Given to Tri: Half Distance

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: 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.

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— 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.

Paula Findlay’s recap of Ironman 70.3 Boise

2025-08-04T11:00:00-06:00

I don’t normally post about professional triathlon racing, but I enjoyed Paula Findlay’s race recap from Ironman 70.3 Boise on the That Triathlon Life podcast. It’s interesting, and sometimes validating, to hear about I race I did from a pro’s perspective: The swim was choppy, and long; the buoys were hard to sight—I’m glad it wasn’t just me.

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.

What’s the water temperature at Lucky Peak Reservoir in July?

2025-05-20T10:00:00-06:00

Ever since the return of Ironman 70.3 Boise was announced, I’ve been wondering what the water temperature would be like on race day. I know in the previous iterations of this race, when it was in early June, it was a very cold swim: In 2011 the water temperature was 11°C, and in 2012 it was so cold, people wore wetsuits on the bike, which was shortened to 24 km. So far I haven’t been able to find a reliable source of historical water temperatures at Lucky Peak Reservoir to look up what it might be like in late July, but today I got an email from Ironman that states (emphasis mine):

The IRONMAN 70.3 Boise 2025 swim course offers athletes a refreshing and scenic 1.2-mile swim in the pristine waters of Lucky Peak Reservoir. Starting and finishing in the easily accessible Barclay Bay area, this single-loop course provides a calm and clear environment, ideal for both seasoned swimmers and first-time triathletes. The reservoir’s typical water temperatures in late July range from 64°F to 70°F (18°C to 21°C), making it comfortably wetsuit-legal for most participants.

That’s not so bad, that’s downright pleasant! Anyway, just thought of dropping that here in case anybody else needs to Google it.

Update: The water temperature on race day in 2025 was 19.6°C.

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.

Ironman comes to New Mexico

2025-04-17T12:00:00-06:00

Ironman just announced a “festival weekend of racing” next year in Ruidoso, New Mexico, which includes an Ironman 70.3, a 5150 race (Ironman’s branding for an Olympic-distance race), and a sprint-distance race.

A 70.3 in a scenic mountain town… at about 2,000 meters of elevation… on my birthday? Yes, please. The bike course is right up my alley too, an out-and-back where the last 45 km are uphill with about 730 meters of elevation gain. ~~If it wasn’t a 17-hour drive from here, I’d sign up immediately, but I’m still tempted.~~ Update: Oh, who am I kidding. I signed up.

Next year’s edition of Ironman 70.3 St. George will be the final one

2024-12-05T16:20:00-07:00

St. George is by far my favorite race I’ve done since I started triathlons, so I’m sad to hear that the 2025 edition will be the last one for the foreseeable future. I’m signed up for it, but I was hoping to race there for many years to come.

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.

Ironman 70.3 is coming back to Boise

2024-09-12T08:00:00-06:00

Ironman just announced the return of Ironman 70.3 Boise, which ran from 2008 through 2015. This would be the closest race to me, and Boise is such a nice town, I’m very tempted to sign up for next year’s race—running along the Greenbelt is so pleasant.

I’ve been reading some race reports from back then, such as this one from DC Rainmaker in 2011, and it sounded like a tough race, starting with a swim in 11°C water. It might be tough in a different way next year, though: the high in Boise in late July is usually above 38°C and by then smoke season is in full swing. I’m still tempted.

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 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 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 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.