a roughly 10 km out-and-back on the Kettle Valley Rail trail alongside Okanagan Lake. I was a little apprehensive about running on a gravel trail after my ankle injury last month; I thought if I was going to sprain my ankle again it would probably happen here, which would have left me with a very long, very painful walk to the finish line. Fortunately, the trail is on fine gravel with an even, flat surface that I didn’t think would give me any trouble on race day. It’s also absolutely gorgeous, surrounded by vineyards and wineries, with stunning views of the lake.

Okanagan Lake and Penticton at sunset, from the Kettle Valley Rail trail.

The next day I attended the race briefing at the Ironman Village, where I was mostly interested in learning about the logistics of doing a full Ironman at the same time as the 70.3 race. Would the courses, especially the swim one, be confusing to navigate? Not really, the first wave for the 70.3 swim would start after the last one for the full-distance race, and they would only move the turn buoy after the last full-distance swimmer had gone past it, so there wouldn’t be any possibility of making a wrong turn. The bike and run courses would have clear signage where they diverged, so that wasn’t a concern either. The briefing did call out that the timing of the 70.3 swim start meant that the fastest 70.3 swimmers would likely catch up with the slowest full-distance swimmers, so I braced myself for some washing machine action in the final stretch of the swim.

That day, the water temperature at the lake was 22°C, so people asked if it could warm up enough to make the swim not wetsuit legal. The person giving the briefing said he didn’t like to state anything with 100% certainty, but he was 99% certain the swim would be wetsuit legal.

After the briefing, I went on a run to scope out the next segment of the run course, another roughly 10 km out-and-back, this time on Main Street and Skaha Lake Road. I had planned on going for a swim afterwards, but the forecast called for a storm and it was already starting to rain at the end of my run, so I called it a day and headed back to my room. A guy who was coming back from a swim got in the elevator with me, so I asked him how the water was and he said it was “surprisingly warm.” I was looking forward to a pleasant wetsuit-legal swim on Sunday.

The forecast for Saturday, the day before the race, called for rain all day, with a high of 14°C. I didn’t want to check in my bike and gear early just to leave it sitting out in the rain, so I waited until the last possible minute to do that and in the meantime hung out in my hotel room organizing my gear, preparing my bottles of Maurten, and watching TV. Unfortunately, this hotel had the worst channel selection I’ve ever seen, with only one channel that wasn’t news or sports, and it only had three movies on repeat, so I ended up watching The Scorpion King, 47 Ronin, and The Huntsman: Winter’s War twice each. I should have brought a book.

At 4:30 PM, the rain finally started tapering off, so I grabbed my gear and headed over to transition to check it in and collect my timing chip. I racked my bike, left my run gear bag under it, cinching it tight to make it as waterproof as possible in case it rained some more, and then hung my bike gear bag from the wire fence in my spot, which was labeled with my bib number. I liked that; unlike at Ironman Coeur d’Alene, finding my bike gear in transition would be easy.

My run gear bag was ripped and the only thing I had to patch it up was KT tape 🙃

Sure beats leaving these bags scattered on the ground.

Afterwards, I walked the area between the swim exit and my bike to memorize the location of my bike gear bag and where I needed to go. I saw a guy coming out of the water near the swim exit, so I asked him how it was. He replied “it’s freezing,” but I chalked it up to him perhaps having a lower tolerance to the cold, and it was chilly that day after all, so I didn’t think too much about it. By then it had started drizzling again, so I headed back to my hotel room to have dinner, watch 47 Ronin for the third time, and ponder how not even Hiroyuki Sanada could salvage that wreck.

Race day

I woke up at 3:00 AM on race morning as usual, rested and energized after several good nights of sleep (I think I finally cracked the secret to getting good sleep before my races: a good quality sleep mask). I had my usual breakfast of a plain bagel with jam and coffee while I waited for the result of my COVID test, and left shortly after transition opened at 5:00 AM.

After dropping off my personal needs bags in Gyro Park across the street, I arrived in transition just in time to hear an announcement that the start for the age groups would be delayed to 7:45 AM, and that the swim had been shortened to 900 m. I asked a race official why, and she said the water temperature had dropped to 13°C. I was dumbfounded, I couldn’t make sense of that number. Sure, it had rained all day the day before, so it wasn’t surprising that the water temperature dropped, but nine degrees? Just two days before, people were wondering if the swim would be wetsuit optional, and suddenly it was wetsuit mandatory. I couldn’t believe it. I later learned that it’s a phenomenon called lake turnover, in which the water in the lake is mixed by the wind, and the warmer water near the surface is replaced by colder water from the bottom.

In any case, the nervous energy in transition was palpable. Officials were recommending wearing neoprene hats and booties, which nobody seemed to have. I heard the announcer asking for anybody who had a spare wetsuit to come forward; people who didn’t bring one were out of luck since they were now mandatory. Talk about a lesson learned—I’m never leaving my neoprene hat and booties behind again. I had only brought a sleeveless wetsuit, so I planned to do a quick warmup in the lake right before the start and see if I could at least get the cold shock out of my system quickly.

After setting up my bike I went back to my hotel room since it seemed like a better idea to wait there rather than stay in transition shivering in the 10°C air. Others seemed to have the same idea; the hotel lobby was packed with athletes sheltering from the cold. Shortly before 7:00 AM, I had just finished putting on my wetsuit when a notification from Ironman popped up on my phone, announcing that the swim had been cancelled in accordance with World Triathlon and Triathlon BC regulations.

World Triathlon regulations for air and water temperatures. Source: World Triathlon

My heart dropped. After all that work and all that training, I would not be an Ironman today. For a moment I was tempted to call it a day and go back to bed, but the thought of watching the same three fucking movies again snapped me out of it, so I took off my wetsuit and went back to transition to get ready for the bike start.

Just to state it for the record: I believe Ironman and TriBC officials made the right call in cancelling the swim. Even with the shortened distance, the idea of swimming in 13°C water and then hopping on a bike in 10°C weather seemed miserable at best, and a recipe for hypothermia at worst. I’m gutted that I didn’t get to race a full Ironman, but I don’t want to risk my life or anybody else’s to do that. I appreciate them prioritizing people’s safety.

The bike

With the swim canceled, the bike leg started in a time trial format, with two participants starting every five seconds, in bib order, just like at Ironman 70.3 Arizona two years ago. After that race, where having a low bib number proved to be beneficial, I’ve made a point of checking in as early as possible, precisely in case this happened again. This time I didn’t check in as early as I would have liked, so my 542 bib put me towards the middle of the field, but that still beat starting way at the back. My race started at 8:32 AM.

“Run, Shadowfax, show us the meaning of haste.” Credit: FinisherPix

Since my goal was simply to finish and I had never run a marathon, I had originally set up a very conservative pacing plan in my bike computer, targeting an intensity of just 64% to make sure I had plenty left in the tank for the run. With the swim canceled, I bumped that to 70%. I figured without the exertion of the swim I could handle some more intensity and I wanted to at least feel like I gave it everything I got. Last year I thought I could have finished the Coeur d’Alene bike leg in under six hours if I had felt better, so I wanted to see if I could do that here, even though this course had more elevation gain.

The bike course consisted of a single lap through the Okanagan Valley, leaving Penticton and heading south on Highway 97 through Oliver and Osoyoos, before heading back north through Keremeos, with a short out-and-back to Willowbrook along the way. The 70.3 race followed a similar course, splitting off in Oliver before rejoining near Willowbrook.

View this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

It’s a very hilly course, with 1,854 m of elevation gain. After racing in St. George and Coeur d’Alene, I’m not averse to big climbs, and in fact enjoy them, but I was surprised by how challenging this course was. Unlike Coeur d’Alene, which had several long, sustained climbs, this course only had three categorized climbs listed in Garmin’s ClimbPro feature; the rest of the elevation gain came from short but steep hills peppered through the course, some of them with 13% grades or more, which sometimes caught me off-guard on the wrong gear. On the upside, they provided plenty of opportunities to take a break from the aero position, and I certainly needed them—my neck and shoulders were painfully sore after a while. If there’s one takeaway from this bike leg for me, it’s that I need to spend a lot more time training in aero.

I was concerned at first that outside of Penticton, very little of the course was on closed roads; only the passing lanes on the climbs and the out-and-back section near Willowbrook were closed to cars. This turned out not to be a problem; drivers gave us plenty of space, and at no point I felt like I was in danger of getting hit by a car. I’m grateful for the patience, respect and courtesy of every driver I encountered along the way; locals in general were awesome at this race and it’s one of the reasons I’m sad there won’t be another one.

Just outside of Penticton, with Skaha Lake in the background. Credit: FinisherPix

The bike leg was uneventful but enjoyable. The pavement was smooth, and in many parts, brand new. The weather was gorgeous, with a high of 23°C and very little wind. Even the descents were fun, although I took the last few ones with caution; by then I was tired and I didn’t want a lapse in my attention to cause me to crash. I will say this about this bike course: it’s the most beautiful one I’ve raced so far, and I’ve raced in St. George, so my bar is high. The Okanagan is breathtaking and I regret not staying longer to do some sightseeing.

On the out-and-back near Willowbrook. Credit: FinisherPix

My bike performed admirably; as usual, a big thank you to the folks at Open Range Cycles for the last minute servicing before the race. For nutrition, I carried five bottles with six packets of Maurten Drink Mix 320 (one between the aerobars, two in the frame, two behind my saddle), for about 80 g/h of carbs. I also had two Maurten 160 gels in my bike’s bento box as a backup in case I dropped a bottle, which thankfully didn’t happen (although my nutrition timing was slightly off—I had about a third of a bottle left by the end, so I took one of those gels in T2 to make up for it). I felt a little bloated at times from drinking all that liquid, but my stomach felt great otherwise and I didn’t have a recurrence of the stomach cramps I’ve had before. Since the swim was cancelled, this reinforces my belief that the source of my problems is air and water ingestion during the swim; I’ll have to put that to the test at my next race.

I was pleased when I rolled into T2 in 146th place overall, with a time of 5:50:09, and a final intensity of 68%. It was surreal to arrive to an almost empty transition area, the only upside of a canceled swim; I doubt I’ll see that again anytime soon. In any case, I accomplished my impromptu sub-six goal and did a pretty good job of pacing—this is the closest I’ve ever been to my target intensity during a race. Not bad!

T2

I learned from my experience trying to use the toilet in a one-piece trisuit last year at Coeur d’Alene, so this time I packed a change of clothes in my run gear bag. I hesitated for a moment in the changing tent, though; there are advantages to a trisuit and my stomach felt fine, so I might have been okay wearing it, but ultimately decided not to take any chances and changed into Tracksmith running tights and a Hoka Glide t-shirt.

I did make a small mistake in transition—with all the drama with the swim, I neglected to note the location of the porta-potties before the race. My bike was at the very end of the rack on row E, almost next to the changing tent, and it was only after I racked my bike that I realized that the porta-potties were on the opposite side, so I had to run all the way across transition to pee, and then run across again to grab my run bag and head to the tent, which cost me a few minutes. I spent a total of 14:52 in T2.

The run

The run course for this race starts with an about 500 m segment on Vancouver Avenue at an average grade of about 6%, which is a hell of a way to start an Ironman marathon, before the “jelly legs” feeling has even had a chance to wear off. This is followed by the roughly 10 km out-and-back segment on the Kettle Valley Rail trail, which is only done once, with a cutoff at 7:15 PM. The rest of the course consists of two laps with a 10.6 km out-and-back on Main Street and Skaha Lake Road followed by a 5.3 km section along Lakeshore Drive and side streets; the final cutoff is at the start of the second lap, at 9:50 PM. The 70.3 race followed the same course, except it was just one lap, with the turnaround point just before Main Street turns into Skaha Lake Road.

View this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

I started the run feeling great, despite the steep climb right out of the gate, and hit the KVR trail trying to not get overzealous with my pace. It felt warmer than the forecast indicated, although the views from the trail and the breeze coming from the lake were invigorating. Thanks to the run I had done a couple days before, I knew what to expect, so I wasn’t too worried about injuring my ankle. I taped it up as best I could with some KT tape just in case, but other than having to stop for a moment at the end to get some gravel out of my shoes, this first section of the run went smoothly.

With that out of the way, I started the out-and-back on Main Street. I felt good and strong through the KVR section and was energized by the spectators downtown, but once I hit the pavement, I really started to suffer. By the 16 km mark every bone, every joint in my body was hurting and my toes felt like they had been smashed with hammers. On the Lakeshore Drive section, with about 3 km left on the first lap, I was in pure agony, my entire body hurt; I couldn’t take it anymore and slowed down to a walk. I still had about 20 km left in the race, and started having serious doubts that I could finish. I tried to look at the positives: I was in pain, but I wasn’t injured, and my ankle was holding up; my stomach was behaving and I was fueling properly, so I wasn’t in danger of bonking; and I was going to make the last cutoff with hours to spare, in fact I had enough time to walk the entire rest of the way if it came to that. I made a deal with myself: I would allow myself to walk the remainder of the first lap, but after stopping at the personal needs station and starting the second lap, I would run again and not stop until I crossed that finish line.

“Personal needs” is a special type of aid station placed about halfway through both the bike and the run course on full-distance Ironman races. Before the race you get two bags labeled “bike personal needs” and “run personal needs” and in them you can put whatever you might want or need halfway through the race (as long as it’s not something of value, since most races don’t return those bags at the end). Some people put a motivational note from a loved one, others put a special food or treat. I know someone who put a burrito in theirs—obviously you wouldn’t eat an entire burrito in the middle of a marathon, but when you’ve been subsisting on liquid carbs and gels for the better part of a day, sometimes a bite or two of real food can fix you right up. I put one thing and one thing only in mine: a pill container with two Excedrin. I don’t like to take pain killers in general, and especially not during exercise given the health risks associated with them, but I really didn’t think I had a choice this time; I housed those pills with a bottle of water and kept going.

By the time I got back on Main Street I felt like new. The pain and aches were gone, so I held up the other end of my own deal—I sent it. My pace for the rest of the race was faster than on the first half: 5:41/km vs. 6:10/km, the first time in my life I’ve pulled off a negative split during a race. I slowed down only at the aid stations, where I stuck to the same nutrition plan I used at Ironman 70.3 Coeur d’Alene a couple months ago: water at every aid station and a Maurten 100 gel roughly every 30 minutes, so about every two aid stations. I kept that up for the first lap, but my long walk threw off my plan and I was pretty tired of the gels anyway, so I switched to the Maurten Solid 160 bars, which the volunteers had helpfully cut in half to make them easier to eat in one chomp. They’re surprisingly tasty and easy to eat, so I might incorporate them into my fueling plans from now on. (I swear this isn’t a Maurten sponsored post, I just like their stuff.)

Towards the end of my second time on the Main Street out-and-back, the pain in my legs and toes started coming back, but with less than 10 km to go I wasn’t about to stop; if that meant losing a few toenails, then so be it. I completely ignored the last two aid stations, thinking I might not be able to run again if I slowed down. Instead, I stepped on the gas after the last turnaround on Riverside Drive and kept pushing the pace until the very end, out of sheer force of will. My pace in the last kilometer was 4:47/km, and after one last sprint through the chute, I crossed the finish line in 4:24:14 for a total time of 10:29:13. I finished 23rd in my age group, out of 86, and 198th overall, out of 924. I probably could have finished in the top 20 in my age group if I hadn’t walked the end of the first lap, but I’m pretty happy with this time for my first marathon, especially after biking 180 km.

“You are almost an Ironman!” Credit: FinisherPix

After collecting my medal, finisher’s hat and shirt, and my gear from transition, I grabbed some pizza and a beer at the food tent and headed back to my hotel room, where I fell asleep watching The Chronicles of Riddick on the “10% on Rotten Tomatoes” movie channel.

This is a bittersweet result. Yes, I finished the race. Yes, I over-performed on the bike, and arguably on the run too, since I expected to walk a lot more than I did. Yes, 23rd is my best placement to date in an Ironman-branded race. Yes, running a marathon after a 180 km bike ride is nothing to sneeze at. By all accounts I should feel proud of what I accomplished, and yet… it all feels a little hollow without the swim. At the end of the day I didn’t finish a full Ironman, so I’m not an Ironman. Unlike last year, without another full-distance race to look forward to, the post-race blues are hitting me hard.

At least I got a pretty medal to show for it.

If nothing else, between Coeur d’Alene and Penticton, now I know I can swim 3.8 km, bike 180 km, run 42.2 km, and do any two of those things together. I just need another chance to do them all in one shot; maybe the third time will be the charm, but I wish I knew when that’ll be.

For now, though, I still have plenty of 70.3s to keep me busy, starting with Ironman 70.3 Washington Tri-Cities next month. Onwards!

Race Report: Teton Mountain Runs Wild 15K

2024-07-15T08:00:00-06:00

Last summer I learned about the Rendezvous Mountain Hill Climb, a trail running race in Jackson Hole that’s considered “the most demanding hill climb running event in the West.” It looked like a fascinating challenge, with 1,250 m of elevation gain over 9.8 km, and until last year, it had never been done in under an hour.

Needless to say, I’m nowhere near prepared to do something like that; I have little experience with trail running, and most of it is on flat terrain. But it got me intrigued about trail running races, so I looked at other less-demanding events in the area and discovered the Teton Mountain Runs series, which offers 50K, 30K and 15K races, all run on the hiking and mountain biking trails of Jackson Hole Mountain Resort in Teton Village, Wyoming.

The Wild 15K race, with about 550 meters of elevation gain and no technical terrain or scrambling required, is described as “a great beginner option for those who don’t want to reach the elevation or distance of the 30K,” so I signed up for it earlier this year. I thought it’d be a good introduction to trail running races and add some variety to my training; I’d do it in place of one of my long runs and have a little fun. I knew I was taking a risk doing this with Ironman Canada coming up; I was specifically worried about hurting my knee again on the downhill portion of the race, but I had a plan. The race had a time cut-off at the top of the course, before starting the descent, so I’d run up the hill to make the time cut, and then take it easy and hike down at a leisurely pace to reduce the risk of injury. It felt like a calculated risk, but as it turns out, I’m pretty bad at math.

