Given to Tri: Full Distance

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!

This year’s Ironman Canada will be the last in Penticton

2024-07-09T10:50:00-06:00

Not entirely surprising; I thought the writing was on the wall when they unveiled another Ironman Canada in Ottawa, but they just made it official today. This is a huge bummer for me personally; I don’t think there are any other full-distance races that are within a reasonable driving distance, and I don’t want the hassle of flying with my bike and gear. This puts a lot more pressure on me to finish this year’s race—I might not have another shot at a full Ironman anytime soon. It’s do or die.

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.