PRE RACE PARANOIA
An Ironman is a bit like a wedding:
"something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue...".
I've got a lot of old rituals to keep, and I'm always trying out
something new. Often, one forgets things, and borrows from friends, and
I don't know anyone who is perpetually upbeat about the whole affair -
feeling down is part of the game.
Even though I've been at this game for 8 years now, the only thing
"old" in my equipment stash is my bike and shoes: both entering their
seventh season. Of course the bike now sports new aerobars and wheels,
and a new drive train (chain rings, bottom bracket, cassette), but I
think this is the old part of my equation. Much of my attire is "new":
my red racing visor, sunglasses, tri top and shorts, runnings shoes and
socks, biking "cooling" sleeves, and wet suit have each seen only 1-2
races before this Ironman. I'm using a coaching service ("borrowed"
workouts?) for the first time in prep for Ironman Hawaii. And I'm still
in my first year of my secret weapon, my Altipower hypoxicator, which
uses blue soda lime crystals to suck out the carbon dioxide in its
rebreathing apparatus.
An Ironman is different from other triathlons, not only because of the
daunting distance, but also because it introduces two or three new
disciplines, in addition to swim, bike, run, and transitions between
them. Pacing, hydration, and nutrition are the keys to success on race
day. Because every body's needs for these are different, and vary
depending on weather and terrain, one can't always rely on experience
to get them right on race day. Each Ironman is a learning opportunity,
and the subtle balance among effort, drinking, and eating, so easy to
understand and experiment with in shorter races, becomes an
all-consuming obsession for the Ironman.
..........
Weather service predictions start to
gain a little bit of accuracy about 6-12 days out. So the final two
weeks before an Ironman, we all become weather seers, obsessing over
the subtly changing forecasts as the day comes closer. By the weekend
before, it became obvious that the unsettled, cooler weather regime of
the previous 5 weeks would start to break down soon, and give way to a
high pressure influence, raising temperatures above seasonal norms, and
providing no cloud cover for our race. By Tuesday before, the back room
discussion at the NWS confirmed that race day temps would be somewhere
between 87 and 92 F, with the peak of the heat wave probably coming
Sunday evening into Monday. This would also mean a morning wind in our
faces as we pedaled back into town of the last 15 miles each loop of
the bike leg. Those not prepared for this or understanding its effects
on one's race plans would risk a serious blow up starting about mile 85
in the bike, which would put their marathon times at grave risk.
While I am no fan of heat for this race, I have learned to make my
peace with it. Once again, as last year in Madison, I would be ready. I
would not be one of those who pulled up short on the bike, or, worse
let the heat conquer my concentration on the run. A whole series of
obvious little tricks, systematically applied, would be my allies here.
Water showers at every bike aid station. Strict attention to taking in
about a quart of fluid every hour. Ice and sponges at every opportunity
on the run. Little things like that were going to make a big difference
on this day. Sun tan lotion in all the right places also helps. (Lesson
#1 from this Ironman: when you switch from a one piece to a two piece
race outfit, your lower back might get exposed - suntan lotion is
needed there, just as much as on the nose and neck and backs of the
shoulders.)
..........
The days before an Ironman flow by
almost as an out of body experience. For most of us, we're in a
vacation environment, yet unable to relax and enjoy ourselves. I
remember at the start of my family's cross country bike trip, the night
before feeling a sense that I was about to totally immerse myself into
an unknown, hermetically sealed process, which would totally consume my
every waking (and sleeping) hour. While this was a voluntary
undertaking, trying to herd our 5-8 member group across 3400 miles on
bikes with an RV in tow over two months seemed impossible to
contemplate. Even one day at a time was hard to do. My sense of
excitement and anticipation was overpowering - both the process
and the end point required that we solve as yet unknown problems,
and that we pay attention to mundane details with a religious fervor.
Simply procuring and devouring food required the logistics of an army.
Add to that keeping the RV gassed, watered and sewered, making sure
bike tires were pumped, rendezvous were arranged and met, heat was
dealt with, a place to sleep at night was found and arranged - the list
of tasks was endless and Sisyphean. I know now that we finished, but at
the start, while I was sure our goal was doable, I knew that its
accomplishment would require total attention to the exclusion of the
outside world, such as reading newspapers, paying bills, and learning
math.
An Ironman, while only one day, requires much the same narrowing of
focus, with the added thrill of knowing that your body is going to get
seriously abused to the point of collapse. And you don't really know
how it will all come out.
So you turn to the only source of succor available - the other
athletes. Knowing people who are actually racing, as opposed to
friends/family who are on the other side of the looking glass, is a
godsend. I've come to enjoy listening to all their tales of anxiety
spiked confidence ahead of time, and their delicious, devious
explanations of just how their day went, and how it did or didn't their
expectations and goals. Everybody's got a story at the Ironman, and
they all want to tell it.
So I tried asking people what their plan was.
Exaggerated cool: "I'm just going to see what the day brings, try to
enjoy myself, think of it as just a long training day."
Obsessed with details: "What do you put in your special needs bag? I'm
trying to figure out whether I need another 600 calories there, or if I
can just go with the bananas and Gatorade for the whole bike ride. I
don't really like Gu, I prefer PowerGel."
Worried about missing the One Secret: "I saw that new aero water bottle
people put behind the seat. Do you think that's faster than a bottle
between your aerobars?"
Angry at the world: "Why do they have us take our special needs bags
all the way down THERE?"
Excessively Kona conscious: "Last year it took a 10:19 to qualify -
with this heat and the higher numbers in the my age group, I think
they'll be
one or two more slots. I just missed the roll down by two last year."
And when they turned the question on me, here's what I had to say,
(somewhat sheepishly): "Well, I've already qualified for Kona at
Wisconsin last year, so really only started training the
third week in April. I'm only 7 weeks into my actual training program,
and I'm
just taking a one-week taper, so I'm going to experiment with some
pacing and nutrition ideas for the heat." Translation: I have no idea
what I'm going to do, I hope I can find the motivation to actually Race
when the hammer comes down in the marathon.