The night before the race, I considered skipping and sleeping in, but after a bad bout of insomnia, I got up at 4:00 AM and got ready. I had also thought about skipping if the air quality was bad—we’re starting to get the seasonal wildfire smoke from the west coast in Jackson Hole. My personal AQI limit to exercise outdoors is 75, but on race morning it had dipped just below moderate, at 48. With no excuse to skip the race, I headed out the door shortly after dawn.

I got to Teton Village at around 6:30 AM and spent a few minutes warming up in the parking lot before heading to the start line, downing a Maurten Caf 100 gel before the start. The race started at 7:00 AM on the dot; I stayed near the back and let the faster, more experienced runners go first, but soon after I started I got stuck behind people who were hiking up the trail. The race guide warned that walkers would not make the 9:45 AM time cut, so I started passing people, running at a pace that felt comfortable in terms of RPE and heart rate. This was a big mistake—I quickly realized my fitness exceeded my skills, so that “comfortable” pace was too fast for me to navigate the trail safely, especially in the downhill portions. By then the trail had narrowed down significantly to a singletrack barely half a meter wide through dense vegetation with steep drop-offs in some sections, and I was blocking people who wanted to pass me and couldn’t because I had no space at all to step aside, so I felt pressure to keep the pace up. I tripped a couple of times, but luckily was able to keep my balance and continue without falling. My luck would soon run out, though—big time.

I had made it almost 5 km into the run when I tripped again on something—a root, I think—that was hidden from view by the foliage on the sides of the trail, and because I was going downhill, I was carrying too much momentum to recover and crashed hard on my shoulder, sliding along the trail a few feet and narrowly missing the steep drop-off to my right—I don’t know where I would have ended up if I had fallen off the trail. Fortunately, other than scrapes on my hands, arms and legs, and a mouthful of dirt, I wasn’t seriously hurt. I say “fortunately” because not a single person stopped to help—the guy behind me asked, “You good, bro?” but disappeared down the trail before I had a chance to answer, and three or four other people walked past me while I was on the ground. Nobody even gave me a hand.

Maybe I should have just quit right then and there, but after dusting myself off and using my water bottle to rinse off my scrapes, I kept running, albeit at a slower, more careful pace. About 2 km later, the trail intersected a steep gravel service road running perpendicular to it. I was almost across when I stepped on a rock, which rolled to the side, and my foot went along with it. I heard a crack and felt blinding pain as my ankle stretched more than I thought was physically possible, and I hit the deck hard. The only thought that went through my head as I fell was shitshitshitshitIjustbrokemyfuckingankle but what came out of my mouth was the most bloodcurdling scream of my life, which this time did make a few people stop to check on me. I was on the ground clutching my ankle, certain that it was broken, when one of them kneeled next to me and started examining it. She seemed to have first aid experience, and noted it wasn’t swollen and nothing looked obviously broken. I was surprised I didn’t feel any pain as she examined my ankle, and I could still move my foot; I hoped the crack I heard came from the rocks I stepped on and not from my ankle. After I stood up and confirmed I could put weight on my ankle, she took off, telling me that we were close to the next aid station and that she would let them know I was coming (I regret not getting her name or bib number so I could thank her).

At this point I was done with this fucking race, but the race guide said that dropping out was only permitted at the aid stations, except in case of a serious emergency, which would require calling Jackson Hole Ski Patrol; I figured this wasn’t one because I could walk and wasn’t in terrible pain. I couldn’t remember the exact distance the race guide said the aid station would be at, but I was almost at the halfway point of the race, so I thought it would be close and set off for it.

It… wasn’t close. I ended up walking 5.1 km with 258 m of elevation gain on my twisted ankle, all banged up and covered in dirt and scrapes from both falls. My ankle didn’t hurt too much when I walked, and I even ran for a few seconds just to see if I could, but it was definitely tender so I didn’t want to take any chances. I went slowly and carefully, avoided putting too much weight on it, and watched my step to make sure I didn’t twist it again. On top of everything else, the mosquitos were an absolute menace and were driving me insane. At least I got to see a pika while I was crossing a talus field, the only thing that came even close to a highlight of my day. I love those little yodeling critters.

I wish I had spent more time enjoying the view at least; this was the only photo I made.

I had been hobbling along the trail for an hour and a half when I saw a man walking in the opposite direction. He came up to me and asked, “Do you know how far back is the injured guy?” I laughed and said, “You just found him.” We were less than 400 m from the aid station, so he walked me the rest of the way.

The colors on this map denote pace; the black & white dot is the spot where I injured my ankle.

After stopping there for a minute to eat a few Oreos and refill my water bottle, Ski Patrol drove me down to the urgent care clinic at the base of the mountain (ironically on the same service road where I tripped, so I could have saved myself a lot of trouble if I had just called them). There, they ran X-rays and confirmed that my ankle wasn’t broken, although it is sprained. Given that I was able to walk over 5 km on it, the doctor thought it wasn’t serious and that I’d probably even be able to return to training this week, but now that I’m home and it’s more swollen and painful than before, I’m worried the crack I heard was actually my ligaments snapping. The doctor said I should call an orthopedic specialist if I don’t see improvement in a week but I’m not going to wait that long; I’ll get an ortho appointment as soon as possible and get in front of this. With some luck it’ll turn out to be nothing serious and I’ll be able to race Ironman Canada next month, but I’m not feeling optimistic about it.

I normally try not to beat myself up too much when I make mistakes during training or racing; it’s all part of the learning experience. That said, getting injured during a triathlon or during training is one thing—it sucks when that happens, but at least it’s in service of a goal. This… is not that. This race was a completely unnecessary risk that wouldn’t have advanced my triathlon goals in any way even if it had gone perfectly, but it didn’t and now I’m paying for it with a potentially season-ending injury. Why did I think this was a good idea?!

I feel like such a fucking idiot.

Race Report: 2024 Ironman 70.3 Coeur d’Alene

2024-06-27T08:00:00-06:00

After my disappointing result in St. George last month, I realized that the goals I had set for that race were a little too ambitious. That race is too early in the season for me to treat it as an A race, and I lost sight of my actual goal for this year, which is finishing Ironman Canada in August. That made me reassess what I wanted to get out of my next two races, in Boulder and Coeur d’Alene. Instead of treating them as races with specific results or ambitious times in mind, I decided to treat them as dress rehearsals to test my gear, pacing, nutrition and overall racing strategy before going to Penticton.

Unfortunately, a week before Boulder, Kate got COVID, so I canceled that race out of an abundance of caution. She’s fine now, and I never caught it, but that left me with Coeur d’Alene as my only shakedown race before Canada. As a consolation, that same week I took delivery of my new triathlon bike, a Trek Speed Concept SLR 7, so at least I’d have a chance to practice racing with it in Coeur d’Alene. With that, my goals for the race were simple:

Practice my nutrition, both before and during the race, and see if I continued to have the same stomach issues I had in St. George and at last year’s full distance race.
Practice racing on the new bike, in particular climbing and descending, and spending time in aero position, and make sure that my bike fit is good.
Check out some of my new gear, including my new helmet and shoes, in a race setting.
Forget about targeting a specific finish time, just have fun and finish the race (if nothing else to get a little closure on my DNF last year.)

As an aside, the Active.com refund insurance I purchase every time I sign up for a race really saved my bacon when I had to cancel Boulder. I was able to recover most of the entry fee, and between that and the refundable hotel room I had booked, making the decision to pull out of the race was a no-brainer. I was disappointed when I signed up for next year’s Ironman 70.3 St. George and saw that the refund insurance is not offered anymore. I asked Ironman about it, and this is the response I received:

Thank you for reaching out. We currently are not offering registration insurance, but we are looking to finalize a new insurance partner agreement at this time. We do not have a date that this will be offered, however, we are working through the details as quickly as we can. We appreciate your patience and we apologize for the inconvenience.

I really hope they offer a replacement soon; it’s nice to have the peace of mind that I can cancel a race if something unexpected happens and not lose hundreds of dollars.

With my new bike and gear, and fresh legs from an unplanned recovery week while I waited to see if I got COVID, I packed everything in my car and drove to Coeur d’Alene.

Pre-race prep

I arrived in Coeur d’Alene the Thursday before the race, and after checking into my hotel room, I changed into running clothes and went out for a run in the heat, since it was quite warm out and I figured every little bit of heat acclimation could only help on race day. The next day, I went on a quick bike ride to make sure my bike was working properly and do some recon on the part of the course through Coeur d’Alene Lake Drive.

Later that day, I went to the Ironman Village in Coeur d’Alene City Park to check in and attend the race briefing, where they shared the usual race information plus a couple changes from previous years: first, they’d have wetsuit peelers (“we’re not allowed to call them ‘wetsuit strippers’ anymore”) after the swim; and second, body marking (i.e. getting your race number written on your arms and legs with a marker) would be available again for the first time since the pandemic, which people seemed very excited about. With that out of the way, I went back to the hotel, changed into running clothes, and went for one last run in the heat before the race, which brought my heat acclimation up to a whopping 24% according to Garmin Connect.

(By the way, I strongly recommend staying somewhere with easy access to the North Idaho Centennial Trail, what a pleasant route to run on.)

On Saturday, I did pretty much nothing but rest, read, carb up, and wait until the afternoon to check in my bike. This race does a single transition, at Coeur d’Alene City Park, and it’s really one of the best transition areas I’ve seen. It’s covered in grass so it’s easy to run on, and has extensive tree cover providing lots of shade, so the bikes and gear don’t sit out in the hot sun all day. After racking my bike in my spot and noting the row where it was and nearby landmarks, I walked transition back and forth a few times to memorize where I’d need to go during the race.

My bike, racked in transition the day before.

Finally, I picked up my timing chip before returning to the hotel to get the rest of my gear ready. As is common for 70.3 races, there were no gear or morning clothes bags, and the bikes were packed pretty tightly, so I was careful to bring only what I needed on race day. My gear list included:

Trisuit (Roka Gen II Elite)
Wetsuit (Roka Maverick Pro II sleeveless)
Swim cap
Two pairs of goggles (Roka R1)
TriSlide
Bike computer (Garmin Edge 1040 Solar)
Bike shoes (Shimano S-Phyre SH-TR903)
Bike gloves (Rapha Pro Team Mitts)
Bike helmet (Giro Aerohead)
Travel-size SPF 50 sunscreen spray
Two bottles of Maurten Drink Mix 320
Bottle of water
Sports towel
Running shoes (Hoka Rocket X 2)
Running hat
Running belt with bib
Two pairs of socks (Darn Tough No-Show Ultralightweight)
Sunglasses (Roka Oslo)
Pelican G40 case to store my phone, car keys, and hotel key
Maurten 100 Caf 100 gel
Two Maurten 160 gels

Some of my race gear, organized and ready to be packed the night before.

I placed most of these things, except the trisuit, wetsuit and helmet, in a Roka mesh bag, which has the advantage of being thin and flat when empty, so I can simply set all my gear on top of it, next to my bike, without taking up a lot of space.

With my gear organized and packed, I had dinner and turned in for the night.

On race morning, I woke up at 3:00 AM after getting a full night of sleep for once, took a quick COVID test, had my usual breakfast of a plain bagel with jam and a cup of coffee while I waited for the results, and then checked all my gear one last time. Transition opened at 4:30 AM, but parking around Coeur d’Alene City Park is plentiful and it was only a ten-minute drive from my hotel, so I wasn’t in much of a rush, and left at around 4:45 AM.

The moment I set foot outside the hotel my first thought was “huh, it’s really windy.” I wondered what the conditions would be like during the bike leg once we got out on the highway, but didn’t think too much about it and headed out.

I arrived at transition shortly after 5:00 AM and as soon as I finished setting up my gear, an announcement came through the speakers that the race start would be delayed by twenty minutes, to 6:20 AM, and the swim would be shortened to 500 m. According to my weather app, the wind was coming from the south at 16 km/h with gusts of up to 40 km/h. In other words, a direct headwind on the outbound leg of the swim, so it wasn’t terribly surprising that the swim was shortened; from my spot in transition I could see whitecaps out on the lake. I didn’t hear any official announcements about the swim cutoff, but some people said the cutoff didn’t change and others that it had been reduced to twenty-five minutes—I don’t know who was right, but I wasn’t too concerned either way. At my usual open water pace, I expected to finish the swim in less than fifteen minutes. It was only 500 m, how bad could it be?

Transition in Coeur d’Alene City Park at 6:00 AM.

Shortly before transition closed, I had a Maurten 100 Caf 100 gel and walked over to the swim staging area, where I placed myself in my usual 43–46 minute wave and chatted with the folks around me while we waited to start, not quite knowing what to expect. The race organizers led one wave at a time to the beach to line up for the chutes, so we couldn’t see the lake until we got there.

Once my group made it to the beach, what I saw was… messy. The swim course was set up so that the outbound leg had a single yellow buoy, followed by the first turn buoy, then the second, and finally a single orange buoy for the inbound leg. To space people out, the organizers started only two swimmers at a time. Despite that, what I could see from the beach was a large group of swimmers bunched up around the first buoy, which had people holding on to it, and volunteers doing their best to help others who were holding on to the kayaks and paddleboards. The person next to me asked “why are they all stopping there?” but some of the swimmers hadn’t actually stopped—they were simply swimming breaststroke in place, not making any progress against the waves. For a moment I wished they had canceled the swim altogether, but I pushed that thought aside—I was already in the chutes, the only way out was through.

Boop, boop, boop, boop, BEEP! Image: FinisherPix

The swim

I ran into the 18°C water at 7:24 AM. By that point, I had been shivering in the brisk, windy morning for over an hour, so I expected it would take me a minute or two to get over the cold, but the race adrenaline took care of that pretty quickly—I had never swum in that kind of chop before, and as soon as I got in the water I struggled to breathe and sight while repeatedly getting hit in the face by the waves. I just couldn’t get the timing right; I was flailing wildly and kicking like a madman, trying to keep my head above the waves, with not even a semblance of proper form. It was all I could do to muscle my way through the waves and the mass of people in front of me. Once I got to the first turn buoy, things got better; the crowd had thinned out and it was far easier to swim parallel to the waves instead of against them, so I was able to regain some composure. I had some trouble sighting the next buoy with the sun now in front of me, but I had to stop to let a volunteer in a WaveRunner go by to help another swimmer, which gave me a few seconds to get my bearings before continuing. After turning at the second buoy I pointed myself towards the swim exit and just let it rip, sprinting to the end as fast as I could.

I finished the swim in 10:28, with an official pace of 2:05/100 m, which surprised me, considering how much of a struggle it was—this is faster than my pace in the pool. However, looking at my watch data after the race, I didn’t actually swim the full 500 m; per my GPS, I swam 396 m, for a much more realistic pace of 2:39/100 m. I’m not sure why the distance came up short—I definitely did not cut any corners and passed all buoys, including both turn buoys, on my left side. Looking at the wonky GPS track, though, I suspect the wind and the waves simply pushed the buoys closer to shore.

I would have expected the middle segment to be parallel to shore. For some reason it wasn’t, which might account for the missing distance.

Short as it was, this swim was a very strange experience. The whole thing was a blur and I only remember bits and pieces of it; I think I just powered through entirely on adrenaline. That said, I’m glad the race organizers shortened it. I can’t imagine what it would have been like to swim the full 1.2 miles in those conditions.

T1

After leaving the water, I ran through transition, stopping to get my wetsuit ripped off by the wetsuit peelers before heading to my bike. I sprayed on some sunscreen, and donned my helmet, shoes and gloves before unracking my bike and heading out.

Fun fact: my run from the swim exit to the bike mount line was longer than the swim itself, at 430 m. I spent 9:16 in T1.

The bike

Given that this was my first race on my new bike, my main goal for the bike leg was to practice riding in aero position, so I planned to pace conservatively. The windy conditions reinforced that decision; with the 40 km/h gusts, I expected the segment of the bike leg out on US-95 to be challenging, so my priority was to make it back to transition safely and not take any unnecessary risks. I had set up a Power Guide on my Garmin, but I intended to only use it to pace myself on the climbs, stick to zone 2 on the flats, and take the descents with caution.

In addition to using my Trek Speed Concept SLR 7 instead of my Specialized Aethos road bike, I swapped my S-Works Evade 3 road helmet for a Giro Aerohead, so this was my first race in full triathlon gear. After experiencing a lot of discomfort with my shoes at St. George last month, I also got a new pair of Shimano S-Phyre SH-TR903 triathlon shoes, which I’m pleased to say are far more comfortable than my previous ones (and look way better too).

For nutrition, I carried two 24-ounce bottles of Maurten Drink Mix 320, one between the aerobars and one behind my saddle, with two Maurten 160 gels in my bike’s bento box as a backup in case I dropped one of the bottles. I timed my nutrition to consume roughly 80–85 grams of carbs per hour, and supplemented with water from the aid stations for some extra hydration. I didn’t bring any electrolytes; I didn’t think I’d need them, and I had loaded up on sodium in the days leading up to the race.

View this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

The bike course is the same as the one for the full-distance race, except just one lap, starting with an about 30 km out-and-back through Coeur d’Alene Lake Drive before turning around at Higgens Point and heading out on a roughly 60 km out-and-back section on US-95, with a short section through downtown Coeur d’Alene in between. It’s a hilly course, with ten climbs long and steep enough to trigger the ClimbPro feature on my Garmin, and a total elevation gain of 939 m. It’s a good bike course, with great energy from the spectators downtown, smooth pavement most of the way, lots of room to pass, excellent separation from traffic, and gorgeous views of Lake Coeur d’Alene and the Idaho countryside. A piece of advice, though: the short segment on 23rd street, before turning on Coeur d’Alene Lake Drive, has pretty ragged pavement. I strongly suggest double-checking that bottles are firmly in place before and after this segment to ensure they don’t go flying off.

Riding on Coeur d’Alene Lake Drive. Image: FinisherPix

The first section through Coeur d’Alene Lake Drive went pretty smoothly, with the first climb serving as a good warmup and the trees along the road providing some shelter from the wind. As I expected, though, things got rough once we got out of town and on US-95; as soon as I got on the bridge over the Spokane River I started getting buffeted by the crosswinds. The climbs and the flats were enjoyable, but the descents were sketchy, to say the least—I found them far more stressful than during that hailstorm at last year’s race. On the very first descent, a gust of wind made someone veer directly into my line; if I hadn’t been riding on the base bars I probably would have crashed into her. The other descents were similarly nerve-wracking and I had trouble maintaining control at times with the gusts jerking me around; I have no idea how people with deeper rims and disc wheels managed. By the time I was riding back to Coeur d’Alene and after several close calls, I was pretty rattled; all I wanted was to make it back in one piece. I consider cycling my favorite discipline and the one I’m strongest at, but by that point I just couldn’t wait to get it over with.

Somewhere on US-95. Image: FinisherPix

The last descent was designated as a “no passing” and “no aerobars” zone, since it involved riding on a narrow shoulder with cones separating cyclists from the car traffic to one side and a rumble strip on the other, with not a lot of room to maneuver if the wind pushed me to one side or the other. I was very tense riding through it and the fact that some people ignored the posted signs and were still passing didn’t help at all. If I have one complaint about this race is that I wish this no-passing zone had been enforced; there’s just no need to make a risky section even more dangerous because someone wants to contest 40th place in their age group or whatever. If Kat Matthews can get a DSQ for overtaking in a no-passing zone, so should we age groupers.

In any case, after that last descent, I finally relaxed and it was smooth sailing back to T2, finishing in 2:51:59.

On a positive note, the bike is awesome—Shadowfax really lives up to its name. I knew there’d be a big aero advantage compared to my road bike, but didn’t expect it to be so dramatic. Even though I was sticking to zone 2 or at most low zone 3 during the flats, I was surprised by the ease with which I was accelerating and passing folks; I felt like I was flying, and got PRs on almost every Strava segment from last year. I liked the synchro shift feature of the Shimano Di2 system; what it does is take control of the front derailleur so that all I need to do is shift the rear derailleur. Once I shift past a certain gear of my choice in either direction, it shifts the chainring for me. This allowed me to set up both sets of shifters (on my aerobars and base bars) to control the rear derailleur and let the Di2 handle the front one, so I could do all my shifting without having to change positions—particularly useful given the windy conditions. Pairing the Di2 to my Garmin also gives me a warning that the next time I shift, the front derailleur will shift as well, so I was never caught off guard by the synchro shift kicking in. The Giro Aerohead is noticeably hotter than my S-Works Evade road helmet, though, and I had sweat dripping down my face at times despite the weather not being particularly hot. I’ll need to consider if it’s worth trading some aero benefits for some additional ventilation for Ironman Canada, which is likely to be a much hotter race than this.

On an even better note, my stomach felt great the entire time, with no sign of the cramps that plagued me in my last two races. I didn’t make any big changes to my nutrition for this race: I watched my diet the two days before the race a little closer than usual, only eating things I was certain wouldn’t upset my stomach, and reduced my caffeine intake on race day, in case that was exacerbating the problem. Otherwise, I kept my race day nutrition largely the same, still relying on Maurten Drink Mix 320 for my carbs on the bike. That said, there was one huge difference between this race and my two previous ones: the shortened swim. I’m almost certain that the root cause of my digestive issues is air and water ingestion during the swim, so addressing that will be my focus before my next race.

T2

Not much to report here: I rolled into T2, racked my bike, swapped my bike gear for running gear, sprayed on more sunscreen, used the porta-potty, and ran out in 7:59.

The run

After leaving T2, I felt… great. Really great. So great that I had to slow myself down; I was running at a pace of 4:30/km, which is faster than my standalone half marathon pace, possibly due to a combination of the lower altitude, shortened swim, and conservative bike pacing. I had to remind myself that my goal was just to finish, not destroy myself, so I aimed for something closer to 5:00/km and tried to hold it there.

The run course consisted of two laps around McEuen Park and neighborhoods in downtown Coeur d’Alene before heading out on Coeur d’Alene Lake Drive and back, with a mere 114 m of elevation gain. I think this is my favorite run course I’ve done so far; the segment on Coeur d’Alene Lake Drive is pretty exposed to the sun and at a slight grade, but it’s only about a mile each way, and the rest of the course is on shady residential streets with neighbors cheering us on, playing music, and cooling us down with their garden hoses; the whole thing had a great block party vibe I really enjoyed.

View this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

While the wind was problematic during the swim and bike leg, it was a blessing during the run. The high for the day was 26°C, but between the shade, the hoses, and the wind, it was quite pleasant. The run went by surprisingly quickly and I felt great the entire time, only slowing down at the aid stations as needed. I had no aches or discomfort anywhere, I just felt strong. My nutrition consisted of three Maurten 100 gels spaced about thirty minutes apart, water at every aid station, and a cup of Coke at the last one. I didn’t feel like I needed any sodium, but I had a cup of Mortal Hydration at the first aid station just in case. None of it bothered my stomach at all.

Halfway through the second lap, my pace had slowed down a little bit, to 5:02/km, but on the way back to the finish line I recognized the exact spot where I DNF’d last year. It felt so satisfying to leave it behind that I immediately picked up the pace again. I finished strong, sprinting through the finish line after 1:46:22, with a final pace of 4:58/km and a total time of 5:06:02.

[“Baba O’Riley” plays] Yup, that’s me. You may be wondering how I ended up in this situation… Image: FinisherPix

After collecting my medal and finisher’s hat, I stopped at the food tent to get some grub, and then packed my gear from transition and headed back to my hotel for a much needed shower and nap.

Wrap-up

Coeur d’Alene is tough, man. St. George is a pretty tough race, but maybe predictably so. You more or less know what to expect there: a cold swim, a hilly bike, and a hot run. Here, though, I’m starting to get the sense that conditions are unpredictable: a heat wave a couple years ago, a hailstorm last year, and now these winds? What will it be next year? I can’t wait to find out.

All that said, despite the shortened swim and the stressful bike leg, I’m very happy with this result: this is my fastest run to date in a 70.3, and my third best half marathon ever. It’s also a huge relief that I didn’t experience the same stomach issues I’ve had recently. After two bad races in a row and a canceled race, this is the kind of morale boost I needed to keep pushing towards Ironman Canada.

More importantly, this shakedown race served its purpose, which was testing my race strategy and giving me a list of things to work on over the next eight weeks: continue improving my swim technique, continue to build confidence in aero on the bike (particularly in windy conditions), and work on heat acclimation so it doesn’t obliterate me in August.

Time to get back to work. Onwards, to Penticton.

Race Report: 2024 Grand Teton Half Marathon

2024-06-15T08:00:00-06:00

A couple weeks ago I raced the Grand Teton Half Marathon, the first of the three local half marathons in Jackson Hole this year. I wasn’t planning on writing a race report for it because it was a quick and uneventful race, but since I didn’t get to write one for Ironman 70.3 Boulder, which I had to skip due to COVID, I might as well do it.

I ran this race last year for the first time and it quickly became my favorite of the local half marathons, not just because it’s the most well-organized and has the most scenic route, but also because I unexpectedly podiumed last year, so of course I wanted to race it again.

This year’s course was basically the same as in previous years, with the slight difference that the first couple of kilometers are now on the new pathway along Highway 22 instead of running on the shoulder of the road, a much welcome improvement. From there, the course rejoins the existing pathway in Wilson before heading back to Jackson over the pedestrian bridge over the Snake River, and then turning north on Spring Gulch Road, where you get to enjoy scenic views of the Teton Range all the way to the finish line at the Jackson Hole Golf Course. This final stretch of the race is on the road, but there’s not a lot of traffic and runners are given plenty of space from cars with traffic cones so it didn’t felt particularly dangerous. The total elevation gain for the course is about 100 m, most of it after the halfway point, once you turn onto Spring Gulch Road.

See this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

On race morning I got up at 3:00 AM after a terrible night of sleep, which was convenient, since parking at the start line at the Stilson Lot closed at 5:00 AM and I didn’t want to take a shuttle. I arrived there shortly before parking closed, which left me with an hour and a half of waiting before the start of the race. At 6:00 AM I gave up on trying to get some more sleep in my car and figured it might be a better use of my time to stretch and do a thorough warm up—the weather was much better than last year, with clear skies and gorgeous views of the mountains, but it was freezing, at -1°C, which made me wish I had worn warmer gear.

I seeded myself conservatively towards the back of the blue wave, behind the 1:50 pacer; while it was cool to podium last year, I didn’t want to overdo it or risk an injury, given that I had a 70.3 planned for the following week. Rather than target a specific pace or time, my plan was to simply run at a pace that felt comfortable, treat it as a my long run for the week, and see where that landed me.

To my surprise, when the race started at 6:32 AM, the pace that felt comfortable was… fast. I ran a pretty sluggish 6:54/km at Ironman 70.3 St. George last month and I’ve rarely run faster than 5:30/km in my training runs since then, so I really wasn’t expecting to run as fast as I did last year. I’m not sure if it was the race adrenaline or the fact that I was coming off of a recovery week in my training plan, but I was pretty surprised when I comfortably passed the 1:40 pacer a few minutes after starting the race, so I just kept going. I was holding a pace of 4:30/km through the first half of the race, although I knew I’d probably slow down a bit once I started going uphill on Spring Gulch Road.

Crossing the Gros Ventre river, a few minutes away from the finish line.

Sure enough, that was exactly what happened, and the last few kilometers were a real struggle, the kind where I start doing all kinds of mental math to bargain with myself, but at least the mountains were out and I enjoyed the view to distract myself from the suffering. At least I didn’t make the same mistake I made last year with my socks, and wore my normal Darn Tough running socks with my Hoka Rocket X 2 shoes, so I had no problems with chafing this time around (and the shoes may have contributed to my faster pace). The aid stations were pretty well stocked with Honey Stinger gels and waffles, bananas, and oranges, but I didn’t really need any fueling besides the Maurten Gel 100 Caf 100 I ate right before the start, so I just skipped them all. (The chocolate milk at the finish line really hit the spot, though.)

I finished the race with a final time of 1:37:09.6, my fastest half marathon ever. My final pace was 4:36/km, and I finished 28th overall, out of 1,720 participants, and fourth male finisher in the masters category, with a shiny bronze medal to show for it. Not bad! I haven’t really put a ton of effort into my outdoor training runs so far this year since winter just barely ended, so it’s pleasing to see some progress in my running fitness nonetheless.

Gotta savor these small victories; this one almost makes up for missing my race in Boulder.

Race Report: 2024 Ironman 70.3 St. George

2024-05-08T08:00:00-06:00

Howdy, and welcome to my third season of racing triathlons. This year, I’m starting my season again with Ironman 70.3 St. George, a race I did for the first time last year and enjoyed enormously, despite some issues during the swim and the run. I wanted to come back and try to improve on that effort.

Last year, I managed to pull off a sub-six finish, with a total time of 5:55:12, so my goal was simply to be faster than that, with a stretch goal of finishing in 5:30. That seemed attainable if I shaved ten minutes of the bike and run, plus a few more from the swim and transitions, but I also knew it was very aggressive; I got lucky last year with the great weather and cool temperature, and it seemed unlikely that would happen again. Sure enough, the forecast this year indicated a high of 31°C on race day, but I was confident I could still beat last year’s time at least.

Spoiler alert: That, uh, did not happen.

Pre-race prep

I drove from Jackson Hole the Thursday before the race, and arrived in St. George early enough that I had plenty of time check into my hotel, unpack my gear, and walk a couple of blocks to the Ironman Village and check in for the race.

With that taken care of, I went back to the hotel, changed into running clothes, and went out on a short 30-minute shakedown run while it was still warm out. May is still very much winter in Jackson Hole; it was -7°C and snowing when I left for St. George, and still snowing when I got back, so this race is too early in the year for me to have built any heat adaptations. A single run in the heat wasn’t going to make any difference, but it felt great nonetheless and was a nice way to put a bow on my training plan before the race.

The view from my bike trainer the day before leaving for St. George.

The next day, I spent the morning packing and repacking and checking and double-checking my gear bags, which I packed (and repacked) like so:

Morning clothes bag:

Two pairs of Roka R1 swim goggles (one as a spare, just in case)
Swim cap
Timing chip
Two bottles of Maurten Drink Mix 320 for the bike leg
A bottle of water to drink in T1 and rinse my feet
A Pelican G40 case to stash my phone and hotel room key
A hoodie
Headphones (not for the race, obviously, but to use while waiting to start)
TriSlide spray
A Maurten 100 Caf 100 gel to eat before the swim
N95 mask for the shuttle
Headlamp
Garmin 1040 Solar bike computer
Garmin HRM-Pro Plus heart rate band

Bike gear bag:

S-Works Evade III helmet
Fizik Transiro Infinito R1 Knit shoes
Socks
Roka Matador Air sunglasses
Rapha Pro Team gloves
A sports towel
A travel-size can of SPF 50 sunscreen
Pill bottle with sodium caps, Tylenol and Imodium

Run gear bag:

Race belt with my bib
Hat
Hoka Rocket X 2 shoes
An extra pair of socks, just in case
A sports towel
A travel-size can of SPF 50 sunscreen
Pill bottle with sodium caps, Tylenol and Imodium

That afternoon, I attended the pre-race briefing at the Ironman Village before checking in my gear. The process was the same as last year: drive over to Sand Hollow State Park to rack the bike in T1 with the bike gear bag, pick up the timing chip before leaving, and then drive back to downtown St. George to drop off the run gear bag in T2. I headed back to my hotel room to quadruple-check my morning clothes bag, prepare my bottles of Maurten for the bike, shave my legs, take a bath, and try to wind down for a good night of sleep. That last one didn’t quite happen; for whatever reason I couldn’t get a full night of sleep the entire time I was in St. George.

My bike, after checking it in at Sand Hollow State Park.

On race day, after tossing and turning all night, I got up at 3:00 AM, took a COVID test, ate a bagel with jam, and had coffee while I waited for the result. I then killed some time by doing my Wordle puzzle (got it in three) and putting together a sick pre-race playlist for the drive to Sand Hollow.

This year the shuttles were first-come-first-serve with no ticket required, so I walked over to the Ironman Village and hopped on the first one available, arriving at Sand Hollow at around 5:30 AM. It only took me a few minutes to set up my transition, so I spent the rest of my time stretching and trying to stay warm in the brisk 12°F morning. Shortly before 6:45 AM I donned my wetsuit, ate my gel, handed over my morning clothes bag to a volunteer and headed to the swim staging area. I seeded myself in the 43–46 minute group and chatted with folks while we waited to start. The male pros started at 6:50 AM and the women shortly after. It was cool to see Sam Long and Paula Findlay running by after finishing their swim; the path leading from the swim exit back to transition is right next to the staging area with the people waiting to start, so you get to cheer everyone as they finish their swim and run to their bikes.

T1 in Sand Hollow State Park, at 6:00 AM.

It took an hour for me to make my way to the starting chutes, and at 7:51 AM, I finally started my race.

The swim

Last year, I struggled with this swim for three reasons. First of all, I came to the swim with the wrong mindset: I went in expecting to have a bad time, and that’s exactly what I got. Second, I had a hard time dealing with the cold; and third, I think my sleeved wetsuit restricted my shoulder movement too much and made it hard to maintain good form.

The first issue was easy to sort out: as I learned in Coeur d’Alene last year, simply changing my mindset to look forward to the swim instead of dreading it goes a long way (I think I was also better prepared for this swim in terms of fitness than I was last year, which definitely helped). The other two were a little trickier: I didn’t want to wear my sleeved wetsuit or buy a new one, so I used my sleeveless wetsuit (a Roka Maverick Pro II) for better shoulder mobility, even though I’d probably be even colder in it. Fortunately, the water was a little warmer than last year, at 17°C, according to the Sand Hollow State Park website. I saw a number of people wearing sleeveless wetsuits around me in the swim staging area, and one dude in front of me was wearing nothing but swim trunks, which I found oddly reassuring.

That said, when my race started and I finally dived in, it still felt like a goddamn punch in the face, and the cold shock response was overwhelming. The way I deal with it when I swim in open water is to keep my head above water for the first few strokes, and start dipping my face in until I can regain control of my breathing and swim normally, but it took me a very long time to get there on this swim. I was still fighting my gasp reflex minutes into the swim, and I started to wonder if I had made a huge mistake wearing the sleeveless wetsuit. I saw a volunteer on a paddleboard nearby and for one brief moment I imagined myself holding on to the side, out of breath, quitting the race. I found the mere idea of giving up a hundred meters into the race intolerable, so I pressed on and managed to get my breathing under control shortly afterwards.

Those first few minutes were stressful, but the rest of the swim felt great; I got into a good rhythm, focused on my form, had no trouble at all sighting the buoys, and after a while, actually started enjoying how good the chilly water felt on my arms. It was an uneventful swim, although it was congested, with an almost constant washing machine effect, particularly around the turn buoys. It was difficult at times to swim past other swimmers, which slowed me down quite a bit. I finished in 46:48, just a little faster than last year, but psychologically it feels like a big win nonetheless. I still got lots of work to do on my swim, but I’m confident I can do better next time. I really wish Ironman could set up a warm-up area in Sand Hollow, though; it would make this swim far more tolerable.

T1

I felt a little dizzy coming out of the water, which sometimes happens when I swim in cold water, so I took it slow in T1 to give it a chance to go away. I spent 12:57 there, longer than I would have liked, but I didn’t want to hop on the bike too fast and risk crashing. Besides, I was confident I could make up some of that time on the bike, no big deal.

The bike

By the time I put on my cycling gear and packed my wetsuit and goggles, my dizziness had cleared up, so I grabbed my bike and headed out. The bike course was exactly the same as last year, leaving Sand Hollow and following the local highways surrounded by the spectacular desert views of southern Utah, before getting back to St. George for the pièce de résistance, the roughly 8-kilometer-long climb through Snow Canyon State Park. It’s a very hilly course, which I really enjoy, with 1,080 m of elevation gain. It’s also a very safe course, with lots of road closures and tons of space between the athletes and car traffic, except for a couple narrow sections where it felt a little risky to pass folks. The pavement was smooth and clean of debris almost the entire route, although there were a few places where the road got fairly bumpy, with one in particular that had become a veritable graveyard of ejected bottles. I don’t remember that from last year, but maybe that’s simply what a year’s worth of car traffic does to the roads.

View this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

I felt good about my bike fitness coming into this race, but I knew it would be warmer than last year, so I planned to pace more conservatively than normal. I usually aim for 84% intensity for 70.3s, but for this race set a lower target of 80%, since the temperature would rise to at least 27°C during the bike leg, and it would be particularly noticeable during the climbs. My goal was to have a strong bike leg, but not so strong that I fell apart during what I expected to be a very hot run later on. With that intensity, Best Bike Split estimated a finish time of 2:40, which put me in the green zone of my pacing chart, and would still have been a ten-minute improvement on last year’s time. My nutrition consisted of two 24 oz bottles of Maurten Drink Mix 320, for about 80 g/h of carbs, supplemented with water from the aid stations. As usual, I used my Specialized Aethos road bike, with aerobars, for this race.

Bike pacing table for Ironman 70.3 races. Credit: TriStar Athletes

I followed my plan fairly closely after leaving Sand Hollow, staying in aero for the flats and attacking the climbs with gusto. I think even my descending skills have gotten better, or at least I felt more confident barreling down those hills in an aero tuck. However, about halfway through the ride, I started feeling the beginnings of an abdominal cramp, like the one I had last year at Ironman Coeur d’Alene. Goddammit, not again. Was I going too hard? Was it the aero position? Was it the Maurten? I didn’t know, but I’ll be damned if I was going to let it stop me from finishing another race, so I dialed back my effort, sat up on the hoods, and stopped drinking the Maurten mix. In Coeur d’Alene, I stuck to my nutrition plan on the bike despite my symptoms, which made it incredibly uncomfortable to run with my gut full of liquid sloshing around, and prevented me from fueling on the run until I inevitably bonked. I wanted to avoid that at all costs, so I under-fueled the rest of the bike leg to give my stomach a chance to clear all the liquid, and then hope I could make up enough of the deficit on the run to finish the race without bonking.

I’m not sure if that was the best course of action or an overreaction on my part, but my symptoms didn’t worsen, and by the time I got to Snow Canyon they had mostly cleared up. I put a decent effort climbing Snow Canyon, probably harder than I should have, given that I wasn’t fueling properly, but I had been looking forward to this climb and wanted to enjoy it. It was hot and grueling, but the camaraderie and banter with the folks I was riding with was enormously fun—the race director joked last year that “you may be questioning your life choices” in Snow Canyon, but for me it just reinforces how much I enjoy this sport. I made it to the top in 27:16, and after grabbing some water at the aid station, it was a fast descent back into T2 in downtown St. George. (Pro tip: dump some water on yourself at this aid station at the top of Snow Canyon; the wind on the descent will cool you down in time for T2.)

Almost at the top of Snow Canyon. Credit: FinisherPix

My intensity by the end of the bike leg was 70%, with a final time of 2:55:38, 15 minutes slower than I planned. Not the end of the world, but it was frustrating to miss the mark because of the same problem I had in Coeur d’Alene.

T2

I spent 10:33 in T2. By now my race goals were shot, so I had no reason to rush—I just wanted to finish. I took my time getting my shoes on and spraying on another layer of sunscreen, ate a Maurten 160 gel I had on my bike, drank some water, and headed out on the run course.

The run

I knew this run was going to be challenging, but it’s one thing what the weather forecast says, and another what it actually feels like out on the course, with the heat radiating off of the pavement and the sun beating down on you. In that heat, after riding a three-hour bike leg on half of my planned fueling, I couldn’t hold my target pace of 5:00/km. I slowly jogged at 5:45/km and walked through every aid station to drink water and shove ice down my trisuit and under my hat.

Not me pretending to run in front of the FinisherPix photographer. Credit: FinisherPix

After throwing my fueling plan out the window during the bike leg, I wasn’t sure what to do about it now. My original plan was to have a Maurten 100 gel roughly every 20–25 minutes, about 60 g/h of carbs, which has worked well for me in previous races. I didn’t know if I should do that and risk upsetting my stomach again or cut back like I did for the bike and risk bonking. I ended up roughly halving my intake: I had the Maurten 160 I grabbed in T2 and a Maurten 100 gel at the beginning of the second lap, plus sips of Coke at the last few aid stations. I don’t think my sodium loss was an issue here, but just to be safe, I had a cup of the Mortal Hydration mix they were giving out at the aid stations.

The course was largely the same as last year, two laps around downtown St. George, starting with a short segment through Main Street, with an average grade of 4.5%, followed by a long segment through Diagonal Street, with a mild grade of 1.2%. This year, the loop around the Vernon Worthen Park near the end of each lap was replaced by a segment along Bluff Street before looping around Dixie Red Hills Golf Club and heading back on Diagonal Street for the second lap or finish line. I didn’t notice it last year because the weather was so nice, but other than the short pedestrian tunnel under Bluff Street, this course has no shade at all, so there was little relief from the heat, except for the volunteers with hoses along the course, to whom I’m extremely grateful.

View this course on Garmin Connect or Strava.

The first lap went by quickly, and I started the second one feeling good despite my slow pace. A couple of miles into it, though, I really started to suffer. The heat felt oppressive, my energy was dwindling, and frankly I was just mentally done, so I slowed down to a walk halfway through the lap. I started bargaining with myself: “just try to make it back to Diagonal Street,” “just try to make it to the next aid station,” “just try to make it to that tree,” “just… keep moving.” I alternated between running and walking the rest of the way, but found the wherewithal to run the last stretch so I could at least get a good finish line photo.

I look happier in this photo than I actually was. Credit: FinisherPix

I finished the 21.1 km run in 2:25:59, for a final time of 6:31:54. I was nowhere near my goal; this result wasn’t just worse than last year’s, it’s my worst result to date in a 70.3. I was glad to finish the race, but felt disappointed, more than I was by the DNF in Coeur d’Alene. There, I had given it everything I had and I was certain there was nothing more I could have done; here, I know I could have done better.

Random notes & observations

Last year I raved about the Airbnb I found close to the Ironman Village, but I’m back to using hotels this year, after a bad experience with Airbnb (the travel insurance I bought from them refused to cover me when wildfires and a no-travel order from the British Columbia government forced the cancellation of Ironman Canada last summer). It sucks not to have a full kitchen, but I can make do with a microwave and a mini fridge, and at least hotels have reasonable cancellation policies. I stayed at the Best Western Coral Hills, just two blocks away from the finish line, and strongly recommend it. They even had all-night breakfast for the athletes the morning of the race.
I don’t usually eat out a lot during races because I’m in pre-race nutrition mode, but that new coffee shop close to the Ironman Village, FS Coffee Company, is really good. A breakfast sandwich, delicious pastry, and good coffee the morning after the race fixed me right up. Highly recommended.
With the news that Mortal Hydration would replace Gatorade Endurance at Ironman races in North America this summer, I bought a sampler at the expo to try out before the race. The bike aid stations were handing out the mango flavor premixed in bottles of water, and the run aid stations had cups with the berry flavor. However, nobody could tell me if either of them was the regular or salty version, which I would need to know if I wanted to rely on this for my electrolyte needs. Not that I would, because the flavor… yuck. The mango one isn’t bad, but the berry one made me gag the first time I tried it. It tasted like unset Jell-O, and was sickeningly sweet.
Fingers crossed, this might be the last time I use my Aethos in a triathlon, but man, I love this bike. Climbs are pure joy on it. A big thank you as usual to the folks at Open Range Cycles for the last-minute tune up; the bike felt great.
After riding for an hour and a half with my feet soaking wet inside waterlogged bike shoes from that downpour at Ironman Coeur d’Alene last year, I bought a very expensive pair of triathlon shoes, the Fizik Transiro Infinito R1 Knit and… I didn’t love them on this race. They caused some mildly painful hotspots on the bottom of my feet that lasted well into the run. Maybe I need to find some inserts for them, but I think I might go back to my Giro Regimes for my next race.
I’m not quite sure what to do about the digestion issues I keep having before races. After Coeur d’Alene, I suspected sodium depletion, or air ingestion during the swim. I didn’t have any issues with the latter during the swim, and felt fine coming out of the water; for the former, I preloaded sodium before the race, and I don’t think I would have been depleted so quickly. It’s possible it’s the Maurten, but my symptoms in Coeur d’Alene started before I had any, and I’ve used Maurten without issues during training and in previous races. I think my next step is to try to find a sports dietitian to help me solve this mystery.
If there’s a silver lining to the run, it’s that my knee felt great and didn’t bother me at all. It seems that I’ve at least managed to get past this one issue, which I’m grateful for.

What’s next?

While this result feels like a setback, my main goal this year is to complete a full Ironman later this summer in Penticton, so this doesn’t really matter all that much. Next month I have Ironman 70.3 Boulder and Ironman 70.3 Coeur d’Alene, both of which will be good practice to get dialed in ahead of Ironman Canada in August. In the words of Rocky Balboa, “it ain’t about how hard you hit, it’s about how hard you can get hit, and keep moving forward, how much you can take, and keep moving forward; that’s how winning is done!” That’s the attitude I try to take with these outcomes.

As for Ironman 70.3 St. George, I still love this race, no matter how hard it is, maybe because of how freaking hard it is. In fact, I already registered for next year’s race, so… Snow Canyon, here I come again.

Race Report: 2023 Hole Half Marathon

2023-09-24T10:00:00-06:00

This year’s race season didn’t go the way I hoped at all. After a strong start at Ironman 70.3 St. George in June, I failed to finish Ironman Coeur d’Alene and had to drop out of the Echo Triathlon in July to deal with my knee pain. My make-up race, Ironman Canada, was canceled at the last minute due to the wildfires in British Columbia. After all that, I was looking forward to this year’s Hole Half Marathon, so I could at least get one more race in the books this year and finish the season on a high note. It went pretty well, so without further ado, here’s my last race report of the year.

Just before the finish line at Teton Village.

This summer in Jackson Hole has been the wettest in 25 years, with frequent storms and rainy spells, and this week was no exception. While race day wasn’t as cold as last year, I woke up to blustery, overcast weather with chilly 6°C temperatures and a light drizzle that made me want to stay in bed. Still, I somehow managed to drag myself out of bed and to the start line at the Presbyterian Church of Jackson Hole. By the time the race started, at 9:00 AM, the weather had begun to clear up, and it ended up being a lovely sunny day, albeit maybe a touch too warm for the long-sleeve shirt and long running tights I wore. The race was cupless, but I didn’t feel like carrying a bottle, so other than a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast and a Maurten Caf 100 gel with a few gulps of water right before the start, I didn’t have any nutrition or hydration for the duration of the race. I targeted a pace of 5:00/km or faster, but my priority was to finish without injuring myself, so I planned to back off at the first sign of trouble.

This year’s route was slightly different than in previous editions, replacing the loop on the side of WY-22 in Wilson with an out-and-back on Boyles Hill Road. I assume this change was made due to the ongoing construction work to replace the Snake River Bridge, but I hope they keep it for future races—it’s far, far better to run on this quiet, bucolic country road than on the shoulder of a busy highway with cars zooming by just inches away.

View this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

After this out-and-back on the road, the route followed the Jackson Hole multi-use community pathway for the remainder of the race, with a slight elevation gain of 94 m and the finish line at the Teton Village. Almost immediately after joining the pathway, I had an altercation with a cyclist in a narrow section of the route; despite the pathway being packed with runners, this guy refused to yield to anybody and instead rudely cursed everyone out while riding through the crowd and almost crashed head-on into me. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only inconsiderate cyclist I saw during the race: shortly after the halfway point, another cyclist almost crashed into a pack of runners ahead of me while trying to pass them at high speed without announcing himself. A few miles later, I had a near miss with someone going at full-speed on an e-bike, despite me running all the way to the edge of the pathway. Incredibly, every driver with whom we had to share the road today was more patient and considerate than most cyclists I saw on the pathway—sometimes, it’s no wonder people hate us.

Thankfully, the rest of the race was uneventful, although I had to dig deep in the last few miles to hold my pace. I’ve cut back on my training since Ironman Canada was canceled and, in particular, reduced my running mileage to give my knee a break. I can tell I’ve lost some running fitness since then, but on the upside, my knee felt pretty good; it’s still not 100%, and I had some minor niggles here and there, but it feels much better than it did in St. George back in May. Despite that loss of fitness, I was able to finish the race in 1:46:10, with a pace of 5:02/km, not quite as fast as in the Grand Teton Half Marathon earlier this year and just shy of my target pace, but still over a minute faster than last year’s race, and my second-fastest half marathon ever. I even finished third in my age group. Not bad!

Despite my race season fizzling out this summer after only completing a single triathlon, I’m glad I did this race and managed to end the season on a higher note than I would have otherwise. Now it’s time to relax and enjoy the rest of the fall before kicking it back into high gear in January to prepare for next year’s races. With any luck, things will go better than this year.

Race Report: 2023 Ironman Coeur d’Alene

2023-06-28T14:00:00-06:00

Well, this is it. After training for it since November, I finally raced Ironman Coeur d’Alene, my A race of the year and my first attempt at a full Ironman. I didn’t have any specific time goals for this race, just finishing, so the goals I had set for myself were simply:

Don’t drown
Don’t crash
Don’t bonk

Unfortunately, things did not go according to plan, and despite my best efforts, I was not able to finish the race. Read on for what may be my last triathlon race report of this year.

Pre-race prep

I arrived in Coeur d’Alene on Thursday afternoon, after a long drive from Jackson Hole, and had to dash to the Ironman Village at the Coeur d’Alene City Park to check in for the race five minutes before they closed. After dropping off my luggage and race gear at my Airbnb, I met my friends Kristin and DJ, and their friend Chris, who were all also racing that weekend, for dinner.

On Friday, we did a practice swim at Sanders Beach on the lake, followed by a quick recon bike ride on the parts of the course on Coeur d’Alene Lake Drive, and then attended the race briefing in the afternoon. Afterwards, I returned to my Airbnb and spent the rest of the afternoon checking and double-checking my gear, and packing my gear bags, like so:

Morning clothes bag

(Actually a repurposed shopping bag from the race expo—they didn’t give morning clothes bags at this race, but they mentioned at the race briefing that the bikes would be racked six to a rack instead of the usual eight, so there would be plenty of room to place a personal bag next to the bike.)

Swim cap
Swim goggles
Bike computer
Bike bottles
Pelican case for my phone and car keys
TriSlide
Maurten Caf 100 gel

Bike gear bag

Helmet
Sunglasses
Bike shoes
Socks
Towel
SPF 100 sunscreen
A bottle of water to rinse sand from my feet

Run gear bag

Race belt with bib
Running shoes
Socks
Towel
SPF 100 sunscreen

Bike personal needs bag

Two bottles of Maurten, in case I dropped any from my bike
Pill container with Excedrin and Imodium
Travel-sized tube of sunscreen
Bandaids

Run personal needs bag

Pill container with Excedrin and Imodium
Travel-sized stick of Body Glide
Travel-sized tube of sunscreen
Bandaids

That evening, the pain I had on my right knee leading up to St. George, which I thought had been resolved for a while, started flaring up again, so I limited my activity on Saturday to a brief swim in the morning, and mobility work in the afternoon, before the bike and gear check-in at transition. Ironman Coeur d’Alene does a single transition, right at Coeur d’Alene City Park, with extensive tree cover over the bike racks preventing things from sitting in the sun all day, which I really liked.

Checking in the gear was straightforward: I simply racked my bike, left the run gear bag under it, then handed over the bike gear bag to the volunteers, who arranged them in rows sorted by bib number on the ground next to the changing tents. I walked from the swim exit to my bike several times, noting any relevant landmarks, to memorize where my bike gear bag and bike would be. Before leaving transition, I picked up my timing chip from the tent by the exit, and that was it. Saturday evening saw a brief rainstorm roll through Coeur d’Alene, which made me wish I had thought to double-check my bags to make sure they were cinched tight, but thankfully nothing got wet.

On race morning, I woke up at 2:40 AM, took a COVID test, had my traditional pre-race breakfast of plain bagels with orange jam and coffee, packed a cooler with some post-race drinks and snacks, and headed out the door at around 4:30 AM. There wasn’t much information about parking at the race briefing, except that that city lots and street parking would be available, so I wanted to make sure I could get a spot reasonably close to transition.

After setting up my nutrition and bike computer on my bike, I handed over my personal needs bags to the volunteers, walked transition a few more times to memorize where I’d need to go, and briefly scoped out the swim start, turnaround, and exit. I put on my wetsuit, and after chatting to Kristin, DJ, and Chris for a little bit, I had a Maurten gel and headed over to the swim staging area at 6:15 AM.

The swim

After my terrible swim at St. George last month, I wrote:

I’m not sure exactly why it went so wrong, but I hated every second of this swim. I’ll need to put some serious work into fixing this before Coeur d’Alene next month; there’s no way I could have done another lap of this.

I’ve done some self-reflection since then, and realized a big part of the problem was in that first sentence—I hated that swim, and never broke out of that mindset. I went there expecting to have a bad time, and it was a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Over time, I’ve noticed that during the swim leg of a race, I go through three distinct phases:

Let’s get this over with 😒
This is miserable 😩
I can do this all day 💪

At St. George, I got stuck in that second phase, so I’ve been trying to figure out how to jump straight to the last phase from the get-go. Before this race, I psyched myself up by telling myself to enjoy the swim, and that I would love every minute of it. I repeated that like a mantra, and whenever any anxious or negative thoughts reared their head, I tried to push them away by remembering how good it feels to get into that flow state when I’m relaxed, everything clicks into place, and I can seemingly swim forever.

I think it worked.

The race started for the pros at 6:00 AM, and for age groupers at 6:30 AM, presumably so the pros would be well into their second lap by the time we started. I had never swum the full Ironman distance of 2.4 miles, but based on the pace of the practice swims we did before the race, I guesstimated I would finish in between 1:25 and 1:35, so I split the difference and seeded myself in the 1:30 group, entering the 19°C water at 6:57 AM. People were given a chance to get a short dip in the water right before entering the chute, but I didn’t take advantage of it, and didn’t really need it; it only took me a few strokes to get over the cold and get to work.

The first lap was pretty chill; the people I started with were all evenly paced, so there wasn’t much of a washing machine until the halfway point, when I started getting lapped by faster swimmers. Partway through the lap, I started feeling some soreness in my shoulders and my brain briefly went back to bad “this is miserable” thoughts, so I had to remind myself that it always goes away eventually, and focused on getting to that flow state. It worked, and I started enjoying it. I was so relaxed, my fear of swimming in dark, deep water didn’t even kick in. This time I used my Roka Maverick Pro II sleeveless wetsuit, which also contributed to my comfort in the water; I don’t think I’ll go back to a sleeved wetsuit.

The only mild difficulty I had with the course was sighting the turn buoys—I’m color blind, and had a hard time seeing the red buoys against the green mountains in the background through foggy, tinted goggles, so I had to stop a couple times to get my bearings. Thankfully, the swim course was aligned north-to-south, so sighting was otherwise easy—I didn’t have to sight into the sun.

After a very short run on the beach to hit the timing mat, I started the second lap. Compared to the first one, it was chaotic, since it now had people going at various paces, and the washing machine effect was almost constant—at one point after the second turn someone hit me right in the kidney, which left me smarting in the water for a few seconds. On the upside, I had less trouble around the turn buoys, I simply followed the people around me.

I wore my race number on my arm to see if I could get FinisherPix to give me good photos of the swim for once (it didn’t work). Credit: FinisherPix

I finished the swim in 1:27:27, faster than I expected. In fact, both laps were faster than my fastest Ironman 70.3 swim time, which I’m pleasantly surprised by. I learned two things on this race: I can swim 2.4 miles, and having the right mindset matters a lot.

T1

After walking into T1, I spent a few minutes at the changing tent drying off and applying sunscreen, swapped my swim gear for my bike gear, grabbed my bike, and left. I particularly appreciated the help from the volunteer who basically ripped my wetsuit off of me like he was starting a lawnmower, so I didn’t have to struggle with it. I didn’t rush, and it was a fairly long distance between the swim exit and the mount line, so I spent 16:17 in T1.

The bike

I tried to be conservative with my bike pacing and nutrition since this was my first full Ironman, and as usual I used a combination of Best Bike Split, Garmin Power Guide, and pacing charts to plan things out. I aimed for 66% intensity for my bike leg, which according to Best Bike Split would give me an estimated finish time of 6:15, putting me right on the edge of the “safe zone for unsure runners and newbies” on the chart, an accurate description of my abilities.

TSS table for Ironman pacing Credit: Rick Ashburn

For nutrition, I carried five 24-ounce bottles on my bike (one between the aerobars, two in the frame, and two behind my saddle) with seven packets of Maurten Drink Mix 320, for a total of 560 grams of carbs, which spread over 6:15 came down to about 90 grams of carbs per hour. It’s a little more than I’m used to—my longest bike ride in training was five hours long and I fueled it with 80 grams per hour, but I’ve had nothing but good experiences with Maurten so far, so I hoped I’d be able to handle the extra carbs. I’m usually bad at timing my nutrition, and I knew I needed to fuel correctly on the bike so I could get through the run, so I set up a drink alarm on my Garmin every 7.5 minutes, figuring my gut would have an easier time clearing smaller, more frequent sips than dealing with bigger, less frequent gulps.

My bike was my usual Specialized Aethos road bike, fitted this time with aerobars, and an XLAB Super Wing behind my saddle with two Gorilla XT cages. I was worried about ejecting my bottles, but those cages did not let them budge a single millimeter, so I didn’t need the extras I had placed in my personal needs bag. The downside is that it’s a struggle to get bottles in and out of them, so I simply discarded empty bottles at aid stations as I went, moving the full ones to the front as needed.

The bike course consisted of two 90 km laps, each of them starting with an about 30 km out-and-back through Coeur d’Alene Lake Drive, with the bike personal needs station right at the turnaround point, followed by a long, roughly 60 km out-and-back section on US-95, with a short section through downtown Coeur d’Alene in between. It’s a very hilly course, with 1,671 m of total ascent, and some good climbs on US-95, which I really enjoyed. In general, it’s a good bike course, with decent pavement, great energy from Coeur d’Alene residents and spectators downtown, gorgeous scenery once you get out of the town, and plenty of road closures, so you’re never sharing the road dangerously with car traffic. It felt like a very safe course, but after that accident at Ironman Hamburg a few weeks ago, I tried to keep an eye out for the pros and the media motorcycles following them, particularly on the narrower parts of the course towards the end of US-95. Parts of the last descent into Coeur d’Alene on US-95 were designated no-passing zones because they’re fairly steep and on the shoulder, but they’re short, and didn’t seem to cause any dangerous bottlenecks.

See this route on Garmin Connect or Strava.

After leaving T1, I rode easy through the streets of Coeur d’Alene before getting on the aerobars for the first out-and-back through Coeur d’Alene Lake Drive. Almost as soon as I got in aero, though, I felt some discomfort in my abdomen, but I chalked it up to maybe ingesting some air during the swim, and hoped it would resolve on its own. In any case, there was nothing I could do about it, so I powered through.

The first lap was long, and uneventful. I did a pretty good job following the Power Guide plan on my bike computer, and staying in aero most of the time, except on the bigger climbs, where I mostly rode on the hoods, and on the descents, for which I switched to a normal aero tuck. I’m no bike fitter, but I’m pretty happy with how I’ve been able to set up my fit—this was the longest bike ride I’ve ever done, but also the most comfortable I’ve been on one, and had no problem staying in aero for extended periods of time.

I think this is the lowest aero position I can get on this bike, but at least it’s comfortable. Credit: FinisherPix

The temperature was pleasant at the beginning of the bike leg, at 22°C, but towards the end of the first lap it had warmed up to about 29°C and the sun was relentless, so on the second lap I stopped at the personal needs station to reapply sunscreen, use the toilet, and see if a short break helped with my abdominal pain (it didn’t). I’ve never used personal needs before, so I wasn’t sure how it worked: at this race it’s right at a turnaround, so as you approach, you signal to a volunteer that you’re going to stop, they yell out your bib number, and by the time you’ve turned around, someone will be standing there with your bag. Then, you stop and do whatever you need to do, and they have tents, chairs, and water if you need to take a longer break. The volunteers there were awesome, and behaved almost like a pit crew, handing me water, and helping me deal with my helmet and sunglasses while I put on sunscreen.

As I was riding through downtown Coeur d’Alene, I noted with gratitude that the afternoon clouds were giving me a welcome respite from the blazing sun. By the time I got back out on US-95, though, the clouds had turned into a brewing storm; around the 140 km mark, the skies opened up, all hell broke loose, and I rode through the worst downpour I’ve ever ridden through, complete with hail, right as I was beginning a descent. It was so intense, I couldn’t help but laugh maniacally as I blasted downhill at full speed while being hammered by heavy rain and hail. On the next climb, I could see sheets of water running down the road; I struggled to pedal through what felt like an inch of water. As I was passing a group of riders, one of them said “man, this storm is fucking crazy!” I jokingly asked if this was better or worse than the heat two years ago, and someone behind me immediately yelled “worse!” (This storm was pretty bad, but for the record, I doubt it was worse than that.)

This weather radar animation shows how quickly the storm developed and dissipated.

The storm only lasted a few minutes, but it left me soaked to the bone, and freezing. My trisuit dried quickly, but I wore my normal Giro Regime bike shoes, which don’t have the drainage that triathlon-specific shoes have, and they were completely full of water long after it had stopped raining. To make matters worse, for some reason riding through that storm made my knee pain flare up again, although it didn’t last very long.

You can tell in this temperature chart exactly when the hailstorm happened.

The rest of the bike leg went well, though, despite my lingering abdominal pain. Shortly before the turnaround at the end of US-95, I heard my name and saw Kristin waving at me on her way back, which gave me a much-needed morale boost. I finished strong, with a final time of 6:12:24, despite my long stop at personal needs. My final intensity was 62%, so I definitely left a little on the table, but considering that I didn’t feel great the entire ride, and had to ride through a fucking hailstorm, I’m pretty happy with my time. On a better day, I think I could have managed a sub-6 result, so I’ll make that my goal for next time.

T2

While I don’t think my bike nutrition was the cause of my GI issues, it certainly didn’t help. I spent a long time here, hoping that giving my gut a chance to clear all the fluid I ingested on the bike would help a little bit. By this point I had been riding for the past hour and a half with my feet soaking wet; my toes were blue and looked like prunes, so I also wanted to make sure they were completely dry before I started on the run. Fortunately, the storm didn’t hit Coeur d’Alene proper, so all my running gear in transition was still dry, and I was able to change into a fresh pair of socks. In total, I spent 19:42 in T2.

If I could have done one thing differently on this whole race, it’s that I wish I had changed out of my one-piece trisuit into regular running clothes in T2, for reasons that will be clear in a minute.

The run

This was a fucking disaster.

I left T2, started at an easy endurance pace, and although my legs felt good, my knee pain started rearing its head once again. However, that was the least of my problems—once I started running, I could literally hear all the fluid in my gut sloshing around, despite having just used the porta-potty in T2.

I tried to power through, and was prepared to use every single porta-potty on the course if that’s what it took to finish. At the first aid station, however, I ate a gel and felt intensely nauseous. At the next one, I ate some pretzels, hoping that maybe eating some solid food instead would help settle things down. It did, but only briefly.

Partway through the first lap, I caught up with Kristin, who was fighting a battle of her own, and walked with her for a while. I stopped at a pit toilet just before the turnaround, which gave me a brief respite from my abdominal pain, but at the next aid station I tried to eat some pretzels again and couldn’t even swallow them, I had to spit them back out; I tried drinking some water, and it took everything I had to keep myself from throwing up. The same thing happened at the next one, and that’s when I realized my race was pretty much over—diarrhea I could have dealt with, but if I couldn’t get any calories or water in, then bonking and dehydration were inevitable. However, if I was going to quit, I needed to be absolutely sure I had no other choice, or I would regret it afterwards, so I pressed on.

I caught up with Kristin again, and I told her I would try to finish the lap and see where my feet took me. They took me into the second lap, but it was a short-lived victory, and I slowed to a walk soon after; I didn’t have enough energy left to run, my knee hurt badly, and my nausea and stomach cramps were constant now. I decided to try to make it to the next aid station, wait for Kristin, and then see if I could keep walking with her. I barely made it there, and felt weak and lightheaded as I shuffled through the aid station. I asked a volunteer if I could use his chair for a moment, and I soon as I sat down, I felt like my body just… shut down. My vision turned into TV static, like when you stand up too fast, and my hands were buzzing; it was really weird and scary. A volunteer brought me a cup of Gatorade and I could barely swallow a sip, my throat felt raw and painful. I was worried these were symptoms of something worse, like rhabdo, so when a race official came by and asked me if I needed any help, I told him I was done racing. He took my timing chip, radioed me in as DNF, and drove me to the medical tent. After resting there for a while, I started to feel better, and was able to have some water and chicken broth, so after monitoring my vitals for a while longer, they let me go. I had made it 15.85 km into the run.

Normally I would try to share some details about the course, so I’ll be brief: the course was three laps through residential streets in downtown Coeur d’Alene, followed by an out-and-back on Coeur d’Alene Lake Drive. My memory of the course is hazy for obvious reasons, but I remember the neighbors along the residential streets brought great energy to the race, and that section of the course had a block party vibe the entire way. Many houses had turned on hoses and sprinklers along the way, which were welcome, even though it wasn’t unbearably hot and the course had a decent amount of shade. The segment on Coeur d’Alene Lake Drive was slightly uphill and also had a good amount of shade, but the thing I remember the most about it is that it’s essentially lined with pit toilets. Wonderful, beautiful pit toilets.

I made it about a lap and change through the run leg.

Something worth mentioning is that when you DNF, the Ironman app doesn’t notify anyone tracking you, it simply stops tracking, and reports something like “location not available.” If you DNF, I suggest letting your loved ones know directly as soon as possible, because the app won’t do it, and it’s understandably worrisome to see the tracking just… stop. (A huge thank you to the volunteer at the medical tent who let me use her phone so I could call Kate to let her know what happened and that I was okay—all the volunteers at this race were consistently amazing.)

Needless to say, I’m disappointed that I couldn’t finish this race after all the effort I put training for it, and worse, that I don’t understand what went wrong, or what I could have done to prevent it or fix it, so I don’t know what lessons to gather from this. Was it something I ate before the race? Did I catch a stomach bug somehow? Did I accidentally swallow some contaminated water while swimming? Was it the extra carbs on the bike? Did I drink too much water, or not enough? Did I need more sodium, or less? Was it just an unlucky bad day? All of the above? I don’t have the answers yet to any of this, so I need to do some post-race analysis and introspection before I try again—and I will try again.

On the other hand, I’m trying to not be too hard on myself, and I don’t want to dwell on this. This was a hard race, I gave it my best shot, I feel like I quit when I absolutely had no other choice, and some things did go well: I did better than I expected on both the swim and the bike, so I feel pretty good about that.

For know, though, I’m just going to regroup and start planning my next race, whatever that may be.

Race Report: 2023 Grand Teton Half Marathon

2023-06-04T10:00:00-06:00

Recently, I’ve been debating if it’s worth it to keep writing race reports for running races because I’ve done a few now, running is not my specialty, and I simply treat them as part of my triathlon training. But this one is a little special because I podiumed for the first time in my life, so here it goes.

Just before the finish line. Credit: Grand Teton Half Marathon

After my painful run at St. George, I visited Dr. Bullington at Teton Orthopaedics to get my knee looked at, which thankfully revealed it wasn’t a serious issue, but a simple patellar tracking issue—a muscle imbalance between my quads and hamstring or possibly a tight IT band pulling my kneecap out of alignment. He said I wouldn’t cause any damage if I kept training but referred me to Peak Physical Therapy in Wilson to get started on some PT and get it resolved.

While I’ve been doing that, I’ve been taking it very easy on my runs, so my plan was to still do this race, but treat it as my long, easy run for the week. For the most part, I’ve been capping my runs at one hour out of an abundance of caution, but I did a 1:30 brick run the week of the race and the knee felt great, so I was optimistic I’d be able to run a half marathon without issues.

The Grand Teton Half Marathon is the largest, and in my opinion, the most well-organized of the three local half marathons in Jackson Hole, with over 1,800 participants. The course starts at the Stilson Lot next to Rendezvous Park, heads towards Wilson for a couple of kilometers before heading back over the Snake River on the community pathway, and then turning on Spring Gulch Road about halfway through, where it’s mostly uphill until the finish line at the Jackson Hole Golf Club, with great views of the Tetons along the way (if they hadn’t been completely socked in, which they were on race day). The entire course is on paved paths and roads—although the photos on the website show a segment on gravel, that section of Spring Gulch Road is now paved.

The weather had been pretty wet in the couple of weeks leading up to the race, with storms almost every day, so unsurprisingly, it was chilly, drizzly, and overcast the morning of the race. Kate dropped me off at the Stilson Lot at about 5:30 AM, and I did a lot of stretching and warming up while I waited for the race to start at 6:30 AM. I got placed in the “blue wave” based on my expected sub-2 finishing time, and they had various pacers within that wave.

In the tumult at the starting line, I got mixed up and accidentally seeded myself with the 1:40 pacer group, but rather than wait for the next group, I just went with it, even though it was slightly faster than my past half marathon paces. To my surprise, the 4:45/km pace felt great so… I sent it. I managed to hold that pace for most of the race with no pain or discomfort in my knee, only slowing down a little bit towards the second half of the race, since it was slightly uphill.

While my knee felt great the entire race, I did run into a few small issues. A few months ago I got a free sample of Compressport running socks, and liked them enough that I recently ordered a few pairs of the no-show version. They’ve been fine with my cycling shoes and the Hoka Clifton 8 running shoes I use on my treadmill, but I hadn’t tried them with the Hoka Carbon X 3 shoes I wear to run outside. Boy, was that a mistake. The shoes chafed right in my ankles badly enough that both shoes are now covered in blood. At least I didn’t find out in the middle of an Ironman.

Separately, I missed the fact that it was a cupless race, so I didn’t bring a bottle or a reusable cup, and as a result I didn’t have any hydration for the entire race. I had a Maurten 100 Caf gel right before the start and that was about it for nutrition. Thankfully, I didn’t need any more than that, although the aid stations were pretty well stocked with Honey Stinger gels and waffles, bananas, and oranges.

Despite those two minor mistakes, I was able to finish the race just fine. Per my GPS, the distance was slightly short of the 21.1 km of a half marathon, at 20.89 km, and I finished in 1:42:16, for a pace of 4:54/km. My official time and pace were 1:42:11.7 and 4:44/km. More importantly, I finished first in my age group (male 40-44), out of 51, and 45th overall, out of 1,858, so I managed to get on a podium for the first time in my life. Not bad!

Needless to say, I am beyond happy with this result, considering a year ago I had never done a half marathon, and a couple years ago I could barely run more than a minute without stopping. Can I do this again next weekend at the Jackson Hole Half Marathon? We’ll see.

Race Report: 2023 Ironman 70.3 St. George

2023-05-08T11:00:00-06:00

After a long and brutal Jackson Hole winter, it’s finally race season again, and I just finished my first race of the year, Ironman 70.3 St. George. I chose this as a B event for a few reasons: it’s within driving distance of where I live, it looked like a tough challenge, and I thought it’d serve as good race prep before my first full Ironman next month in Coeur d’Alene.

I originally planned to come to this race prepared to put in a decent effort and improve on my 6:14 finish in Boulder, but after facing some challenges with my swim training over the winter, and a potential knee injury in the past couple of weeks, I ended up downgrading my race goal from “sub-6 finish” to “just finish.”

Despite that, the race went both better and worse than I expected—read on for my first race report of the year.

Pre-race prep

I drove straight down to St. George from Jackson Hole on Thursday before the race, arriving shortly before the Ironman Village closed for the day, so I was able to check-in immediately, which gave me plenty of time to organize my gear that evening. I was fortunate to find a great Airbnb just two blocks away from the Ironman Village and the finish line—say what you will about Airbnb these days, but it’s still the best choice for races like this. You not only get the benefit of having a full kitchen for pre-race meals, it simply beats the hell out of commuting to the race and dealing with parking on race day.

The next day, after spending a few hours exploring Snow Canyon State Park, I grabbed my bike and gear bags and headed over to Sand Hollow State Park to check them in, since this race does a split transition. Actually, hold that thought…

How does a split transition work?

Part of the reason I write these reports is to share information that might be useful to anyone considering doing these races, in particular things I wish I had known before race day. Split transitions are one of those things; while the athlete’s guide explains pretty well how to check in your gear, it doesn’t really go into much detail on what to do with your bags in transition, and the race volunteers I talked to didn’t really know either. Online searches returned generic explanations about split transitions. They may vary by race, and I think it’s different for a full Ironman, but in any case, here’s how the split transition works at Ironman 70.3 St. George, specifically:

When you check in for the race at the Ironman Village in downtown St. George, you’ll get your race packet as usual, which includes your race bib, wristband, swim cap, stickers, etc. You’ll also get three plastic bags: a clear one, labeled “morning clothes,” a blue one, labeled “bike gear bag,” and a red one, labeled “run gear bag.” These bags have a space to put a sticker with your bib number; don’t forget to do that, and you might want to also write your name and bib number on them with a sharpie just in case the sticker falls off. You will not get a timing chip at this time, you’ll get it when you check in your bike in T1.
In the morning clothes bag, you’ll place the clothes you’ll wear before the start of the race; anything you can’t bring with you to the swim, such as your phone and keys; anything you need to finish setting up T1; and anything you might want at the end of the race, like a change of clothes or a snack.
In the bike gear bag, you put… your bike gear: helmet, bike shoes, socks, sunglasses. I also put a sports towel and a small tube of sunscreen in mine. Don’t put anything you don’t want to leave overnight in T1, such as your bike computer and bike bottles; you can bring those things in your morning clothes bag on race day.
Same with the run gear bag, you just need to put your running shoes, socks, hat, and running belt with bib attached, plus anything you might need in T2, like sunscreen.
The day before the race, you’ll bring your bike and your bike gear bag to T1 in Sand Hollow State Park, about a 25 minute drive from downtown St. George. You’ll rack your bike as usual, and tie your bike gear bag to your bike. Make sure your bag is cinched tight, in case it rains overnight. Before leaving the transition area, pick up your timing chip at the tent near the exit.
Then, you’ll drive back to T2, at the Ironman Village in downtown St. George, and check in your run gear. You’ll simply walk to the transition area, and tie your bag to your spot on the rack. That’s it. The racks in T1 and T2 are labeled and numbered the same, to help you remember where to go. I was in the middle of row H in both areas, for example.
On race day, you’ll take a shuttle from the Ironman Village to T1 to start the race (you can’t drive there, there’s no parking on race day). When you get there, you can untie your bike bag from your bike, and set up your transition as usual: attach your bike computer, set up your bottles, hang your helmet from your handlebars, clip your shoes to the pedals if you’re doing a flying mount, or just place them on the ground next to your bike (it’ll take less space since you won’t have running gear to worry about). Make sure to put your gear on top of the bag so it doesn’t fly away while you’re swimming, you’ll need it later. Don’t bring anything that won’t fit in the bag, such as a bike pump—there’ll be plenty of them you can use.
Before heading to the swim, place your clothes, shoes, phone, keys, etc. in your morning clothes bag. As you walk out of T1, you’ll hand the bag to one of the volunteers stationed for that purpose near the swim staging area.
After the swim, when you’re back in T1, take off your wetsuit, swim cap, and goggles, and stuff them all in your now-empty bike gear bag. You can just leave it on the ground under your spot on the rack; the volunteers will pick them all up and bring them back to St. George. You won’t have to come back to Sand Hollow after the race.
When you get to T2, rack your bike, get your running gear from the bag, and place your bike gear into your now-empty run bag. Hang it from your bike or the rack itself, and head out to the run.
Shortly after going through the finish line, a volunteer will hand you your morning clothes and bike gear bags, and then you can go to T2 and check out your bike and your run bag. That’s it!

Pre-race prep, continued

On race morning, I woke up at 3:00 AM, had a bagel and coffee, took a COVID test, walked out the door at 4:30 AM, and was at the Ironman Village by like… 4:35 AM. Fortunately, they let me board one of the earlier shuttles even though I had a ticket for the 5:00 AM one, so I didn’t have to stand around waiting (not that it saved me any time, because the driver got lost twice on the way to Sand Hollow).

T1, shortly before 6:00 am.

After setting up my transition, I just hung out, chatting with the folks around me. I may also have geeked out a little bit when I saw Lionel Sanders and Sam Long setting up their gear. It was a pretty cold, breezy morning, at about 10°C, and I was shivering while I waited for the swim start, even though I put on my wetsuit and threw my hoodie on top to keep me warm while I stretched.

After the national anthem was sung, I took in a Maurten 100 Caf gel, handed my morning clothes bag to a volunteer, and headed to the staging area. The pros started at 6:50 AM on the dot; I seeded myself in the 44-46 minute group and started my race at 7:29 AM.

The swim

Between the lifeguard shortage at the Teton County Recreation Center that has kept the lap pool closed on weekends since last fall, the ongoing expansion project that closed it for all of February and two weeks over Easter, and just work and time constraints, I’ve had a hard time training consistently for the swim these past few months. So, while I was reasonably confident I could swim the 1.2 miles, I wasn’t expecting to have a good time.

It was so much worse than I thought, though.

The water temperature was 16°C, according to the Sand Hollow State Park website (which at least meant Sand Hollow’s infamous Swimmer’s Itch wasn’t active). While I usually swim in cold water during training, I haven’t done that since last fall because the lake I train in is still frozen over, and since then I’ve seemingly lost all my tolerance to the cold, so it hit me hard in this race. Normally it takes me a just a few strokes to get used to the cold water, but this time it took me forever to get over the cold shock response and be able to simply breathe properly, and even then, I never got truly comfortable—I felt tense and tight the entire time, and just couldn’t seem to focus on maintaining good swimming form. I suspect my full-sleeve wetsuit might have been part of the problem; I think it restricts my movement too much. Maybe I should have used my sleeveless one, but I thought it was too cold for it.

Even though I was in one of the last groups to get in the water, I was constantly passed by what felt like hundreds of people, and of course many of them swam right on top of me. It was like this the entire time:

To make matters worse, the outbound leg of the course was aligned perfectly with the rising sun, so I couldn’t see a damn thing, even with tinted goggles. I wasted so much time just trying to figure out where the next buoy was. You can see how wobbly my GPS track is; I was all over the place.

The track colors show pace; the dark spots are the places where I had to stop to get my bearings.

I had a somewhat easier time sighting on the way back, although I still had to deal with the constant washing machine effect. When I had about 500 m to go, someone caught up with me and I accidentally kicked them, and for some reason that triggered the worst leg cramp I’ve ever had in my life. A volunteer in a kayak heard me scream and started paddling towards me, but I was convinced I was so far behind, I was in danger of missing the cutoff, so I waved them off and did my best to swim through the pain. To my surprise, I finished in 47:25, only two minutes slower than in Boulder last summer; I could have sworn I had been in the water for at least an hour. In any case, I was exhausted, frustrated, and in pain as I hobbled into T1.

I’m not sure exactly why it went so wrong, but I hated every second of this swim. I’ll need to put some serious work into fixing this before Coeur d’Alene next month; there’s no way I could have done another lap of this.

T1

I spent 12:18 in T1, most of it trying to massage out the cramp in my calf. By this point I was fully in “just finish” mode, so I didn’t even try to hurry. I applied sunscreen, used the toilet, dealt with my gear bag, and headed out when I felt I could pedal without pain.

The bike

After that awful experience with the swim, I decided to take it easy on the bike and just have fun. I had prepared a pacing strategy and set it up in my bike computer, targeting an intensity of 84%, but once I got out on the bike course I mostly ignored it and just went by ✨ vibes ✨. It was great.

Riding through SR7 after leaving Sand Hollow. Credit: FinisherPix

The bike course was phenomenal, and the weather was absolutely perfect, with temperatures in the low sixties and partly cloudy skies the entire time. It was very hilly, though, with seven climbs long and steep enough to trigger my bike computer’s ClimbPro feature, and a total elevation gain of 1,011 m. I paced myself pretty well, putting a decent effort on the climbs without blowing myself up. After getting beat up like a piñata during the swim, feeling strong on the bike, along with the encouragement from some of the people I passed on the climbs, lifted my spirits. I paid it forward as often as I could.

One of the first climbs on the course, on SR7. Credit: FinisherPix

The course went through a couple of highways with spectacular views of the sand dunes and landscape around St. George. At every point the pavement was perfectly smooth, without a single pothole or even debris in sight. While the bikes shared the road with car traffic at times, there was generous space between us, with plenty of room to safely pass other riders—nothing like Boulder’s “no passing” zones, which felt incredibly dangerous. Some of the descents did feel a little sketchy, but I blame my poor descending skills—I’m definitely no Tom Pidcock.

View this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

Of course, the highlight of the bike leg is the segment through Snow Canyon State Park, an 8 km climb with about 300 m of elevation gain at an average grade of 4%, almost at the end, where, according to the race director, “you may be questioning your life choices.” I put in my hardest effort here and made it to the top in just shy of 24 minutes, but honestly it wasn’t so bad. The beauty of the landscape, the perfect weather, and the fact that I paced myself up to that point helped. I would have definitely suffered if it had been any hotter or I had gone harder earlier in the course. I think my bike helped too—I’m hoping I can do my next race on an proper tri bike, but the Aethos is such a great climbing bike, I really loved it on this course.

Climbing through Snow Canyon. Credit: FinisherPix

After reaching the top, the only thing left is a fast 15 km descent back into T2 in downtown St. George. My final time was 2:49:52, and I finished 39th in my age group, my best result of the day. The intensity factor for the ride was 73.5%, far below what I had originally planned, but I’m okay with it. I loved every minute of this bike course, and unlike the swim, I just didn’t want it to end.

Almost at the top! Credit: FinisherPix

This bike course alone is enough reason for me to sign up for next year’s race. It’s that awesome.

T2

I wasn’t in any rush to get out into the run course, for reasons that I’ll get to in a minute, so I spent 7:51 in T2.

The run

A couple weeks ago, while I was swimming in the pool, I must have misplaced my feet on the wall during a turn, because when I pushed off I felt a twinge of pain in my right knee, and it hasn’t felt quite right since then. I took a full week off from running, and ran a slow 10K on the treadmill with some discomfort the Monday before the race to test it out, but I was worried about it coming into the race. This was the main reason I decided to abandon my race goals and just try to finish it—I thought there was a decent chance I’d have to walk it in, if I could even finish.

The knee didn’t bother me at all during the bike leg, until I got off the bike and tried to jog in bike shoes in T2. I spent a few minutes in T2 stretching out my quads and hamstrings, and housed 800 mg of ibuprofen before heading out, hoping that’d get me to the finish line.

The run course consisted of two laps through the streets of St. George, all on pavement, except for a few sections of grass at Dixie Red Hills Golf Course, at the northern end. The segment through Diagonal Street had a relatively mild average grade of 1.9%, and the one through Main Street was slightly steeper, at 4.5%, but nothing that bothered my knee in either direction. The loop through the golf course, though, had some short but steep rolling hills that made my knee scream, especially on the second lap, so I slowed down and took it easy there.

View this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

By the time I got to the run it was pretty sunny, but still pleasant. A guy standing on Diagonal Street kept calling out the temperature: 18°C on the first lap, and 19°C on the second lap. I had a cup of water at every aid station, and a Maurten gel every three aid stations; probably a little too many, but I never felt like I was in danger of bonking. I felt great the entire run, and could have gone a lot faster if it wasn’t for my knee. I ended up with an average pace of 5:35/km, and was happy to have a sub-2 finish, at 1:57:48. I was even happier to have a total time of 5:55:12—I had abandoned my sub-6 goal, yet accomplished it anyway!

Victory! Credit: FinisherPix

Equipment list

Tri suit: Roka Gen II Elite
Wetsuit: Roka Maverick MX
Swim goggles: Roka R1
Sunglasses: Roka Matador Air
Bike: Specialized Aethos
Bike helmet: S-Works Evade 3
Bike shoes: Giro Regime
Bike computer: Garmin Edge 1040 Solar
Watch: Garmin Forerunner 955 Solar
Heart rate monitor: Garmin HRM-Pro Plus
Running shoes: Hoka Rocket X 2
Nutrition: Maurten gels, Maurten Drink Mix 320

Random thoughts & observations

I loved St. George, what a gorgeous town. I’m particularly impressed by the bike infrastructure; I saw bike lanes and bike paths almost everywhere I went. I could see myself riding that Snow Canyon loop every weekend if I lived there. (Of course, I say that having visited in May—I might feel differently in August.)
I should have put on another layer of sunscreen in T2, though, that sun was no joke. I have a pretty good sunburn, despite applying SPF 70 sunscreen in T1.
The bike performed like a champ, a big thank you to the folks at Fitzgerald’s for the pre-race tune-up and for hooking me up with tubeless tires.
I was disappointed by the FinisherPix photos for this race. For such a high-profile, scenic location, they had surprisingly few photographers out there, and the photos aren’t great. I think there were maybe three photographers in total on the bike course, and a single one for the run, at the golf course. I got far better photos at both Boulder and Arizona last year. (I know it’s vain, but health and fitness are fickle things, and I want visual records of the times I was a triathlete, in case it all goes away tomorrow.)
This was my first complete triathlon using Garmin gear. I definitely miss the automatic transitions on the Wahoo Rival, but everything worked flawlessly on my watch and bike computer. Even though I mostly ignored it, the Power Guide feature on the Edge 1040 was particularly great, it’s a so much better experience on the bike than Best Bike Split on the Wahoo Bolt (although Best Bike Split itself as a planning tool is still light years ahead of what’s on Garmin Connect).
I don’t have a lot of big climbs in Jackson Hole, but I enjoyed the climbs on this race enough, I’m going to make a point to climb up Teton Pass more often this summer. Who knows, maybe I’ll make an Everesting attempt at some point.
The course went from 820 m at its lowest point to 1,240 m at the top of Snow Canyon, compared to Jackson Hole’s 1,950 m of elevation, but once again, I didn’t feel like the lower elevation made any perceivable difference in my performance.
I really love racing, y'all. I don’t care if I never make it to the front of my age group, it’s still so rewarding to feel like I can accomplish very hard things.

Wrap-up

Like I said at the beginning, this race was simultaneously better and worse than I hoped. Better, because I really enjoyed most of the race, the location was incredible, and I couldn’t have asked for better weather. I also eschewed my race goal in favor of just having fun, and ended up accomplishing it anyway, so I feel like I had my cake and ate it, too. Worse, because the swim was a disaster, and between that, and my knee—which, as I write this a couple days after the race, definitely feels like it’s paying the price for finishing—I don’t see how I can do a full Ironman six weeks from now. I think I still have some time to address both issues, and thankfully I have the option to transfer or defer it through the Flex90 program, but at this point Ironman Coeur d’Alene is not looking good for me.

We’ll see how that goes, but one thing is for sure—I’ll be back next year.

Race Report: 2022 Ironman 70.3 Arizona

2022-10-19T08:30:00-06:00

After a year of waiting, and six months of training, including two triathlons and two half marathons, I finally raced my A race for this year, Ironman 70.3 Arizona. I came expecting a difficult triathlon in the scorching Arizona heat and ended up experiencing a much different race, but I’m very satisfied with the results nonetheless; I raced about as good a race as I could have hoped for given the circumstances. Read on for my final race report of the year.

Pre-race prep

I drove down to Tempe a few days before the race, with an overnight stay in Kanab, Utah. This was one of the most memorable drives I’ve ever done in my life, especially after getting off of I-15 in southern Utah. That drive going from the beautifully complex geology of the Colorado Plateau, through the stark desert of northern Arizona, climbing to Flagstaff among the ponderosa pines of Coconino National Forest, and back down to the desert through saguaro-covered hills as far as the eye can see was absolutely breathtaking, and made me wish I had set aside more time for landscape photography. Next time, for sure.

I checked in for the race early on Friday, soon after the Athlete’s Village in Tempe Beach Park opened, and while I was in line I got an “important race advisory” from Ironman in my email:

The swim for the IRONMAN 70.3 Arizona takes place in Tempe Town Lake. Tempe Town Lake is an artificial lake that collects rainwater from the surrounding area and is managed by the City of Tempe. IRONMAN receives a special exemption in order to swim in the lake for the event from the City of Tempe. When there is more than 0.2″ of rain, the City of Tempe will close the lake to swimming until it has time to test the water in order to ensure it is safe. This process of testing water samples takes a minimum of 24 hours. Based on this, if Tempe Town Lake receives more than 0.2″ of rain on Saturday night, the City of Tempe can not permit the swim to take place on Sunday to ensure athlete health and safety.

If the swim portion of the event cannot take place, athletes will be notified via email, IRONMAN Tracker App notification as well as a message posted on the IRONMAN 70.3 Arizona event Facebook page. This announcement will go out on race morning when the final decision is made.

If there is no swim, the race will start with a bike time trial at the bike mount line. The race will start at 6:50am. 1 athlete will start every 5 seconds. This intentional slow rate is designed to spread athletes out on the bike course. Athletes will be started based on bib number going from low to high. This process will take approximately 2 hours. We know this is a long time. Again, this is intentional to give everyone as much room as they can on the bike course to race their own event.

Based on this, we anticipate the approximate following start times for each bib: #11-6:50am; #500-7:30am; #1000-8:10am. If we are using the bike time trial start method, not all athletes need to be in transition at 6:30am. Athletes can arrive closer to their start time.

All athletes will have 4 hours and 20 minutes from the time they start in order to complete the bike portion of the event, and 7 hours and 20 minutes to complete the bike, T2 and run course. To ensure an orderly start, athletes will be asked to stage at their bike racks. Staff will bring one row of athletes at a time to the bike mount line. Again, please wait at your rack until your row is called to the start.

All IRONMAN 70.3 World Championship slots and awards will still be awarded if the race consists of a bike/run format. Please plan on attending one of the athlete briefings in order to get the latest information.

We look forward to hosting a great race on Sunday regardless of the exact format.

Sure enough, Saturday afternoon saw some pretty significant downpours through the entire region, and later in the evening Ironman sent out another email confirming that the swim would be canceled and the race would start with a bike time trial. I appreciate that they didn’t wait until race morning to make a decision.

While I’m disappointed that I didn’t get to race a full triathlon, I can’t say that I’m upset about not swimming in Tempe Town Lake. I scoped out the swim course on Saturday after dropping off my bike in transition, and I was surprised by how dirty the water was. There was trash in the water along the banks, with a few dead fish floating in the water here and there, and the areas for the swim start and finish were particularly filthy. A couple walking by joked “I bet you’re glad the swim might be canceled!” Reader, I was. That said, I’m glad I made that last minute decision to race in Boulder in August; if this had been my only 70.3 of the year, I’m sure I’d feel differently about skipping the swim.

Based on my bib number (253), I estimated I would start at about 7:10 AM, about twenty minutes after the start of the race, so on race day I woke up a little later than I normally would have, knowing I only needed to get there a few minutes before the bike start. I had a bagel with jam and some coffee for breakfast, prepared my bottles of Maurten, and grabbed an extra towel and a second pair of socks in case I needed them, since it had continued to rain heavily for most of the night.

My gear, laid out the night before. I ended up leaving behind the swim gear, headlamp, and sunscreen.

I arrived at transition at about 6:30 AM, which thankfully wasn’t as muddy as I expected despite the rain. I wiped my bike dry, made sure everything still worked, and set up my running gear on top of the waterproof bag they gave everyone. I then had a Maurten Caf gel and did some stretching while I waited to start.

Just before 6:50 AM, the organizers started calling up each rack in order, and set us up at the start line in three rows, just like in a rolling swim start, with the same countdown beeps, and one rider setting forth every five seconds. I started my race at 7:08 AM.

The bike

While it was a bummer to skip the swim, I have to admit that starting with a bike time trial worked to my benefit. I’m a very slow swimmer, so I’m usually one of the last people out on the bike course, but thanks to my relatively low bib number, this time I’d be one of the first, with only a couple hundred people in front of me, at least for the first lap.

With that in mind, I wanted to make the most of that advantage, so I adjusted my race plan to go harder than I intended on the first lap, before the course got crowded. I had originally aimed for about 80% intensity, for which Best Bike Split gave me an estimated finish time of 2:43:00, safely in the green area of the pacing chart.

Bike pacing table for Ironman 70.3 races Credit: TriStar Athletes

I bumped that to 84% intensity, which moved my estimated TSS into the yellow, but I knew once more people were out on the bike course I would not be able to reach that anyway. In Boulder, my final intensity was 70% and I had left a lot on the table, so I definitely wanted to avoid that; if I ended this bike leg closer to 80%, that would have been a win in my book.

With my plan set up in my bike computer, I hit the bike course hard on the first lap, despite the still-wet pavement. I think that was the right call; after catching up and passing some riders on the first few miles, there were long sections of the road where I had no one around me, so I was able to hit my power targets and navigate the turns with ease. By the second and third laps, it was much harder to hold power while riding in heavy traffic, especially around the U-turns and some of the narrower sections of the course, which became bottlenecks.

I can’t tell if I’m grinning or grimacing here. I was probably just glad I didn’t eat shit going around that wet roundabout. Credit: FinisherPix

The course itself was somewhat technical, with twenty-something sharp turns and five U-turns in each of the three laps, and the pavement still wet well into the second lap. Despite my sub-par bike handling skills, I think I did a decent job picking my lines without losing a lot of speed or having to surge massively coming out of the turns. For the most part, it was smooth sailing, except for the southbound section of North College Avenue, which had some of the gnarliest, bumpiest pavement I’ve ridden on. I chose not to wear gloves this time around, and by the third lap I started getting blisters in my hands just from this one segment of the course.

View this course in Garmin Connect.

I came to Arizona fully expecting blazing hot temperatures, but while the rain may have wrecked the swim, it left behind perfect racing weather. The temperature at the start of my bike leg was 17°C, and by the end it had risen to just 23°C. It didn’t get much warmer during the run, with significant cloud cover for most of the day. I saw some ominous storm clouds during the second and third laps on the bike, but thankfully no further rain materialized.

Climbing next to Papago Park. Credit: FinisherPix

For nutrition, I brought two bottles with about 1,200 ml of Maurten 320 drink mix in total. I relied on Garmin’s “smart drink alerts,” which turned out to be not so smart, so I didn’t finish the bottles, and had about 300 ml left over at the end. Thankfully, I didn’t feel like I needed the extra fuel because I started the bike leg with my glycogen reserves intact, but next time I’ll time my nutrition differently.

Riding through Rio Salado Parkway. Credit: FinisherPix

Ultimately, I finished the bike leg in 2:40:53, almost exactly what Best Bike Split estimated, and my final intensity was 79%, with a TSS of 170. I’m not sure if the way I went about planning my race strategy was the best one, but I can’t argue with the results! While I’m sure there are some things I could have done better with the benefit of hindsight, I regret nothing, and I feel confident I did the absolute best I could at the time.

I’m pleasantly surprised by how good the FinisherPix photos turned out for this race. I really like this one. Credit: FinisherPix

T2

In Boulder, my transitions took forever, and I spent 6:26 in T2, so I wanted to do it faster this time around. I jumped off my bike, ran through transition, swapped shoes, grabbed a gel, threw on my hat and race belt, and ran out in 3:30.

A couple things worked in my favor this time: the run from the dismount line to my rack was much shorter than in Boulder, and on grass, which made it easier to run in bike shoes; and the sky remained cloudy, so I didn’t bother reapplying sunscreen.

The run

For the run, I set a dumb, arbitrary goal of 1:45:00. My fastest time in a standalone half marathon is 1:46:38, so I knew setting that as a goal after a 56-mile bike leg wasn’t realistic, but I wanted to make sure I left absolutely nothing on the table—although I hoped the cooler-than-expected temperature and much lower elevation would give me an edge. I plugged this completely pulled-out-of-my-ass time and a GPX file of the course into Garmin’s PacePro tool and it gave me a target pace of 4:59/km, so with that pacing plan in place, I left T2 and got to work.

View this course in Garmin Connect.

The run course consisted of two pancake-flat laps around Tempe Town Lake on paved pathways, except for the first mile or so, which were on a gravel path full of puddles and mud due to the rain. I started harder than I intended, probably just due to race adrenaline, but eventually settled on my target pace, which felt sustainable—at first. I relied entirely on Maurten gels for nutrition; I lost track of exactly how many I had, but basically took one with a cup of water at every other aid station, and a caffeinated one at the second to last aid station for a final boost. I had no cramping or GI issues at any point, which was great.

On the second lap, starting to suffer. Credit: FinisherPix

I felt pretty strong on the first lap, but started to struggle to hold my pace shortly after starting the second one, and by the end I felt like I was fighting for my life. The last few miles were some of the hardest I’ve ever run, and I had to dig deep to make it to the finish line without stopping, ending with a time of 1:50:38, and a final pace of 5:06/km. I missed my goal time and pace, but I definitely achieved the goal of not leaving anything on the table. I was absolutely spent, I had nothing left to give.

The finish line, at last! Credit: FinisherPix

After getting my finisher medal and hat, I hobbled over to the food tent, grabbed a couple of slices of pizza and a couple of beers, and sat down for a long while, until transition opened and I felt I had recovered enough to pack my gear and head out.

Success!

Final result

My final time was 4:35:00, and I finished 32nd in my age group (out of 133) and 171st overall (out of 1,157). I am more than satisfied with this result, there’s very little I would have done differently, and I think none of it would have changed the outcome significantly. For the sake of comparison, if I had repeated my Boulder times for the swim and T1, my final time would have been about 45 minutes faster than in Boulder. Not bad!

Equipment list

Tri suit: Roka Gen II Elite
Sunglasses: Roka Matador Air
Bike: Specialized Aethos, no aero bars
Bike shoes: Giro Regime
Bike helmet: S-Works Evade 3
Bike computer: Garmin Edge 1040 Solar
Watch: Garmin Forerunner 955 Solar
Heart rate monitor: Garmin HRM-Pro Plus
Running shoes: Hoka Carbon X 3
Nutrition: Maurten gels, Maurten Drink Mix 320

Wrap-up

I came with a plan, adjusted it for the changed circumstances, executed it to the best of my abilities, and gave the race everything I got, leaving nothing on the table, so I accomplished what I set out to do. While I’m disappointed I didn’t get to do a full triathlon after all the work I put into training for this race, I nonetheless consider this a success, and the best way to close my season I could ask for.

Next up, I have Ironman 70.3 St. George in May, followed by my first full-distance triathlon at Ironman Coeur d’Alene in June, so after taking the next few days off to rest, it’ll be time to get back to work.

Race Report: 2022 Hole Half Marathon

2022-09-24T17:00:00-06:00

This will likely be a short one: Today I raced the somewhat confusingly-named Hole Half Marathon, which is entirely unrelated to the Jackson Hole Half Marathon I did earlier in the summer. It went fine.

About halfway through the race. Credit: Jackson Hole Marathon Races

I went in without any goals other than get a good workout; my training plan had a 2:30 run today, and this seemed more fun than running that long. If anything, I just wanted to do my best and have some fun, and with that in mind, well, mission accomplished.

The race started at 9:00 AM from the Presbyterian Church in Jackson, and followed a route very similar to the other Jackson Hole Half Marathon, albeit in the opposite direction, ending in Teton Village, which meant a slight grade for most of the course. It was cold at the starting line, just shy above freezing, at 1°C, but as is normal this time of year, I expected it to warm up quite a bit, so I didn’t bring gloves or a lot of layers. The race was cupless this year, so I brought a bottle of Maurten Drink Mix 320 Caf 100; that was my only fuel and hydration for the entirety of the race (I also had a couple gels just in case, but didn’t use them).

The race course for the Hole Half.

After running through a few quiet neighborhood streets, we joined the full marathon course and headed towards Wilson on the community path. From there on, it was… completely uneventful, I really don’t have much of anything of note to write about. I kept a steady pace of around 5:00/km for most of the race, and had no issues, pain, or stitches at any point. Towards the last five kilometers or so, Ian, one of the marathon runners, tagged alongside me and helped me push my pace a little faster, which I appreciated. I ended up with a finish time of 1:47:28, slightly slower than my previous half marathon, but I’m confident I left nothing on the table so I’m feeling pretty good about it. I finished 4th in my age group and 20th overall, which was a definite improvement since last time.

On the equipment front, I swapped my Wahoo Rival watch and the Stryd pod for my Apple Watch for this race. For whatever reason, the Rival has become very unreliable lately, crashing frequently during workouts, sometimes randomly factory-resetting itself, and has stopped connecting to the Stryd pod altogether. Thankfully, the new running features in watchOS 9 meant I could just use my regular Apple Watch today, and it worked just fine. Its implementation of running power, in particular, seems to track very closely with Stryd’s, which helped me with pacing; I tried to stay between 230 W and 240 W for most of the race. It’s definitely good enough I don’t think I’ll keep using Stryd going forward (although I’ll need to replace the Wahoo; there’s no way I’m doing an Ironman with an Apple Watch).

Overall, this was a fun day; I got a pretty good workout and I’m feeling pretty good about my performance, considering I only started running consistently in March. Next up is my final race of the year, Ironman 70.3 Arizona. As of today, I’m feeling strong and ready to start tapering. I’m excited to see how I do in Tempe in a couple of weeks.

Race Report: 2022 Ironman 70.3 Boulder

2022-08-09T08:00:00-06:00

One thing I never expected after racing my first triathlon in Bozeman back in June was that it would leave me so hungry for more. I couldn’t wait for my next race, Ironman 70.3 Arizona in October, so I made a last minute decision to sign up for Ironman 70.3 Boulder this past weekend. I’m just halfway through my training plan for Arizona, and signed up for Boulder too late to do a proper taper, so I considered it a B race, with the goal of gaining more experience and testing my pacing, gear, and nutrition.

The race lined up with the end of a recovery week in my training plan, so despite the lack of a taper, I went in feeling strong and rested, with a racing plan I thought I could execute well. But as Mike Tyson once said, “Everybody’s got a plan until they get punched in the mouth,” and on race day, Boulder’s weather delivered a haymaker. Long story short, I made it to the finish line, but the blistering heat in Boulder absolutely demolished me on the run. My finish time was 6:14:49, and I finished 100th in my age group (out of 174) and 931st overall (out of 1,948).

Arriving at the finish line, finally. Credit: FinisherPix

Pre-race prep & setup

There was a bit of drama with the weather in the days leading up to the race, thanks to the heat dome over the country during race week, centered directly over Colorado. I drove down to Boulder on Thursday, and checked in at the athlete’s village on Friday, the day before the race. That afternoon, word spread that the water temperature at the Boulder Reservoir was above 24.5°C, likely making the swim “wetsuit optional.” Except for a short test swim earlier in the week, I hadn’t practiced open water swimming without a wetsuit at all, so I was more than a little anxious about it.

On race day, I woke up at 3:30 AM after getting a surprising amount of sleep, had a bagel with jam and some coffee, and prepared a bottle of Maurten Drink Mix 320 Caf 100 to sip on until race start to keep my glycogen (and caffeine) topped up. I arrived at the reservoir at 4:45 AM and grabbed one of the last parking spots next to transition, which I hoped would make setup a little easier.

That is, until I realized how tightly packed the bikes were, which left no space at all for my stuff next to the bike. Following the advice of a more experienced competitor nearby, I talked to the person next to me and we arranged our gear so that his stuff was under my rear wheel, and my stuff was under his rear wheel. This allowed my gear to lie next to my front wheel and vice versa, which made it easier for both of us to access our gear and get our bikes out.

A little past 6:00 AM, the race organizers announced that the water temperature had miraculously dropped to 23.6°C and thus the race was wetsuit legal, and there was much rejoicing in the transition area. I went back to my car to drop off my bag, grabbed my wetsuit, put it on, and headed to the beach for the swim start… where I found out that it was delayed by 30 minutes so that people stuck in traffic could get into the reservoir, so I had nothing left to do but visualize the swim, do some light stretching, and be glad I drank that bottle of Maurten.

The swim

The swim was a rolling start, and I seeded myself into the 46 to 50 minute group, based on the time it’s taken me to swim the 1.2-mile half-iron distance during practice. This was one of the last groups to enter the water, almost an hour after the start of the race. The pros entered the water at 7:35 AM; my official start time was 8:32 AM.

The swim itself was pretty uneventful after getting past the “washing machine” at the start. I felt good in the murky but pleasant water, and settled on a steady rhythm, focusing on my form and breathing. I had a hard time sighting the buoys with my foggy goggles and the sun reflecting off the water, so I mostly followed other swimmers and tried not to go too far off course. The only real difficulty I had was at the first turn buoy, where I caught up with a group of swimmers and got kicked in the face hard enough to make me choke on the water, but I recovered quickly and was able to finish in 45:22, slightly faster than I expected, with my pace almost 20 seconds faster than in Bozeman. I still have a lot of work to do on my swim, but it’s nice to see some improvement (although I’d note that I switched to a sleeveless wetsuit after Bozeman, which might explain the improved time).

T1

I paid for that bottle of Maurten by having to use the porta-potties in T1, and then took my time in transition so I could spray on a good layer of 100 SPF sunscreen, put on my socks and shoes, take on a Maurten gel, and make sure I had everything I needed before unracking my bike. I did a better job with my socks than I did in Bozeman, and didn’t struggle to put them on this time, thanks to this trick someone shared in the TrainerRoad forum.

In total, I spent 10:22 in T1.

The bike

For the past few weeks, I’ve been using my long Sunday rides to practice the full 56-mile bike distance at race pace, with race nutrition, using Best Bike Split to prepare a pacing plan. If you haven’t used it, Best Bike Split allows you to enter the race course, expected weather on race day, rider & bike data, how much intensity you’re targeting, and so on, and it creates a plan for you. On race day, you can sync that to the bike computer, which will show you a target power at every segment of the race. It’s worked really well in my practice rides, so I was looking forward to trying it out on race day.

For Boulder, I played around with the numbers, using the various charts for race pace that are floating around the internet, such as this one from TriStar Athletes, which I reproduced for my own reference:

Bike pacing table for Ironman 70.3 races Credit: TriStar Athletes

I settled on 0.8 IF as my target intensity, with an expected finish time of 2:32 and 163 TSS. This roughly matched the times of my 56-mile training rides, and would have put me in the “safe zone,” according to the chart. At 1,578 m, Boulder Reservoir is about 400 m lower than where I train in Jackson Hole, but I didn’t make any adjustments for the altitude.

With my plan loaded up on my bike computer, I left T1 and got to work. I felt strong, but stuck to my power cues pretty closely, only surging to pass folks. I did my best to follow draft rules, which was hard with so many riders packed together (although as far as I could tell, they weren’t being enforced).

Out on the bike course. Credit: FinisherPix

The race course went on a few backroads through farmlands just outside of Boulder, and through a few highways, one of which (Diagonal Highway) was thankfully closed to motor traffic. On the others, we had to ride on the shoulder, with only traffic cones separating riders from car traffic. That threw a bit of a wrench into my pacing plan—the portions of the course going northbound on Highway 36 were designated as no-passing zones because the shoulder was so narrow. Although some folks were still passing other riders, it felt very risky with cars zooming by just a few inches away, so for the most part I had no choice but to coast behind slower riders. As a result, I fell far behind on my target intensity, and had a hard time making up for it on the other sections of the course. My final intensity before entering T2 was 0.7 IF, and 133 TSS. The silver lining is that at least I was certain I didn’t overcook the bike leg, so I could have a strong run. Or so I thought—more on that later.

Other than that, the bike leg was fun, and uneventful. My nutrition consisted of two bottles of Maurten Drink Mix 320, and three Maurten gels I put in a GoToob so I wouldn’t have to deal with the wrappers. I only stopped at the second aid station to get some water to drink and pour on myself; the route had a few punchy climbs, where, without the air moving, you could really feel how awfully hot it was—according to my bike computer, 35°C.

I had to unzip my top towards the end of the bike course to deal with the heat. Credit: FinisherPix

I rolled into T2 with a time of 2:48:02, about 15 minutes slower than I hoped. I finished 74th in my age group, my best result of the day.

Thankfully, I had no serious mechanical issues. Shortly before the race, I discovered that my rear derailleur rubs against the wheel spokes when on the largest gear and I didn’t have time to get it fixed, so I simply avoided shifting into that gear. The only other minor glitch was that Wahoo’s multisport handoff feature between my watch and bike computer once again refused to work, so I just started a normal bike ride on the bike computer and discarded it afterwards.

T2

Not much to report here: I racked my bike, switched shoes, put on my race belt and hat, sprayed on another layer of sunscreen, took on a Maurten gel, and left in 6:26.

The run

Just like with the bike, I’ve been using Stryd’s race power calculator to plan my runs, which worked pretty well for me at the Jackson Hole Half Marathon last month. For this race, Stryd suggested a target power of 229 W, which would have given me a finish time of around 1:54. However, the heat, the fucking heat. The weather forecast said the high for the day was 30°C, but I’ve trained in hotter temperatures precisely to get heat adaptations, and believe me, it was not 30°C in that blazing sun. I have no idea how hot it actually was during the run, but it was already 35°C during the bike leg, according to my bike computer, and when I was driving home after the race, my car’s thermometer indicated it was still 38°C, well after the sky had become overcast. I wouldn’t be surprised if the temperature was in the forties at some point during the run.

Since I had left a lot on the table during the bike leg, I started the run strong, but I knew there was no way I could keep that pace in that heat—the danger of heat exhaustion was just too high. Instead, I switched to a simpler plan: just finish the fucking thing. I did not care about time, pace, or power, in fact I didn’t look at my watch very much at all. My strategy was pretty simple: walk through every aid station, drink water and Gatorade, pour water on myself, and pour ice inside my tri suit.

Nutrition-wise, I totally winged it. I had a few squirts of Maurten gel from my tube a couple times, ate a fig bar in one of the aid stations, and drank some Red Bull by mistake in another one, but mostly just had water, Gatorade, and ice.

I went at a very easy pace, and felt pretty good during the first lap. I got a huge morale boost from seeing my friends Clif & Allie cheering me on; one nice thing about the run course was that it was two laps, out and back, so you got four chances in total to see your people.

The second lap, though, was absolute misery; towards the end of it, my entire body ached from head to toe, my shoulders felt tight and sore, I had a painful stitch on my side, and I had to walk a few times to recover. By this point I had seen multiple people being taken off the race by the medical teams due to heat exhaustion, and one of them seemed to be in very bad shape, so I was glad I decided to focus on cooling and hydration. I am certain I would not have finished otherwise.

Suffering through the second lap. The ice rags they handed out at the aid stations were a godsend. Credit: FinisherPix

After suffering through that second lap, I arrived back at the athlete’s village for the final stretch of the run, and started getting choked up when I realized that holy shit, I am actually going to finish this thing. I high-fived a lot of people watching from the sidelines, and was sobbing uncontrollably by the time I crossed the finish line. I honestly didn’t expect it to be such an intensely emotional experience.

After collecting my finisher’s medal and composing myself enough to pose for a better FinisherPix photo, I wandered aimlessly for a couple of minutes before deciding I was too goddamn tired to do anything else, so I walked back to transition, packed my gear, and headed out.

Ultimately, I finished the run in 2:24:40, almost 40 minutes longer than it took me to finish the Jackson Hole Half Marathon, for a total time of 6:14:49. But I finished the thing and learned a lot, and that’s all that matters.

At last, I am a (half) Ironman! Credit: FinisherPix

Equipment list

Tri suit: Roka Gen II Elite
Wetsuit: Roka Maverick Pro II Sleeveless
Swim goggles: TheMagic5 Smoke Magic (which I’m pretty bummed out someone took from my transition spot at some point)
Sunglasses: Roka Matador Air, photochromic
Bike: Specialized Aethos, stock, no aero bars
Bike shoes: Giro Regime
Bike helmet: S-Works Evade 3
Bike computer: Wahoo Elemnt Roam
Watch: Wahoo Elemnt Rival
Running shoes: Hoka Carbon X 2 + Stryd pod
Nutrition: Maurten gels, Maurten Drink Mix 320

Wrap-up

After experiencing this heat, I’m not surprised they moved next year’s race to early June. I’d love to do this race again next year in cooler weather, but I’ll have to decide if I want to do that, or go for the full-distance Ironman in Coeur d’Alene two weeks later. My plan is to start full-distance training in the fall, and wait to see how training goes over the winter before signing up for one or the other.

That said, I’m glad I made the decision to race here, and happy I achieved my goal of completing a half-distance Ironman this year. My times weren’t what I hoped for and not everything went according to plan, but I’m thrilled I managed to finish a very hard race in challenging conditions. With this experience under my belt, the rest of my training plan, and a proper taper, I’m very much looking forward to seeing what I can do at Ironman 70.3 Arizona in October.

Race Report: 2022 Jackson Hole Half Marathon

2022-07-02T17:00:00-06:00

Today I raced in my second B race this year, the Jackson Hole Half Marathon, as part of my prep for Ironman 70.3 Arizona in October. I went in with a few goals:

Test my nutrition strategy.
Test how the pace suggested by Stryd felt.
See if I could actually pace myself properly.

Timewise, I didn’t have any specific goals. Anything under two hours would have been fine, with 1:45 as a stretch goal.

The race started at 8:00 AM on the dot on the bike path just north of Teton Village. I started way at the back because I was trying to stay socially distant, so I was stuck behind everybody for the first couple of kilometers, but after passing that initial group, I ran by myself most of the way. The course followed the multi-use pathway downhill until the Stilson Lot, then turned west towards Wilson for about a kilometer before turning around and heading through Rendezvous Park. After crossing the bridge over the Snake River, it continued on the pathway alongside highway 22 before turning on Tribal Trail Road towards the finish line at Colter Elementary. However, the course wasn’t exactly 21.1 km, with my GPS reporting 20.42 km.

For nutrition, I relied on Maurten gels since it’s what they provide on Ironman courses, using their recommended fueling guide for half marathons as a starting point. Instead of using their drink mix, I had a Maurten Caf gel 15 minutes before race start, then a regular gel at kilometers 5 and 10, and one more Maurten Caf at around kilometer 16 (which gave me a pretty good boost at the end, they’re really caffeinated). I started feeling some slight stomach cramps around kilometer 8, but they went away quickly after having some water at the aid stations. Other than that, I had no GI issues, and ended the race feeling strong.

The Stryd app suggested I hit a target power of 230 W for this race, with a projected time of around 1:51, and I did my best to hit that target. To help with that, I set up my watch to auto-lap every 1 km, and set the data fields to average 3-second power, heart rate, and average power and pace for the entire workout and for the current lap; that way I could shoot for target power for each lap and adjust on the next one if I missed it. In the end, I nailed it, ending up with an average power of exactly 230 W and a finishing time of 1:46:38. At my average pace of 5:13/km, it would have taken me about 1:50 to do the actual half marathon distance, almost spot on what Stryd predicted. It felt like the right amount of effort; I’m not sure I would have been able to sustain a faster pace. Good job, Stryd.

Me, arriving at the finish line. Credit: Jackson Hole Half Marathon

With that total time of 1:46:38, I finished 8th in my age group (male 30-39) and 26th overall.

Although I didn’t hit my stretch goal, I’m pretty happy with this result, considering it’s my first half marathon ever, and also because check out how cool the finisher medal is:

As for my initial goals:

I seem to be able to easily stomach multiple Maurten gels without any GI issues. They're… not cheap, but they’re worth it.
Stryd’s suggested pace seems to work very well. I’m not sure if I’d have been able to hit that pace after the swim and bike legs, though, so I’ll probably need to account for that for Arizona.
My pacing strategy worked, I was able to hit my targets perfectly. Can I do the same for the bike?

Next up, let’s see if I can shave off a few minutes from my run at the Hole Half in September, my last race before heading to Arizona.

Race Report: 2022 Bozeman Triathlon

2022-06-19T17:00:00-06:00

I just finished the Bozeman Triathlon, Olympic distance, my first triathlon ever and my B race prior to Ironman 70.3 Arizona in October. It went better than I expected, and I finished 4th in my age group (male 40-44) and 23rd overall.

Without further ado, here’s a brief race report.

Location & pre-race prep

The race took place at Glen Lake Rotary Park in Bozeman, Montana, which includes a gravel pit turned into a pond. The weather was pretty overcast, with storms on the forecast in the afternoon; air temperature at race start was about 13°C, and the water temperature 17°C, according to the race director. I arrived at about 7:30 AM, picked up my timing chip, set up my stuff in transition, and hung out for a little bit before putting on my wetsuit and heading to the pre-race meeting on the beach at 8:30 AM.

The swim

Prior to this race I had been training primarily in the pool three or four times a week since April, and had done a handful of open water swims, but I hadn’t done the full Olympic distance (1,500 m) as a continuous swim. So, I went in not feeling entirely confident that I could actually finish.

The swim consisted of two laps around Glen Lake with a short run on the beach between laps. I took on a Maurten Caf gel during the race briefing, 15 minutes before the start, and did a quick warmup swim to get acclimatized to the water temperature (which was actually quite pleasant, since I train in colder water). During warmup I noticed that the water was so murky, as soon as I got waist deep I could no longer see my feet, which I think actually helped me; I didn’t feel any anxiety being in open water during the race.

I had seeded myself in the “first timers” group since I had no clue what my actual pace would be. At 8:47 AM, my group started; I was in no rush and just walked into the water after everyone else got in. However, once I started swimming I quickly caught up with the rest of the group and got to experience this old Clif Bar commercial first hand (thanks to Chris Foster for sharing it in the Team Triathlete Slack).

After that bit of unpleasantness, I overtook a few folks and just tried to stay out of the way as much as I could to avoid further kicks to the face. About halfway through the first lap, I started feeling some muscle burn in my arms and shoulders and I started to worry I may not have it in me to do two laps. Thankfully, it cleared up after a while, as I settled into a sustainable rhythm. I kept focusing just on the next buoy, and by the second lap I felt like I could have gone on indefinitely. I was in a position to draft other swimmers at a few points, but it didn’t feel like it made any difference, so in general I tried to not get in anyone’s way. I ended up with a finish time of 39:46 and 1,633 m in total (including the walk on the beach between laps), for a pace of 2:26/100 m.

Looking at the GPS track, I think I did a decent job of sighting. I only went slightly off-track once, going into the shallow part of the lake, but I immediately adjusted my course back on track.

T1

I had very little practice with transitions, so I took my time in T1 to make sure I didn’t forget anything, keeping in mind that “slow is smooth, smooth is fast.” I also felt very wobbly after the swim and I wanted to wait for that to clear up before getting on the bike. I took on a regular Maurten gel and a swig of Gatorade Endurance before leaving, and ended up spending 6:05 in T1. My biggest lesson: I need more practice putting on socks, or not wear them at all. The time it took me to put them on wet feet felt eternal. A user on the TrainerRoad forum recommended this trick, which I’ll have to try before my next race.

The bike

The bike route went through some of Bozeman’s backroads, along farms and very fancy houses, rolling hills through Montana grasslands, one slightly steep ascent, and two laps total. I had done a little recon the day before the race and was seriously looking forward to it, it just seemed like it would be a very beautiful ride. It was very windy when I drove by the day before, but despite the stormy forecast, there was very little wind on race day.

Overall, it was pretty uneventful, other than a close call when I hit a patch of dirt while cornering near the end of the second lap and almost lost control. I felt pretty strong the entire way, and I think I could have gone a little harder; I was shooting for around 0.85 IF, ended up at 0.79, and finished in 1:16:39. Nutrition was a bottle of Gatorade Endurance, although I didn’t finish it.

Honestly, I loved the bike leg, I wish it would have gone on longer. I was so afraid that I’d have some kind of mechanical issue that would ruin my day, I took two sets of tubes, CO₂ cartridges, and patches, but other than my watch and bike computer refusing to talk to each other, the bike performed like a champ.

View this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

T2

T2 went faster, at 2:37, but still took my time and didn’t rush it. Racked the bike, switched shoes, got my belt on, took on a regular Maurten gel with some water, and left.

The run

The majority of the run was in the park, on narrow dirt trails, with only a couple kilometers on paved road through a neighborhood, and it was pancake flat. I did it at a comfortable pace; based on my power curve, the Stryd app recommended 244 W as a target power, but I didn’t want to risk an injury, so I aimed for no more than 230 W (which is what it recommends for half-marathon pace), and ended up at 220 W average power.

View this course in Garmin Connect or Strava.

The route was just shy of 10K, which a bit of a bummer; at that pace (5:42/km) it would have probably been a PR for me. I had one more Maurten Caf gel with some water at the aid station before starting the second lap, which gave me a boost towards the end, and I finished in 53:02, for a total time of 2:58:09. I had no pain or discomfort, so probably could have gone a little harder, just like with the bike, but it wouldn’t have made any difference in the results, so I don’t have any regrets.

Almost as soon as I picked up my things from transition, the thunderstorm that was forecast started rolling through, so I left soon after, and unfortunately was not able to enjoy the breakfast burritos from the Mighty Spork.

Equipment list

Tri suit: Roka Gen II Elite
Wetsuit: Roka Maverick MX
Swim goggles: Roka R1
Sunglasses: Roka Matador Air, photochromic
Bike: Specialized Aethos, stock, no aero bars
Bike shoes: Giro Regime
Bike helmet: Giro Helios
Bike computer: Wahoo Elemnt Roam
Watch: Wahoo Elemnt Rival
Running shoes: Hoka Carbon X2 + Stryd pod
Nutrition: Maurten gels (regular and caffeinated), Gatorade Endurance

Random thoughts & observations

I’m surprised I didn’t feel anxious or panicky in the water as I feared. I think the fact I couldn’t see the bottom (or much of anything at all) helped.
I got a horrible chafe on the back of my neck, from my wetsuit. I need to figure out how to prevent that in the future.
While my sleeved wetsuit feels comfortable otherwise, I still think I’d benefit from the extra mobility of a sleeveless wetsuit.
I’m going to try wearing ear plugs on my next open water swims to see if they help with post-swim dizziness.
The Wahoo Rival’s seamless transitions worked pretty well, I didn’t have to futz around with my watch at all during the race (except during the beach run between swim laps, which it understandably interpreted as a transition, but only took a couple seconds to undo). I also liked that it lets me adjust the times of each leg to match the official race timing before uploading to Strava.
However, the multisport handoff with the Wahoo Roam just did not work, the watch and bike computer never detected each other so I ended up starting a normal ride on the bike computer and discarding it afterwards.
Now that it’s finally warm, I need to train more outside to get better at pacing myself on the bike. I had a hard time sticking to my power target through those rolling hills.
It might be worth to practice riding without socks, or getting tri-specific bike shoes, so I don’t have to waste time fighting with my socks in T1, which was incredibly frustrating.
My stomach handled the Maurten gels pretty well, despite taking on more of them than I ever did during training.
I wasn’t sure about how much of a difference the elevation change between Jackson Hole (1,950 m) and Bozeman (1,460 m) would make, so I didn’t factor it in my race plan, but I think it’s part of the reason I felt stronger than expected. I’ll need to do some more research on it before Arizona, which is even lower, at 350 m (although the heat in Tempe might cancel it out).
Having a kitchen was extremely valuable in the couple of days leading up to the race. I need to consider if having one is more important than being close to the race in Arizona; if that’s the case, I might switch my hotel room for an Airbnb.
I loved how encouraging everyone was. Almost everyone I passed, or saw me grunting on the ascents, gave me a shout out. I tried to do the same for others.
Post-race dinner was an entire pizza from Tarantino’s and half a pint of ice cream.

I didn’t get any photos at the race, so a post-race selfie will have to do.

Conclusion

I went in thinking just finishing would be a victory and ended up with a much better result than I expected, so I’m pretty happy about that. More importantly, I loved every minute of it and can’t wait to do this again. I’m officially hooked on triathlons. Onwards to Arizona!